Volume 9

Volume 9

**Shao Linzi**

A certain gentleman of Linzi had a daughter who became the wife of a certain Li, a student of the Imperial Academy. Before her marriage, a diviner had calculated her fate and declared that she would certainly suffer official punishment. The old man was furious, but then laughed and said, "How absurd can such wild talk get! Not to mention that a daughter of a respectable family would never end up in a court of law — could not even a mere Imperial Academy student protect a single woman?"

After the marriage, she was exceedingly violent, berating and cursing her husband as a matter of routine. Li could no longer endure her abuse and angrily lodged a complaint with the authorities. The county magistrate, Magistrate Shao, accepted his petition and issued a warrant for her arrest with orders to summon her immediately. When the old man heard of this, he was greatly alarmed. He led his sons and nephews to the magistrate's hall and begged him to drop the matter. The magistrate refused. Li himself also came to regret his actions and asked to withdraw the complaint. The magistrate was enraged and said, "Within the halls of justice, does everything start and stop at your whim? She must be brought in for examination!"

Once she arrived, the magistrate questioned her briefly and then declared, "A truly vicious woman!" He ordered her beaten with thirty strokes of the bamboo, and the flesh of her buttocks was flayed completely away.

The Historian of the Strange says: "Did the magistrate bear some private grudge against the women's quarters? Why was his anger so fierce? Yet where there is a worthy magistrate in the county, there will be no vicious women in the villages. I record this to supplement what the *Biographies of Upright Officials* has failed to cover."

**Yu Qu'e**

Tao Shengyu of Beiping was a man of considerable reputation. During the Shunzhi era, he went to sit for the provincial examination and lodged on the outskirts of the city. One day, stepping outside, he saw a man carrying a book-bag, tottering along as though he had yet to find lodging. Tao stopped him with a few questions, whereupon the man set down his burden by the roadside. They fell into conversation and talked with great warmth; the stranger's discourse had all the air of a true scholar. Tao was delighted and invited him to share his quarters. The guest gladly accepted, brought in his bag, and there they dwelt together.

The guest introduced himself: "I am from Shuntian. My surname is Yu, and my given name is Qu'e." Since Tao was the older of the two, Yu treated him as an elder brother. Yu had no fondness for sightseeing; he would often sit alone in his room, and there were no books on his desk. If Tao did not engage him in conversation, he simply lay down and slept. Tao found this suspicious and searched his bags and chests. Apart from brushes and an inkstone, there was nothing of note. Puzzled, he asked about it. Yu laughed and said, "When we men of letters study, do we dig a well only when we are already thirsty?"

One day, Tao lent him a book. Yu took it away, shut his door, and copied with extraordinary speed—more than fifty pages in a single day—yet never once folded a sheet into a bound volume. Tao secretly watched him and saw that each time he finished a draft, he would burn it to ashes and swallow them. Still more astonished, Tao pressed him for an explanation. Yu replied, "I use this as a substitute for reading." He then recited from memory everything he had copied—several essays in the space of a moment, without a single error. Tao was pleased and wished to learn his technique, but Yu said it could not be taught. Tao suspected him of jealousy and spoke with some reproach. Yu said, "You truly do not understand me deeply enough. If I say nothing, I have no way to lay my heart bare; but if I speak too suddenly, I fear you will be startled and think me a strange creature. What am I to do?" Tao insisted there was no harm in it. Yu then said, "I am not a living man—I am a ghost. In the world beneath, officials are still appointed through examinations. On the fourteenth day of the seventh month, an edict is issued to examine the examination officials; on the fifteenth, the candidates enter the examination compound; and at the end of the month, the results are posted." Tao asked, "What is the purpose of examining the examination officials?" Yu replied: "This reflects the Supreme Sovereign's carefulness. Whether the officials be bird-clerks or turtle-ministers, all are examined. Those who are literate are assigned to the inner halls of examination; the incompetent are not permitted to take part. The gods of the underworld function just as provincial governors and magistrates do in the world of light. Those who have succeeded in life—men of rank—have never so much as laid eyes on the ancient classics. They merely wielded the 'brick to knock at the door of fortune' in their youth to seize a degree. Once the door opened, they cast it aside. After ten or twenty years of managing documents and records, even a man of letters—what words remain in his breast? The reason the living world abounds in mediocrities who stumble into office while men of talent go unrecognized is simply that it lacks this one examination." Tao heartily agreed, and from that day he treated Yu with still greater respect.

One day Yu returned from outside with a troubled countenance and sighed, "I was born poor and lowly in life, and I thought that death would free me from it. I never expected that misfortune would follow me even into the world below!" Tao asked the reason. Yu said: "Wenchang has been commanded to go to the Kingdom of Luoluo to be invested as king, and so the examination of examination officials has been suspended. For decades, wandering spirits and dissipated ghosts have been allowed to mingle in the evaluation of essays. What hope is there for men like us?" Tao asked, "Who are these spirits?" Yu replied: "Even if I told you, you would not know them. But to name one or two will give you the general idea—Yue Zheng Shikuang and the treasury officer He Qiao are among them. I reflect that fate cannot be relied upon, nor can literary skill be counted on. I think it best to give up." Having said this, he was dejected and made ready to leave. Tao held him back and consoled him, and so he stayed.

On the night of the Ghost Festival, Yu said to Tao, "I shall be entering the examination compound. Before dawn, please take incense and burn it in the eastern fields. Call out 'Qu'e' three times, and I will come." Then he went out the door. Tao bought wine and prepared fresh dishes to await him. As the east grew bright, he reverently did as Yu had instructed. Before long, Yu arrived together with a young man. Tao asked his name. Yu said, "This is Fang Zijin, a dear friend of mine. I met him by chance in the examination grounds. Having heard of your great reputation, he earnestly wished to make your acquaintance." They went together to the lodging, lit candles, and performed the rites of greeting. The young man stood graceful and refined as jade, his manner modest and gentle, and Tao was greatly taken with him. Tao asked, "Your compositions must have given you great satisfaction?" Yu said, "It is laughable to speak of it! There were seven essays in the examination; I had done more than half. But when I carefully examined the names of the chief examiners, I wrapped up my things and left at once. A most peculiar man!" Tao fanned the brazier and poured wine, then asked, "What were the examination topics? Did Qu'e take first place?" Yu replied: "One essay on the classics and one one the scriptures—anyone could manage those. The policy question read: 'Since ancient times, depravity has been rife, but in the manners of the world today, the obscene and the monstrous have grown beyond all reckoning. They are not only beyond the capacity of the eighteen hells to contain—they could not even be encompassed by eighteen hells. What method, then, would suffice? Some say that one or two additional hells should be created, but this would violate the Supreme Sovereign's love of life. Should they be added or not? Or is there another way to purify the source? You, the assembled scholars, speak fully and conceal nothing.' My policy essay was not particularly good, but I wrote it with considerable relish. For the memorial, I composed one entitled 'On the Annihilation of the Demon King, the Emperor Bestowing Dragon Horses and Heavenly Robes upon His Ministers According to Merit.' Next came the 'Poetry Composed at the Jasper Terrace by Imperial Command' and the 'Rhapsody on the Peach Blossoms of the Western Pond.' These three pieces—I am confident there were no rivals for them in the whole examination!" Having said this, he clapped his hands in delight. Fang smiled and said, "At this moment you are elated, elder brother, and stand alone without peer. But in a few days' time, if you are not weeping, then you are no true man."

At daybreak, Fang wished to take his leave. Tao urged him to stay and share the lodging. Fang declined but promised to return at dusk. Three days passed, and he did not come. Tao sent Yu to look for him. Yu said, "There is no need. Zijin is earnest in his intentions—he is not indifferent." As the sun set in the west, Fang indeed arrived. He produced a scroll and handed it to Tao, saying, "I broke our appointment for three days. In recompense, I have respectfully copied out more than a hundred of my old compositions and ask you to judge them." Tao took the scroll and read it with great delight, praising it line by line. After reading one or two pieces, he stored it in a bamboo chest. They talked deep into the night, and Fang stayed to sleep, sharing a bed with Yu. From then on this became the regular pattern; Fang came every evening without fail, and Tao never failed to be happy when Fang was there.

One evening, Fang rushed in in great agitation and said to Tao, "The results of the underworld examination have been posted. Fifth Brother Yu has failed!" Yu was lying down at the time; upon hearing this, he started up and burst into tears. The two men did everything they could to comfort him, and at last his tears stopped. But they sat facing one another in miserable silence—it was almost unbearable. Fang said, "I have just heard that the Great Inspector, Zhang Huanhou, is about to arrive on his tour. Perhaps this is merely the rumour spread by the disappointed. If not, there may yet be a reversal in the examination world." When Yu heard this, his face brightened. Tao asked why. Yu said: "Huanhou, whose courtesy name is Yide, makes a tour of the underworld once every thirty years and a tour of the living world once every thirty-five years. The injustices of both realms are set right by this venerable lord." He then rose and pulled Fang to go with him. They returned only after two nights. Fang said joyfully to Tao, "Why are you not congratulating Fifth Brother? Huanhou arrived the night before last and tore up the posted results. Of the names that had been on the list, only one third remained. He reviewed all the overlooked papers and was greatly pleased to find Fifth Brother's among them. He recommended

# Liaozhai, Volume 9

## (The story continues from the previous tale...)

He was appointed an inspector of maritime affairs in Jiaonan, and could be there in a sedan chair in a matter of days." Tao was overjoyed and set out wine to celebrate. After several rounds, Yu asked Tao, "Do you have a spare house at home?" "What for?" asked Tao. "Zi Jin is alone and without native soil, and I cannot bear to leave him behind with his brother with indifference. I mean to borrow lodging and stay with you." Tao said delightedly, "That would be most fortunate! Even if there isn't much room, sharing a bed is no obstacle. But my father is strict — I must first seek his approval." Yu said, "I know your esteemed father is kind and reliable. Since you have examinations ahead, if Zi Jin cannot wait, what if he returns first?" Tao kept him as a companion in the inn, awaiting their return together. The next day, at dusk, carriages and horses arrived at the gate to escort Yu to his post. Yu rose and shook his hand, "From here we part. There is one thing I wish to say, but I fear it may dampen your ambition to advance." "What is it?" "Your destiny is beset with delays — you were not born in the right time. This examination, one chance in ten; the next cycle, when Huan Hou governs the world and justice first becomes manifest, three chances in ten; only in the third cycle can you hope to succeed." Hearing this, Tao wished to give up. Yu said, "No — these are all matters of Heaven's reckoning. Even knowing it is impossible, the hardships that are fated must still be endured." He then turned to Fang and said, "Do not linger. Today the year, month, day, and hour are all auspicious — let them send you home in the carriage with canopy. I shall ride my horse and go on ahead." Fang joyfully bowed and departed. Tao's heart was in turmoil, not knowing what instructions to give, but he wept and saw them off. He watched the carriages and horses go their separate ways and vanish in an instant. Then he regretted that Zi Jin had gone north without sending a single word, but it was too late. After the three examination sessions, he was not greatly satisfied and rushed home in haste. Upon entering, he asked about Zi Jin, but no one in the family knew of him. He then told his father, and his father said joyfully, "If that is so, the guest arrived long ago." Earlier, Tao's father had been napping during the day when he dreamed that a carriage with canopy stopped at his gate, and a handsome young man emerged from the carriage, ascended the hall, and bowed. Astonished, he asked where he had come from. The youth replied, "My elder brother promised to lend me a room. Since I could not come with him for the examinations, I have come ahead." With that, he asked to enter and pay respects to his mother. The father was just declining politely when the old housekeeper entered and said, "The lady has given birth to a son!" He awoke with a start and was greatly astonished. That day, what Tao said matched the dream exactly — and he knew the child was Zi Jin reborn. Father and son were each overjoyed and named him Xiao Jin. When the child was first born, he was given to crying at night, and his mother suffered from it. Tao said, "If this is Zi Jin, when he sees me, the crying should stop." By custom, a stranger's presence could startle an infant, so Tao was not allowed to see him. But the mother could no longer bear the crying and called Tao in. Tao said gently, "Zi Jin, don't do this! I am here!" The child had been crying urgently, but upon hearing the voice, he stopped, gazing unblinking, as if scrutinizing him. Tao stroked his head and left. From then on, he never cried again. After several months, Tao did not dare to see him — whenever he appeared, the child would bow at the waist and reach for an embrace; if he left, the child would cry unbearably. Tao grew tenderly fond of him. At four years old, he left his mother and always slept beside his brother; if his brother went out, he would feign sleep until his brother returned. The brother taught him the Mao edition of the Classic of Poetry on the pillow, and his recitation was soft and murmuring — by nightfall he had covered more than forty lines. When he was given Zi Jin's leftover writings, he read them with delight and memorized them instantly upon hearing them; but when tested on other texts, he could not. At eight or nine years old, his brows and eyes were clear and bright — he was the very image of Zi Jin. Tao entered the examinations twice and failed both times. In the year Dingyou, scandal broke out in the examination halls, and many examiners were executed or exiled — the path of recommendation was purified, thanks to the efforts of Zhang Xunhuan. Tao placed as a supplementary candidate in the next examination, then attained the tribute student rank. He then gave up all ambition for official advancement and lived in seclusion, teaching his younger brother. He often said to others, "With such joy as this, even the Hanlin Academy would not be worth exchanging for."

The Historian of the Strange says: "Whenever I visit the temple of Master Zhang and gaze upon his beard and brows, they are vibrant with living spirit. Moreover, in life his voice was like thunder, and wherever his spear and horse went, all was swept clean to the surprise of men. The world, because the general loved martial matters, placed him alongside Jiang and Guan. But who knows that the duties of the God of Literature are many, and that a Marquis must endure much? Alas! Thirty-five years — how late you have come!"

## The Mad Scholar

Liu the Academician related: "In Jining there was a certain mad scholar who was fond of drinking. He had not a peck of grain in his house, but whenever he got money he would buy wine, giving no thought to his poverty. It happened that a new prefect arrived, a man who drank superbly and had no equal. Hearing of the scholar's reputation, he invited him to drink and was pleased with him, and they often met and feasted together. The scholar, relying on this familiarity, would accept small bribes from those with minor lawsuits seeking justice and plead on their behalf; the prefect always granted his requests. The scholar made it a habit, and the prefect grew weary of it. One day, early in court, the scholar presented his card and entered the hall. The prefect smiled as he looked at it. The scholar said sharply, 'If you approve the petition, approve it; if not, reject it. Why smile? I have heard: a gentleman may be killed but not humiliated. I may not be able to repay you in other matters, but can I not repay a smile?' With that, he laughed loudly, his voice shaking the walls of the hall. The prefect was furious and said, 'How dare you be so impudent! Have you not heard of the magistrate who can exterminate a family?' The scholar strode off without a backward look, shouting loudly: 'I am a scholar with no family to exterminate!' The prefect was even angrier and had him arrested. When they inquired into his residence, he had no land or house at all — he simply lived with his wife on the city wall. Hearing this, the prefect released him but expelled him so he could no longer dwell on the city ramparts. Friends, pitying his madness, bought him a few feet of land and a small room. He moved in and sighed, 'From now on I fear the magistrate!'"

The Historian of the Strange says: "A gentleman who abides by the law and observes propriety would not rob a man in the marketplace — what can a ruler do to me? Yet one who can be punished with revenge does so only because he has a house to destroy; when there is no house to exterminate, the angry one has nothing more to inflict upon him. Ah! Is this not what is called 'the poor and lowly who defy others'? Yet it is the way of a gentleman that though he is poor, he does not lightly importune others; to babble at the magistrate's court for the sake of one's belly — that is a low character. Still, his madness is beyond reach."

## Customs of Cheng

The people of Cheng often transform into other creatures to go out in search of food. Once a guest staying at an inn saw a swarm of rats enter a rice pot; when he drove them off, they fled. He waited for them to enter again, then suddenly covered the pot and poured water into it; in a moment they were all dead. The entire household perished suddenly, with only one son surviving. He brought a lawsuit, and the official, pitying him, pardoned him.

## Fengxian

[The text for this tale appears to be cut off at the end of the provided excerpt.]

Liu Chishui, of Pingliao, was a man of rare brilliance from youth. He entered the prefectural school at fifteen. His parents died early, and he thereupon gave himself up to dissipation. His family was not wealthy, but he had a passion for elegance—his quilts and bed were all of exquisite workmanship. One evening, he was invited out to drink and forgot to extinguish the lamp before leaving. After several rounds of wine, he remembered and hurried back. Hearing soft voices inside, he crept up to spy and saw a young man embracing a beautiful woman on his bed. His dwelling bordered the mansion of a noble family, long abandoned, where strange happenings were common; he knew at once they were fox-spirits, yet felt no fear. He entered and shouted, "How dare you snore on my bed!" The two fled in alarm, seizing their clothes and escaping naked. Left behind was a pair of purple silk trousers, with a needle-case tied to the belt. He was overjoyed, but fearing they might steal it back, he hid it in his quilt and held it close. Soon a disheveled maid crept through a crack in the door and demanded it from him. Liu laughed and made her bargain for it. She offered him wine—he refused. She offered gold—he refused again. The maid smiled and left, then returned and said, "Our Eldest Sister says: if you give it back, she will repay you with a fine bride." Liu asked, "Who is she?" She replied, "Our family surname is Pi. The Eldest Sister's childhood name is Baxian. The one who was lying with her is Master Hu. The Second Sister is ShuiXian, married to Master Ding of Fuchuan. The Third Sister, FengXian, surpasses both in beauty—there is no one who would not be pleased with her." Liu, fearing she might break her word, asked her to sit and await good news. The maid left and returned again, saying, "The Eldest Sister sends word to you, sir: How can good things come of a sudden? Just now when she spoke of it, she was scolded instead. But if you wait a while, our family is not one to make light promises or break faith." Liu handed it over. Several days passed with no word. At dusk, he returned from outside and had barely sat down after closing his doors when suddenly both leaves swung open. Two people carried a young lady in a quilt, holding the four corners, and entered saying, "We deliver the bride!" They placed her laughing on the bed and left. He drew near—she lay in deep sleep, not yet awake, her breath still fragrant with wine, her flushed face and tipsy beauty surpassing all the world. Beside himself with joy, he took her feet and removed her stockings, cradled her form and gently loosened her robes. But the girl had already half awakened. She opened her eyes, saw Liu, and found she could not move her limbs. She said only in vexation, "That lewd maid Baxian has sold me!" Liu embraced her tenderly. The girl found his skin cool and smiled, saying, "What night is this, to meet such a cool fellow!" Liu replied, "O fair one, O fair one—what shall I do with such a cool fellow as this?" And so they made love. Afterward she said, "That shameless maid has defiled your bedchamber—and now she trades me for a pair of trousers! I must have my small revenge!" From then on she came every night, and their intimacy was deep. From her sleeve she produced a single gold bracelet, saying, "This belongs to Baxian." Several days later she brought an embroidered pair of shoes, inlaid with pearls and embroidered with gold, of matchless craftsmanship, and urged Liu to display them publicly. Liu showed them to relatives and friends. Those who wished to see them all brought wine and money as gifts, and from this he profited greatly. The girl came one night to take her leave. He asked in surprise why, and she answered, "My sister resents me because of the shoes and means to take the family far away, cutting off my love for him." Liu was frightened and offered to return them. The girl said, "No need. She is using them to coerce me—if I return them, I fall into his trap." Liu asked, "Why not stay behind alone?" She said, "My parents have gone far away. Our family of more than ten mouths depends entirely on Master Hu's management. If I do not go with them, I fear the sharp-tongued women will spread tales." From then on she came no more.

After two years, his longing was most intense. One day on the road he met the young lady riding a leisurely-paced horse, led by an old servant; they passed shoulder to shoulder. He turned back and lifted her veil to gaze at her—her beauty was ravishing. Soon a young man came up behind and said, "Who is that woman? She seems remarkably beautiful." Liu praised her without reserve. The young man bowed and smiled, "You flatter too much! This is my wife." Liu was embarrassed and apologized. The young man said, "No matter. But of the three Zhuges of Nanyang, you have found the dragon—what is such a trifling one to mention?" Liu was puzzled by his words. The young man said, "Do you not recognize the one who stole sleep on your bed?" Liu then understood he was Hu. They spoke as brothers-in-law and joked merrily. The young man said, "My father-in-law has just returned and will pay his respects. May I accompany you?" Liu gladly followed him into Mount Ying—on the mountain there was a house where people of the county had once taken refuge. The young lady dismounted and entered. After a while, several people came out to look and said, "Master Liu has also come!" He entered and paid respects to the father and mother. Another young man was already there, his boots and robes splendidly adorned. The father said, "This is the son-in-law from Fuchuan, Master Ding." They bowed and sat down together. Soon wine and hot dishes were spread in abundance, and conversation flowed pleasantly. The father said, "Today all three sons-in-law are gathered—this may be called a fine assembly. There are no others here; let us call the young ones for a family reunion." Soon the sisters all came out. The father ordered seats placed, each beside her husband. Baxian, seeing Liu, only covered her mouth and smiled; FengXian kept teasing him; ShuiXian, somewhat less beautiful, was grave and gentle—through all the conversation she only held her wine and smiled. Then shoes crisscrossed, orchid and musk perfumed the air, and the drinking was most merry. Liu saw that musical instruments were ready at the bedside and took up a jade flute, asking to play in honor of the father. The father was pleased and ordered each who had skill to take up an instrument, so that all in the hall scrambled for them; only Ding and FengXian did not take one. Baxian said, "It is excusable that Master Ding does not know music—but are your fingers too stiff to stretch?" She threw the clappers into FengXian's lap, and at once there was a rapid, intricate melody. The father said joyfully, "The family's happiness is complete! Since all the young ones can sing and dance, why not each do their best?" Baxian rose and seized ShuiXian, saying, "FengXian has always been precious about her singing and will not be troubled; the two of us will sing 'The Luo River Goddess.'" The two had just finished singing and dancing when a maid entered with a golden tray of fruit, and no one knew what it was called. The father said, "These were brought from Zhenla—they are called 'Tianpoluo.'" He took several and placed them before Ding. FengXian said in displeasure, "Does my father-in-law show favor or dislike based on wealth?" The father smiled faintly and said nothing. Baxian said, "Father treats Master Ding as a guest because he is from another county. But in terms of seniority—does only Sister Feng have a sour husband the size of a fist?" FengXian remained displeased. She removed her finery, handed the drum clappers to the maid, and sang a scene from "The Ruined Kiln," her voice breaking with tears. When she finished, she swept her sleeves and left in a hush, and the whole company fell silent. Baxian said, "That maid is as affected as ever." She went after her but did not know where she had gone. Liu, ashamed, also took his leave and started home. On the way, he saw FengXian sitting by the roadside and called to her to sit with him. She said, "You

"A man—can he not stand up for the one who shares his bed? The house of gold lies within books; I wish you well!" As she stepped forward, she said, "I left in such haste that thorns have torn my overslipper. Is the gift I gave you still with you?" Liu produced it. She took it and replaced it with a new one. Liu asked to keep her old one. She said with a laugh, "You are quite the rascal! When has anyone ever seen a person who hoards their own bedding and pillows? If you truly hold affection for me, there is one thing I can give you." She then produced a mirror and handed it to him. "If you wish to see me, you must seek me within the pages of your books; otherwise, we shall not meet again." Having said this, she vanished. Liu returned home in melancholy. He looked into the mirror and saw Fengxian standing with her back to him, as though gazing at someone a hundred paces away. Remembering her instructions, he turned away from his guests and lowered his curtain to study. One day, he saw the figure in the mirror suddenly turn to face him, about to smile with a radiant expression, and he cherished her all the more. When no one was about, he would sit facing the mirror. After a month or so, his resolve gradually weakened, and he often forgot to return home from his wanderings. When he came back and looked at her image in the mirror, she appeared as though weeping; when he looked again the day after, she had turned her back to him as before. He then understood that this was because he had neglected his studies. So he shut his door and applied himself to reading, day and night without rest. After a month, the image in the mirror once again faced outward. From then on, he tested this: whenever he let his studies lapse, her expression grew sorrowful; after several days of diligent effort, her expression brightened into a smile. Thereupon he hung the mirror before him morning and evening, as though facing a tutor or guardian. After two years of this, he passed his examination at the first attempt. Delighted, he said, "Now I can face my Fengxian!" He took up the mirror and saw her brows painted long and curved, her melon-seed lips slightly parted, her joyful countenance as though she could be cupped in the hand, vivid before his eyes. His love for her was boundless, and he could not stop gazing. Suddenly the figure in the mirror smiled and said, "'The lover in the shadow, the darling in the painting'—this is what is meant!" Startled and overjoyed, he looked around in all directions, and Fengxian was already seated beside him. He took her hand and asked after her parents' health. She said, "Since we parted, I have not returned home. I have been hiding in a cave in the mountains, sharing your hardships with you." When Liu attended a banquet in the district, the woman asked to accompany him. They rode together, and though people faced them, they could not see her. Later, when they were about to return, she secretly plotted with Liu, pretending that he had taken a bride in the district. After she returned home, she began to receive guests and manage the household. All were astonished by her beauty but did not know she was a fox. Liu was a former student of the Magistrate of Fuchuan, so he went to pay his respects. He encountered Ding, who warmly invited him to his home and treated him with the utmost hospitality. Ding said, "My wife's parents have recently moved elsewhere. My wife has gone to visit them and will return shortly. I shall send a letter and come to offer my congratulations in person." At first Liu suspected Ding was also a fox, but when he carefully examined his family background, he learned that Ding was the son of a wealthy merchant of Fuchuan. Earlier, Ding had been returning home from his country estate at dusk when he met Shuixian walking alone. Seeing her beauty, he glanced at her askance. She asked for a ride, and overjoyed, he carried her to his study, where they slept together. Discovering that the lattice had been opened, he then knew she was a fox. She said, "Do not be suspicious, my lord. Because of your sincerity and devotion, I wished to entrust myself to you." Ding favored her and never took another wife. Liu returned and borrowed the spacious mansion of a noble family, preparing guest quarters and a bridal chamber, all swept clean and gleaming. But he had no furnishings; when he looked the next night, the rooms were brilliantly appointed. After several days, some thirty people indeed arrived, bearing banners, colored silks, wine, and gifts, with carriages and horses in profusion, filling the steps and alleyways. Liu ushered Old Mother and Ding and Hu into the guest quarters; Fengxian welcomed the old woman and her two sisters into the inner chambers. Baxian said, "The maid has risen high now and bears no grudge against the matchmaker.—Are the bracelet and slippers still there?" The woman searched and produced them, saying, "The slippers are still the same, but they have been seen through by a thousand eyes." Baxian struck her back with the slippers, saying, "I beat you for entrusting them to Master Liu." She then cast them into the fire and pronounced a blessing: "New, they bloom like flowers; old, they wither like flowers. Treasured and never worn, the Moon Goddess comes to borrow them." Shuixian also offered a blessing on her behalf: "Once they encased jade shoots; worn, they won the praise of ten thousand. If the Moon Goddess could see them, she would pity how thin they have grown." Fengxian stirred the fire and said, "Night after night they ascend the blue sky; one morning they leave their beloved. Leaving behind their slender shadows, let all the world behold them." She then took the ashes, scooped them into a tray, and heaped them into more than ten portions. Seeing Liu approach, she presented them to him as a gift, and he saw the tray full of embroidered slippers, all in their original style. Baxian hurried out and knocked the tray to the ground. Even then, one or two pairs remained on the two of them, she blew on them on all fours, and their traces only then vanished. The next day, Ding, because of the distance, returned home with his wife first. Baxian, eager to play with her sister, was repeatedly urged by Old Mother and Hu, and only at midday did she emerge and depart with the others. When they first arrived, their retinue was so grand that spectators gathered like a marketplace. Two bandits, catching a glimpse of the beautiful woman, lost their souls and plotted to ambush her on the road. Learning that she had left the village, they followed her. They were less than a bowshot behind, but their horses galloped at full speed and could not overtake her. At one place, with cliffs on both sides of the road, the carriages slowed slightly. They caught up, brandished their swords and roared, and the people all scattered. They dismounted and lifted the curtain, only to find an old woman inside. They suspected they had mistakenly seized her mother; but the moment they looked elsewhere, one was wounded in the right arm by a blade and was immediately bound. Looking closely, they saw that the cliffs were not cliffs at all but the city gate of Pingle; the woman in the carriage was the mother of Academician Li, returning from the countryside. The second bandit, arriving later, also had his horse's leg cut and was seized. The gate guards delivered him to the prefect, and after one interrogation, he confessed. At that time there was a great bandit who had not been captured; upon being questioned, it turned out to be this man. The following spring, Liu passed the metropolitan examination. Fengxian, because she had once brought disaster, declined all congratulations from her inner relatives. Liu also took no other wife. When he became an official, he took a concubine, who bore him two sons.

The Historian of the Strange said: "Alas! The ways of coldness and warmth are no different between mortals and immortals! 'If you do not strive when young, you will only grieve when old.' I regret that there are no spirited, ambitious women to make sorrowful and smiling images in a mirror. I wish that as many as the sands of the Ganges River of immortals would each send a lovely daughter to be married among mortals, then in the sea of poverty, there would be fewer suffering beings."

Tong Ke

Dong Sheng was a man from Xuzhou. He was fond of swordsmanship and often carried himself with a generous, self-assured air. Once, while traveling on the road, he happened upon a fellow traveler riding a donkey, and they journeyed on together. Dong fell into conversation with him and found his speech bold and uninhibited. When Dong asked his name, the man replied, "Liao-yang, surname Tong." Dong asked, "Where are you headed?" The man said, "I have been away from home for twenty years; I have just returned from beyond the seas." Dong said, "You have roamed the four seas and met countless people—have you ever encountered an extraordinary man?" Tong asked, "What sort of extraordinary man?" Dong then described his own passion, lamenting that he had never received instruction from a master of the extraordinary arts. Tong said, "Extraordinary men are to be found everywhere; but only a loyal minister or a filial son can receive the transmission of their arts." Dong at once declared himself worthy of such a distinction. He drew his sword, plucked its blade, and sang; then he cut down a small tree by the roadside to demonstrate its sharpness. Tong stroked his beard and smiled, and asked to examine the sword. Dong handed it over. Tong inspected it and said, "This was forged of inferior iron, corroded by sweat—it is the lowest grade. Though I myself have not studied swordsmanship, I have a blade that is quite serviceable." He then drew from beneath his robes a short dagger barely a foot long and used it to pare Dong's sword. The blade snapped like a gourd, shearing off cleanly at an angle, as if cut by a horse's hoof. Dong was astounded and asked to handle the dagger himself; he wiped it several times over before returning it. He invited Tong to his home and urged him to stay the night. When Dong pressed him on the art of swordsmanship, Tong disclaimed any knowledge. Dong spoke with grand eloquence, leaning forward on his knee, but Tong merely listened with respect.

Late that night, they suddenly heard a commotion from the courtyard next door—the courtyard where Dong's father lived. Dong was alarmed and uneasy. He pressed his ear to the wall and heard a voice shouting in anger, "Tell your son to come out and submit to punishment, and I will spare you!" Shortly after, there were sounds of beating, and the moans that followed without cease were unmistakably those of his father. Dong seized a spear and was about to rush out. Tong stopped him, saying, "If you go, I fear you will not survive; you must consider a sure plan." Dong, agitated, asked for his counsel. Tong said, "The bandits have come by name for you; they will not rest until they have their way. You have no other family—you should entrust your final affairs to your wife. I will open the door and rouse the servants to aid you." Dong agreed and went in to tell his wife. She clung to his robe and wept. Dong's heroic resolve instantly dissolved, and together they climbed to the upper floor, searching for bows and arrows to defend against the bandits' attack. Before they could finish their frantic preparations, they heard Tong laughing from the eaves of the upper floor: "The thieves have fortunately departed!" They lit a candle, but he was nowhere to be seen. After some hesitation, they ventured out and found that the old man had gone to a neighbor's house for wine and was just returning with a lantern; all that remained in the courtyard were bundles of rushes and scattered ashes. Only then did they know that Tong was an extraordinary man.

The Historian of Strange Tales says: "Loyalty and filial piety are the very blood and spirit of a person. Since ancient times, were there not ministers and sons who, in the beginning, lacked the courage to seize a spear and rush forth to die for their lord or father? It was always a single turning thought that led them astray. In former times, Xie Jin and Fang Xiaoru made a pact to die together, yet in the end Xie broke his word. How can we know that, after swearing his oath and returning home, he did not yield to the weeping of the woman at his bedside? In my district there was a certain swift-running constable who would stay away from home for days at a time, and his wife took up with a local rogue. One day he returned and found a young man emerging from her chamber. He was deeply suspicious and pressed his wife hard for the truth. She denied it. Then he found a token the young man had left behind on the bed, and his wife, cornered and speechless, could only kneel and beg for mercy. The constable, in a great rage, threw her a rope and forced her to hang herself. She asked to dress in her finest clothes before dying, and he granted it. She then went inside to make herself up, while the constable poured himself wine and waited, shouting and urging her on at every moment. Soon she emerged in splendid attire, her eyes brimming with tears, and said with a bow, 'Will you truly bring yourself to let your slave die?' He glared at her with blazing fury. She turned and walked back into the chamber; just as she was about to tie the knot, the constable hurled his cup to the ground and called out, 'Ha! Come back! A green headcloth, after all, may not be enough to crush a man to death.' And so they were husband and wife again as before. This, too, is a type of the great officials. A laugh."

Liao-yang Garrison

A man from Yi-shui served as a garrison soldier in Liao-yang during the late Ming. When the city of Liao-yang fell, he was killed by rebel troops. Though his head was severed, he was not entirely dead. At night, a man arrived carrying a ledger, checking and registering the various ghosts. When he came to this man, he declared that he should not have died and ordered his attendants to reattach his head and escort him away. They took his head and set it upon his neck, then supported him on all sides. With a rushing, rustling wind, they traveled for some time before setting him down and departing. He looked about and found that he was in his home village. The magistrate of Yi-shui, hearing of this, suspected him of having deserted. He had him arrested and interrogated, and learned the full story, but was deeply skeptical. He examined the man's neck and found not the slightest trace of a cut, and was about to execute him. The man said, "My words cannot be proven, but I ask only to be held in prison. A severed head can be faked, but the fall of a city cannot. If Liao-yang is unharmed, then it will not be too late to execute me." The magistrate agreed. Several days later, news arrived from Liao-yang, and the date matched exactly what the man had said. He was released.

Zhang the Provincial Graduate

Zhang of An-qiu, a provincial graduate, lay gravely ill, lying face-up on his pillow. Suddenly he saw a small figure emerge from his heart, barely half a foot tall. It wore the cap and robes of a scholar and behaved like a comic actor. It sang a Kun-shan aria in a clear and piercing voice, and in its spoken passages it named its own name and place of origin—both identical to Zhang's own. The events it sang of in each stanza were all things that had happened to Zhang in his lifetime. When the four acts were finished, it recited a poem and vanished. Zhang still remembered the general outline and recounted it to others. Gao Xi-yuan, upon meeting Mr. Qi-yuan, had inquired into the matter in detail and could still recite the lyrics, though he could not recall them in full. Gao Xi-yuan said: "I once read Mr. Wang Yang's 'Occasional Chats North of the Pool' and found an account of a man with a small figure emerging from his heart, identified as a certain Zhang of An-qiu. I have long been on good terms with Zhang Mao-jun of An-qiu and supposed it must be a member of his clan. One day, when we met and I asked about it, I learned that it was in fact Mao-jun's own experience. When I asked him for the full account, he said that when he had first recovered from his illness, he had remembered every word of the Kun-shan aria and had copied it all out by hand into a booklet. Later his sister-in-law considered it an inauspicious text and burned it. Still, over wine and after tea, he could recall the closing lines and would often recite them for his guests. I now record them here to broaden the record of strange tales. The words were: 'Enough of "thus spake the Master"—it is all "du du ping zhang" (It is said that a village schoolmaster teaching boys to read the Analects mispronounced many characters. The most laughable was reading "yu yu hu wen zai" as "du du ping zhang wo"). It all depends on the Buddha's hundred and twenty trades (In village schools there is a primer for beginners called "Miscellaneous Learning for Farmers." Its opening line reads: The Buddha left a hundred and twenty trades; only farming is the strongest—most vulgar indeed).' Judging from the tone, it seems to speak of a life of obscurity and decline, ending as a village schoolmaster for a farming family whose master treated him with contempt—hence this aria. Could it be that he was an old scholar in a former life, the previous incarnation of Mao-jun? Mao-jun's name was Zai-xin; he was skilled in Han-dynasty clerical script and seal carving."

Ai Nu

There was a Mr. Xu of Hejian who ran a school in En County. At the beginning of the twelfth lunar month, he was returning home when he met an old man on the road, who looked him over and said, "Master Xu has closed his school. Where will you teach next year?"

Xu replied, "The same place as before."

The old man said, "My surname is Shi. I have a nephew by marriage who needs a proper teacher. I was just sent to Dongtuan to invite Lv Zilian, but he has already accepted a position at Jimen. If you would deign to take the post, your salary would be double what you receive in En."

Xu declined, citing his prior engagement.

The old man said, "You are a man of your word, and I respect that. However, the new year is still far off. Let me offer you one tael of gold as a token of good faith—stay and teach for the time being, and we can discuss the matter further next year. What do you say?"

Xu agreed. The old man dismounted and presented a letter of introduction, saying, "My village is not far. My house is quite cramped and it is difficult to keep animals, so please send your servants and horses ahead. A pleasant walk would be better."

Xu followed his suggestion and entrusted his luggage to the old man's horse. After walking three or four miles, as the sun was setting, they arrived at the old man's residence. It had bronze studs and animal-head door rings—it was clearly the home of an old and distinguished family.

The old man called his nephew out to pay his respects. He was a boy of thirteen or fourteen. The old man said, "His father-in-law, Jiang Nanchuan, was once a regional military commander. He left only this one child. He is not dull, but rather spoiled. With a month of good guidance from you, sir, he will benefit more than from ten years of ordinary instruction."

Before long, a feast was laid out, sumptuous in every respect. But all the serving of wine and food was done by maidservants. One maid stood holding a wine pot—she was about fifteen or sixteen, with a grace and charm that took his breath away, and he was secretly moved by her.

When the feast ended, the old man arranged for him to be given a bed and then took his leave. Before dawn, the boy came out to begin his studies. Xu had just risen when the maid came in with a towel and basin for him to wash—it was the same one who had held the pot.

Three meals a day were all served by this maid. At night, she also came to tidy his bed. Xu asked, "Why are there no menservants?" The maid smiled and said nothing, spread the bedding, and left. She came again the second night. He spoke to her in playful terms, and the maid smiled and did not rebuff him, and they became intimate. She then told him, "There are no men in this household. Outside affairs are entrusted to Uncle Shi. My name is Ai Nu. The lady greatly respects you, sir, and fearing that the other maids might not be clean, she sent me. For now, you must keep this secret—if it is discovered, we will both be ashamed."

One night, they slept together and forgot the dawn, and the young master caught them. Xu was mortified and deeply ashamed. That evening, the maid came and said, "It is fortunate that the lady holds you in high regard—otherwise, all would have been ruined! The young master went in and told her, but the lady quickly covered his mouth, as if afraid that you might hear. She only warned me not to stay long in the schoolroom." With that, she left.

Xu was deeply grateful to the lady. But the young master was not a good student, and whenever Xu scolded him, the lady would intercede on his behalf. At first she sent the maid to relay her words; gradually she came out in person and spoke to Xu through the door, often in tears. But every evening she would inevitably ask about the young master's progress that day.

Xu grew quite impatient and said with a stern expression, "You indulge the boy's laziness and then demand diligence from him—this is not the kind of teacher I am accustomed to being! I beg leave to resign."

The maid was sent to apologize, and Xu relented. Since coming to the school, he had wanted to go out now and then for a walk and some fresh air, but the gate was always locked. One day, vexed and restless from drink, he called the maid and asked why.

She said, "There is no particular reason—only that they fear your studies might be neglected. If you must go out, then please do so at night."

Xu said angrily, "I have been paid good money—am I to be locked up and left to die here? Where am I supposed to go sneaking about at night? I have long been ashamed to be fed on plain fare alone, and the salary is still in my bag." He took out the gold and placed it on the table, packed his things, and prepared to leave.

The lady came out, gazing at him in silence, covering her face and weeping into her sleeve. She had the maid return the gold, unlocked the gate, and escorted him out. Xu noticed that the doorways were narrow and cramped. He walked a few steps, and sunlight streamed in—he realized he had emerged from a tomb. All around was desolate: it was an ancient grave. He was terrified.

However, moved by their sense of obligation, he sold the gold they had given him, piled up earth over the mound, planted trees, and departed.

A year later, he passed that way again and paid his respects at the grave before continuing on. In the distance he saw the old man Shi, who greeted him warmly and invited him in with great earnestness. Xu knew they were ghosts, but he wished to inquire after the lady's well-being, so he went with him into the village. They bought wine together and drank, and before they knew it the sun had set.

The old man rose to pay the wine bill and said, "My humble home is not far. My sister has also happened to come home to visit. I hope you will do me the honor of visiting, to help dispel the ill fortune of this household."

They left the village a short distance and came to another hamlet. He knocked on the door, and they entered. Candles were lit to welcome the guest. Soon, Lady Jiang emerged from within. Xu looked at her closely—she was a beautiful woman of about forty. She bowed and thanked him, saying, "Our declining family, with its scattered fortunes, has been blessed by your kindness to the dead. Truly, there is no way we can repay you." As she spoke, tears fell.

She then called Ai Nu and said to Xu, "This maid is one I love and cherish. I give her to you now, to comfort you in your lonely travels. Whatever you need, she will understand your wishes well enough."

Xu bowed his assent. Before long, the brother and sister both departed, and the maid remained to attend him. When the cock first crowed, the old man came to urge him on his way and see him off. The lady also came out and told the maid to serve the gentleman well. She also said to Xu, "From now on, you must be especially discreet. Our encounter has been strange and uncanny, and I fear that gossips might spread rumors."

Xu promised and took his leave, riding with the maid. When they reached the school, she stayed in a single room with him, sharing his bed. When visitors came, the maid did not hide, but the visitors could not see her either. Whenever he desired something, the mere thought of it was enough, and the maid had already brought it. She was also skilled in healing arts—one touch and an illness was cured at once.

At the Qingming festival, he returned to the grave, and the maid took her leave and descended. Xu asked her to convey his respects to the lady. She said, "I will," and vanished.

She returned several days later. He was just about to visit the grave when he saw the maid sitting beneath a tree in splendid dress, and they set out together. Throughout the year, he went back and forth like this, and it became his custom. He wished to take her home with him with him, but she firmly refused.

At the end of the year, he closed the school to return home, and they made plans to meet again. The maid escorted him to the place where they had first sat and pointed to a mound of stones, saying, "This is my grave. Before the lady was married, I served her. I died young and was buried here. If you pass this way again, offer a stick of incense in remembrance, and we shall meet once more."

After they parted, he longed for her deeply. He went to the grave and prayed fervently, but there was no sign. So he bought a coffin and opened the tomb, intending to carry her bones back for burial, to express his devotion. When the grave opened and he entered, he found her face as fresh as in life. Her skin had not decayed, but her clothes were crumbled to dust. The jade ornaments on her head and the gold bracelets on her wrists were all as if newly made. He also looked at her waist and found several bars of gold wrapped there, which he gathered and put away.

He then removed his robe and covered her body, lifted her into the coffin, hired a cart to carry her back, and placed her in a separate residence. He dressed her in embroidered garments and slept beside her alone, hoping for some sign of her spirit.

Suddenly, Ai Nu entered from outside, laughing, "So the grave robber is here!"

Xu was overjoyed and asked after her.

The maid said, "I had gone with the lady to Dongchang. When I returned after three days, the house was—"

It was now empty. "I have repeatedly received your invitations, but the reason I refused to come was that I had received too many great kindnesses from the Lady, and I could not bear to leave her. Now that you have abducted me here, bury me quickly, and your great virtue will be evident." Xu asked, "In ancient times there were people who came back to life after a hundred years. Now your body is still as it was before—why not emulate them?" She sighed and said, "This is a matter of predestined fate. The spiritual legends handed down through the ages are mostly illusions and falsehoods. If I wished to rise and walk again, what difficulty would there be in that? But I cannot be like a living person, so there is there is no need." She then opened the coffin and entered, and the corpse rose up on its own, standing tall and lovely. He felt her bosom, and it was cold as ice and snow. She was about to climb back into the coffin and lie down again, but Xu forcibly stopped her. The maid said, "I received too much favor from the Lady's indulgence. My master came from a foreign land and acquired tens of thousands of pieces of gold, which I stole, and he did not pursue the matter too closely. Later, when I was dying and had no relatives, I buried the gold to accompany me in death. The Lady grieved that I had died young and adorned my burial with precious ornaments. The reason my body did not decay was nothing more than having absorbed the residual aura of the gold and jewels. If I were in the human world, how could I endure for long? If you insist on this, do not force food and drink upon me; if the spiritual breath disperses, then the wandering soul will also vanish." Xu then built a fine dwelling and lived with her there. Her laughter and speech were just like those of an ordinary person; but she did not eat or breathe, and she would not see living people. After more than a year, Xu, slightly drunk, took the last drops of wine and tried to force them into her mouth; she immediately fell to the ground, and blood and water flowed from her mouth, and by the end of the day her corpse had already changed. There was no remedy for his grief and regret, and he buried her with great ceremony.

The Historian of the Strange said: "The Lady taught her son no differently from the human world; yet how generously she treated her teacher! Was she not virtuous? I say that a beautiful corpse is inferior to a refined ghost, but because of the vulgar recklessness of a poor scholar, a spiritual being was unable to live out its allotted years—how pitiable!"

A certain Zhu of Zhangqiu, by nature upright and uncompromising, was engaged as a tutor in the household of a certain Tribute Scholar. Whenever he punished a student, the scholar's wife would send a maid to beg for leniency, but he would not listen. One day, she went in person to the window and spoke with Zhu about it. Zhu, enraged, seized a teaching rod and cursed her as she came out. The woman fled in fear; Zhu chased her, and from behind tied her by her buttocks and thighs, producing a resounding crack of leather on flesh. How utterly ridiculous!

A certain gentleman of Changshan, whenever he hired a tutor, would calculate the annual stipend, tallying the surplus and deficit of the entire year, and reckoning how much was due for each day; he also kept a detailed record of the days the tutor left the study and returned to it; at year's end, they would together calculate the days and make additions and subtractions accordingly. A certain Ma was tutoring in his household. When Ma first saw him come carrying an abacus, he was greatly astonished; but soon he secretly devised a trick, turned his anger into joy, and let him recalculate without disputing a single figure. The old man was overjoyed and firmly engaged Ma for the following year. Ma declined on some pretext and recommended a foolish and perverse man to take his place. After the man arrived, he was constantly berated and scolded; the old man could do nothing but endure it all in silence. At year's end, the old man brought the abacus. The scholar was boiling with fury but let him calculate. The old man also assigned the days spent traveling entirely to the west; the scholar refused to accept this and moved the beads back to the east. The two could not reach an agreement, drew weapons against each other, and went to court with broken heads and bloodied foreheads.

Magistrate of Shanfu

A man of Qingzhou, over fifty years of age, took a young wife. Fearing she might bear more children, his two sons, while their father was drunk, secretly cut off his testicles and applied medicine to the wound. When the father awoke, he feigned illness and said nothing. After some time, the wound gradually healed. Suddenly, going into his chamber, the incision burst open, and blood flowed without stopping; he died soon after. His wife, learning the truth, brought a lawsuit before the magistrate. The magistrate put the sons in chains, and they confessed. The magistrate exclaimed with horror: "Now I am the 'Magistrate of Shanfu'!" and had them both put to death.

In the county there was a certain Wang, who married and then, after barely a month, expelled his wife. The wife's father brought a lawsuit. At that time the magistrate of Zi was Lord Xin, who asked Wang why he had expelled his wife. Wang replied: "It cannot be explained." Pressed further, he said: "Because she cannot bear children." The magistrate said: "Nonsense! A bride of barely a month—how can you know she cannot bear children?" After much embarrassment, he confessed: "Her yin is extremely crooked." The magistrate laughed and said: "So it is this crookedness that is the harm, and the reason the household is not in order!" This can be paired with the "Magistrate of Shanfu" to provoke a shared laugh.

Sun Bizhen

Sun Bizhen was crossing the river when a great wind and thunder arose, and the boats rocked violently; those in his company were terrified. Suddenly they saw a golden-armored god standing in the clouds, holding a golden placard which he displayed below; all looked up at it, and on it were written the three characters "Sun Bizhen," very clear. Everyone said to Sun: "It must be that you have incurred Heaven's wrath. Please take a separate boat and do not drag us down with you." Before Sun could speak, the others, without waiting for his consent, saw a small boat nearby and pushed him onto it. As soon as Sun boarded the boat and looked back, the boat he had been in capsized.

〈Giles' English translation: A Chinese Jonah〉

A Man of the County

In the county there was a certain villager, a thorough rogue by habit. One day, he got up early and was seized by two men and taken away. Arriving at the market, he saw a butcher hanging half a pig on a rack; the two men then pushed and squeezed him with all his might, and suddenly he felt his body merge with the meat, and the two men left straight away. After a while, the butcher began selling the meat and wielded his knife to cut it up, and he felt each cut as a pain penetrating to his marrow. Later, an old neighbor came to buy meat, and they haggled bitterly over the price; fat was added and meat attached, and it was sliced piece by piece—his suffering was even more agonizing. When the meat was gone, he found his way home; by the time he returned, the sun was already high. His family thought he had slept in late, and he described in detail what had happened. They called the neighbor to ask him, and it turned out he had just returned from buying meat; he described the number of pieces and the weight, and it was accurate in every detail. In the space of a single morning, he had endured one round of lingchi—was that not strange?

Gold Ingots

In Guangdong, by the Linjiang cliffs, the rocks are sheer and rugged, and gold ingots are often embedded in the stones. Below the cliffs the waves surge, and boats cannot moor. If someone rows close to pluck them, they are immovable; but if a person is destined to obtain one, then with a single pluck it falls off, and when he turns to look, another has grown in its place.

Inkstones

Wang Zhongchao said: "On Junting's Junshan there is a stone cave, high enough to hold a boat, deep and dark beyond measuring, with lake water flowing in and out of it. I once took a candle and rowed a boat inside, and saw that both walls were black stone, dark as lacquer, which felt soft to the touch; I took a knife and cut it, as if slicing firm bean curd. I shaped it at will into an inkstone. Once outside, it hardened in the wind, becoming harder than other stones. I tested it with ink, and it was excellent. Boats and oars come and go in great numbers, and among them there are fine stones that no one thinks to take and use—it is left to the connoisseurs of curiosity to appraise them."

Wuyi

In Wuyi Mountain there is a sheer cliff a thousand fathoms high. People often pick up pieces of agarwood and jade at its base. The prefect heard of this and ordered several hundred men to construct a cloud-ladder, intending to reach the summit and investigate the marvel. It took three years to complete. The prefect ascended it and was nearing the peak when he saw a gigantic foot extend downward, a single thumb thicker than a laundry pestle. A loud voice cried, "Do not come up, or you will fall!" Terrified, he descended in haste. He had scarcely reached the ground when the wooden frame crumbled and collapsed, and not a single piece remained.

**The Great Rat**

During the Wanli era, there was a rat in the palace as large as a cat, and its depredations were severe. They sought the finest cats from among the common people to catch and subdue it, but the cats were devoured each time. It happened that a foreign country presented a tribute lion-cat, its fur white as snow. They carried it to the rat's chamber, shut the door, and watched from hiding. The cat crouched for a long time. The rat cautiously emerged from its burrow, saw the cat, and charged furiously. The cat fled up onto a table; the rat climbed up after it, and the cat leaped down again. This back and forth continued no less than a hundred times. Everyone said the cat was a coward, thinking it was incapable. But then the rat's leaps grew sluggish, its great belly seeming to pant, and it crouched on the ground to rest briefly. The cat immediately darted down, seized the fur on its head with its claws, and bit into its neck with its mouth. They struggled and tumbled about, the cat growling "wuh-wuh," the rat squeaking "jiu-jiu." They opened the door to look quickly—the rat's head had been chewed to pieces. Only then did they understand that the cat's retreat was not cowardice but a strategy to wait for the rat to tire. When the rat advanced, the cat withdrew; when the rat withdrew, the cat advanced again—this was the cat's cunning. Alas! A common fellow brandishing a sword—how is he different from the rat!

**Zhang Buliang**

A merchant traveling to Zhili was overtaken by a sudden hailstorm and took shelter among the grain stalks. He heard a voice in the sky say: "This is Zhang Buliang's field—do not harm his crops." The merchant thought to himself: if Zhang's name means "not good," why is heaven protecting him instead? When the hail stopped, he entered the village to inquire about the man and ask the meaning of his name. It turned out that Zhang was a man of ample means with great stores of grain. Every spring when the poor came to borrow, he never haggled over the amount of repayment but accepted whatever they gave, never insisting on measuring out the full measure. Thus he was called "Buliang"—"not measuring"—not "not good." The crowd rushed to the fields and saw that the grain stalks were flattened and broken like hemp everywhere, except in Zhang's fields, which were unharmed.

**Two Herdboy Servants**

Two herdboys entered the mountains and came to a wolf's den containing two wolf cubs. They planned to catch them, each climbing a tree some tens of paces apart. Before long, a large wolf arrived, entered the den, and found its cubs missing, appearing greatly agitated. The boys in the trees twisted the cubs' legs and ears so that they howled; the wolf looked up at the sound, and in a fury charged to the tree, howling and clawing. The other boy in the other tree made the cub cry out urgently; the wolf stopped its cries and looked around in all directions, finally spotting it, and abandoned the first tree to rush toward the second, running and howling as before. Then the first tree howled again, and the wolf turned and ran back. Its mouth never ceased its cries, its feet never ceased their running. After scores of such trips back and forth, its running grew slower and its voice weaker; at last it lay gasping and stiff upon the ground, and after a while it did not move. The boys climbed down to look—it was already dead. Now there are sons of the powerful who glare with rage and grasp their swords as if about to seize and devour someone; but the one who has angered them merely closes the door and withdraws. When the powerful man's strength is spent and his voice hoarse, with no adversary to face, is he not triumphantly self-important? He does not know that this display of brute force is merely what men toy with for sport.

**The Rich Man**

A certain rich man was often asked for loans by merchants. One day as he went out, a young man followed his horse and inquired—he too wished to borrow capital. The old man agreed. When they reached his house, there happened to be several dozen coins on a table. The young man began stacking the coins with his hands, piling them up in high and low towers. The old man thanked him and sent him away, giving him no money at all. Someone asked why. The old man said: "This man must be an avid gambler—he is no upright person. The skill he is so practiced at cannot help but show itself in his hands and feet." An inquiry confirmed this.

**Grand Marshal Wang**

When Wang Jiyu, Grand Marshal of Xincheng, was garrisoning the northern frontier, he once ordered a smithy to cast a great broad blade, a foot wide and weighing three thousand catties. Whenever he inspected the border, he had four men carry it. Wherever the procession halted, it was set upon the ground, and he deliberately let the northerners seize it—they strained and shook it but could not move it even slightly. Wang secretly had a blade made of paulownia wood to the identical pattern, with the same width and dimensions, and covered it with silver foil, which he would brandish from horseback from time to time. The various tribes who saw it were all struck with terror. He also buried thin reeds beyond the boundary as a border marker, stretching crisscross for over ten li, looking like a fence, and declared: "This is my Great Wall." When the northern soldiers arrived, they pulled them all up and set them on fire. Wang replaced them. After they had burned them three times, he concealed gunpowder and stones with a spring mechanism beneath them. When the northern soldiers set the reeds alight, the powder and stones all discharged, killing and wounding great numbers. After they fled, Wang set out the reeds as before. The northern soldiers saw them from afar and all retreated, and so they were subdued as if by a god. Later Wang requested retirement, and the frontier was again threatened. He was summoned to serve again. Wang was then eighty-three years old. He forced himself, despite his illness, to take leave of the throne. The emperor consoled him: "I only need you to govern from your bed." So Wang returned to the frontier. Wherever he stopped, he lay within a screen. When the northerners heard Wang had arrived, they did not believe it, and so they feigned peace negotiations to verify whether he was real or not. They drew back the curtain and saw Wang lying flat on his back. All prostrated themselves before the couch, withdrew their tongues in astonishment, and departed.

**The Mountain God**

A vice prefect of Yangzhou dreamed one night that the God of the Mountain summoned him, his words and expression wrathful. He looked up and saw a man standing beside the god, who spoke a few words to soften the god's anger. He woke with a feeling of dread. Early the next morning he went to the mountain temple and silently offered prayers and propitiation. As he came out, he saw a man at an apothecary's shop who looked exactly like the man he had seen. He inquired and learned that he was a physician. He returned home and fell gravely ill, and specially sent for the man. When he arrived, he prescribed a medicine and prepared a dose. He took it in the evening and died at midnight. Some say: the King of Hell and the Eastern Mountain Emperor daily dispatch male and female attendants, one hundred and eight thousand in number, to distribute throughout the world as shamans and physicians, called "Soul-Seizing Messengers." Those who take medicine must be cautious indeed!

**Xiao Mei**

Wang Muyi of Mengyang was the son of an old and distinguished family. Once, while traveling in Jiangsu and Zhejiang, he saw an old woman weeping by the roadside and asked her why. She said, "My late husband left me but one son, and now he has been sentenced to death. Who can save him?" Wang was by nature generous and public-spirited. He noted down the names, took money from his purse to intervene on the man's behalf, and succeeded in having the sentence remitted.

When the man came out of prison and heard that Wang had saved him, he was bewildered and could not understand the reason. He went to Wang's inn to express his gratitude and ask the cause. Wang said, "There is nothing else—I simply pitied your old mother." The man was greatly alarmed and said, "My mother has been dead for a long time." Wang was astonished. At dusk, the old woman came to thank him again, and Wang reproached her for the falsehood. The old woman said, "Let me tell you the truth: I am an old fox of Dongshan. Twenty years ago I had a brief liaison with your son's father, and I could not bear to let his ghost go hungry." Wang was struck with awe and respect, and was about to question her further, but she had already vanished.

Now Wang's wife was a virtuous woman who was devoted to Buddhism. She ate no meat and drank no wine. She kept a clean room in which she hung an image of Guanyin, and because she had no children, she burned incense and prayed there every day. The goddess was most efficacious and would appear in dreams to teach people what to seek and what to avoid, so that all the family affairs were decided by her. Later the wife fell gravely ill and was moved into that room. A separate brocade mattress was set up in the inner chamber, and the door was locked, as though she were waiting for someone. Wang thought this strange, but since his wife was gravely ill and delirious, he could not bear to distress her. She lay sick for two years, detested noise, and often slept alone with everyone dismissed. If he listened secretly, it seemed as though she were talking with someone; but when he opened the door and looked, all was silent. She had no other worry in her illness except that she had a daughter of fourteen whom she urged every day to prepare for marriage. After the wedding, she called Wang to her bedside, took his hand, and said, "Now we must part! When I first fell ill, the Bodhisattva told me that I was fated to die quickly, but since my only concern was that my young daughter was not yet married, she gave me a little medicine to prolong my breath and wait. Last year the Bodhisattva was about to return to the Southern Sea and left her attendant Xiaomei before the desk to serve me as a concubine. Now I am about to die, and as an ill-fated woman I have no child of my own. Bao'er, the child I love and cherish, I fear that if he marries a fierce and angry wife, both mother and child will be left destitute. Xiaomei is beautiful in appearance and gentle and virtuous—she may well be taken as my successor." For Wang had a concubine who had borne him a son called Bao'er. Wang thought her words absurd and said, "You have always revered the goddess—how can you say such a thing now? Is this not sacrilege?" She replied, "Xiaomei has served me for over a year; we have forgotten all formality between us, and I have already asked her in a proper manner." He asked, "Where is Xiaomei?" She said, "Is she not in the room?" He was about to question her further, but she closed her eyes and died.

Wang kept vigil by the coffin at night and heard faint sobbing from the room. Greatly alarmed, he suspected it was a ghost. He called the maids and concubines to unlock the door and look, and there was a beautiful girl of sixteen or so in mourning dress in the room. Everyone thought she was a goddess and prostrated themselves together. The girl wiped away her tears and raised them up. Wang gazed fixedly at her, and she merely lowered her head. Wang said, "If what my late wife said was not false, then please come to the main hall and receive the obeisance of the children; if that is not possible, I would not dare to entertain such a thought and incur guilt." The girl came out with a shy expression and went to the north hall. Wang had a maid set up a seat facing south. Wang bowed first, and the girl returned his bow. Then the young and old, the high and low, all knelt in turn, and the girl sat with dignified composure to receive them. Only when the concubine came did she take her hand and raise her up.

Ever since the wife had taken to her bed, the maids had grown lazy and the servants had grown thieving, and the household had long been in decline. After the audience was over, they all stood in respectful attendance. The girl said, "I am moved by the great kindness of the Lady and have lingered in this world, and she has entrusted me to a great charge. You must all reform your hearts and serve your master with all your strength. Your past faults will all be forgiven; otherwise, do not say there is no one in this house!" They all looked at the one seated there, who was exactly like the image of Guanyin hanging above, which was stirred by a light breeze from time to time. Hearing her words, they were filled with awe and answered with one voice. The girl then arranged the funeral affairs, everything in perfect order, and from that time on, great and small dared not be slack.

The girl managed the affairs of the household both inside and outside all day long. When Wang wished to do anything, he would report to her and then act. Yet even though he saw her several times in a single night, she never exchanged a single private word with him. After the funeral, Wang wished to carry out the former promise but did not dare to tell her directly. He instructed a concubine to hint at it subtly. The girl said, "I received the Lady's earnest charge and in duty I cannot refuse, but the great rite of marriage must not be performed carelessly. Mr. Huang, your father's friend, is a man of high position and great virtue. If you ask him to preside over the alliance between our two families, then I will obey your command." At that time, Huang Taibu of Yishui had retired from office and was living in leisure. He had been Wang's father's friend and was on the most intimate terms with him. Wang went in person and told him the truth. Huang was astonished and came with him at once. The girl, hearing of it, came out and made obeisance. Huang was struck with amazement at her beauty, thinking her more than human, and humbly declined the honor of her bow. He then contributed generously to her dowry and left after the ceremony was completed. The girl sent him gifts of pillows and shoes as though serving her parents-in-law, and from then on their relations grew even closer.

After the wedding, Wang always treated her with a certain reverence on account of the goddess, and from time to time inquired about the Bodhisattva's daily life. The girl laughed and said, "You are too foolish! How could a righteous goddess marry into the mortal world?" Wang pressed her hard on where she had come from. The girl said, "There is no need to probe further. Since you take her as a goddess, if you worship and make offerings to her morning and evening, you will naturally come to no harm."

The girl was usually lenient in governing the household and did not speak unless she smiled. But when the maids played and joked familiarly, if they saw her from a distance, they would fall silent. The girl said with a smile, "Do you still take me as a goddess? What goddess am I? I am actually the Lady's younger sister. We were close friends when we were young. When my sister fell ill and longed for me, she secretly sent Old Woman Wang of Nancun to summon me. But because I was so close to my brother-in-law every day, and there was the impropriety between man and woman, I pretended to be a goddess and shut myself in the inner chamber. In truth, what goddess am I?" The others still did not believe her, but as they served her day by day at her side, they saw that her behavior was no different from that of an ordinary person, and the rumors gradually died down. Yet even the most stubborn servants and dullest maids—those whom Wang had never been able to reform by beating—would gladly obey her at a single word. They all said, "We do not know why ourselves. It is not that we fear her, but when we see our lady's face, our hearts are softened, and we cannot bear to go against her wishes." In this way, everything that had been neglected was set in order. Within a few years, the fields stretched for thousands of acres, and the granaries held ten thousand bushels of grain.

A few years later, the concubine bore a daughter. The daughter bore a son, and when the son was born, there was a red mark on his left arm, so he was named Xiaohong ("Little Red"). On the day of the full-month celebration, the girl had Wang prepare a grand banquet and invite Huang. Huang sent lavish congratulatory gifts but declined on account of his great age, saying he could not travel far. The girl sent two old women to insist on his coming, and Huang finally arrived. She brought out the child and bared his left arm to show the reason for his name. She also asked him repeatedly about his fortune, good or ill. Huang smiled and said, "This is 'Joyful Red'—you may add one character and call him Xihong ('Joyful Red')." The girl was overjoyed and came out again to make obeisance. On that day, the sound of music filled

# From *Liaozhai Zhiyi*, Volume 9

---

The courtyard was thronged with nobles and relatives as numerous as a marketplace. Huang stayed three days before departing. Suddenly, a carriage and horses appeared outside the gate — his daughter was returning to visit her parents. They had had no contact for over ten years and found this most puzzling, but the girl paid them no heed. Having finished her toilette, she took the child into her arms and insisted that Wang escort her. Wang agreed. After traveling some twenty or thirty *li*, with no travelers in sight, the girl stopped the carriage and called Wang to dismount. She sent everyone away and spoke to him alone, saying: "Wang Lang, Wang Lang — brief meetings and long partings — do you not find this sad?" Wang, startled, asked why. The girl said: "What do you think I am?" Wang replied: "I do not know." The girl said: "You once saved a man condemned to death in Jiangnan — did this happen?" Wang said: "Yes." She said: "The woman who wept by the roadside was my mother. Moved by your righteousness and wishing to repay the debt, she took advantage of your wife's devotion to Buddhism and attached herself as a spirit-medium, intending to use me to repay you. Now, fortunately, I have borne this swaddled infant, and my wish is fulfilled. I see that dark fortune is coming upon you. This child, if kept at home, may not survive, so I have borrowed the occasion of a parental visit to deliver the child from calamity. Remember: when there is a death in the household, go at the first crow of the rooster to the western river's willow embankment. You will see someone carrying a sunflower lantern — intercept them and beg piteously, and the disaster may be averted." Wang said: "I promise." He then asked when she would return. The girl said: "It cannot be foretold. But remember my words well — our next meeting will not be long in coming." At parting, they held each other's hands and wept together. Presently she mounted the carriage and sped away like the wind. Wang watched until she disappeared, then turned back.

Six or seven years passed with no word at all. Suddenly a plague spread through the four quarters, and many died. A maidservant fell ill and died after three days. Wang recalled the earlier admonition and was greatly concerned. That day he was drinking with a guest and fell into a deep sleep from drunkenness. When he woke, he heard the crowing of the rooster and hastened to the embankment. He saw a lantern's glow flickering — but it had already passed. He hurried in pursuit, but it was always about a hundred paces ahead; the faster he chased, the farther it receded, until gradually it vanished from sight. He returned in vexation and remorse. A few days later he fell gravely ill and soon died.

Wang's clansmen were mostly ruffians who together oppressed his widow and orphan. They openly cut his timber and harvested his crops, and the household declined daily. After a year, Bao'er also died, and the family had no one left to manage it. The clansmen grew still more brazen, partitioning the fields and livestock; the horses and cattle in the stables were all seized. They then wished to divide up the residential compound as well. Because a concubine lived there, they brought several men and forcibly seized and sold her. The concubine clung to her young daughter, and mother and child wept in a circle, their misery moving the neighbors.

In the midst of this crisis, suddenly they heard a sedan-chair entering the gate. They looked — and it was the girl leading a young boy out of the carriage. She saw the people milling about like a crowd at market and asked: "Who are these people?" The concubine wept and told her the whole story. The girl's face changed with grief and fury. She summoned the servants who had come with her, and they closed and locked the gate. The clansmen wished to resist, but their hands hung limp as if paralyzed. The girl had them one and all bound and tied to the pillars of the corridor, and gave each only three small bowls of thin gruel each day. She then sent an old servant to hurry to Master Huang with the news, and afterward went inside to weep bitterly. When her weeping subsided, she said to the concubine: "This is Heaven's decree. I had planned to come a month earlier, but my mother fell ill and detained me, and so it has come to this. Who would have thought that in the blink of an eye, everything would have become a ruin!" She asked about the old servants and maids, and found they had all been carried off by the clansmen, which made her sigh with grief all more.

The next day, the servants and maids, hearing of the girl's arrival, all fled back of their own accord. When they met, there was none who did not weep. The imprisoned clansmen together clamored that the child was not the true heir of Miao Zhen, but the girl made no defense. Soon Master Huang arrived, and the girl brought the boy out to greet him. Huang took the boy's arm and rolled up his left sleeve — there was the vermilion mark, clear and unmistakable. He showed it to the assembled crowd to prove the boy's identity. Then he carefully inventoried the lost property, registering each item, and went personally to the county magistrate. The magistrate arrested the ruffian clansmen, gave each forty strokes of the bamboo, and put them in shackles while strictly demanding restitution. In a few days, the fields, horses, and cattle were all returned to their rightful owner.

When Huang was about to leave, the girl led the boy forward, weeping, and bowed, saying: "I am not a being of this world — my uncle knows this. Now I entrust this child to my uncle." Huang said: "While this old man yet draws breath, I shall leave nothing unmanaged." After Huang departed, the girl put everything in order, entrusted the child to the concubine, and then prepared a meal to sacrifice to her husband's grave. She did not return for half a day. When they went to look, the cups and food were still laid out — but she had vanished without a trace.

The Historian of Strange Tales says: "He who does not cut off another's line of descent — neither shall his own line be cut off. This is the work of a man, yet truly the work of Heaven. When one has good friends in his carriage, robes and furs may be shared; but once the wild weeds have overgrown, and wife and children are oppressed, then the one in the carriage looks on and departs. A dead friend whom one cannot forget, a debt of gratitude that one wishes to repay — who alone can do this? An O spirit! If you possessed great wealth, I would serve as your steward."

---

**The Medicine Monk**

A certain man of Jining once happened to see a wandering monk outside a country temple, facing the sun and searching for lice. A staff with a gourd hung from his shoulder — he appeared to be a seller of medicines. The man joked, saying: "Does the monk also sell elixirs of the bedchamber?" The monk said: "I have them. The weak can be made strong, the small can made large — the effect is immediate; one need not wait overnight." The man was delighted and begged for some. The monk opened the corner of his robe and produced a pill, the size of a grain of millet, and told him to swallow it. After about the time it takes to cook a meal, his lower member grew enormously; after another interval he examined himself and found it was one-third larger than before. Still unsatisfied, he waited until the monk got up to relieve himself, then secretly opened the monk's robe and took two or three pills, swallowing them all at once. Presently he felt as though his skin were splitting and his sinews being pulled; his neck retracted, his waist contracted, but his member continued to grow without stopping. Greatly frightened, he could do nothing. The monk returned, saw his condition, and cried out: "You must have stolen my medicine!" He hastily gave him one more pill, and only then did it stop growing. The man undressed to examine himself — his member now stood almost as a third leg alongside the two. He walked home with a contracted neck and a stumbling gait. His parents could not recognize him. From then on he was an invalid, lying in the street every day, seen by many.

---

**The Vice Censor-in-Chief**

Vice Censor-in-Chief Yu Chenglong was inspecting his circuit when he arrived at Gaoyou. It happened that a great local family was about to marry off her daughter with an exceptionally rich trousseau, which during the night was entirely carried away by a thief who had broken through the wall. The prefect was at his wit's end. Yu ordered all the city gates closed except one, through which people were allowed to pass in and out, with a clerk guarding it and strictly searching all baggage. He also issued a proclamation commanding all households in the city to return to their residences and await inspection and excavation the next day, insisting that the stolen goods must be found. He then secretly instructed the clerk: if anyone passed through the city gate more than once, arrest him. After noon, two men were apprehended. Apart from their own persons, they carried no luggage. Yu said: "These are the true thieves." The two men argued vehemently in their own defense. Yu ordered them to be stripped and searched. Inside their robes they were found to have put on two women's garments — both items from the trousseau. For they feared the great search the next day and were anxious to move the goods elsewhere, but the quantity was too great to carry easily, so they had concealed them on their persons and passed through the gate repeatedly.

**Another case:** When Lord Yu was serving as a magistrate, he once traveled to a neighboring county. Early one morning, while passing outside the city walls, he saw two men carrying a sick person on a bed, covered by a large quilt. Hair was visible on the pillow, and in the hair was inserted a single phoenix hairpin; the person lay on her side atop the bed. Three or four sturdy men walked alongside, taking turns pressing the quilt down with their hands so that it hugged the body beneath, as if afraid the wind might enter. After a short while, they set the burden down by the roadside to rest their shoulders, then had two other men take turns carrying it.

As Lord Yu passed by, he sent a clerk back to inquire. They said it was a younger sister gravely ill, being sent back to her husband's home. Lord Yu had gone two or three miles further when he again sent the clerk back to see what village they had entered. The clerk followed them stealthily and arrived at a farmhouse, where two men came out to greet them and ushered them inside. The clerk returned and reported this to Lord Yu.

Lord Yu said to the county magistrate: "Is there not a bandit problem in your city?" The magistrate said, "No." At that time, the law was strict, and officials at all levels concealed the existence of bandits, so even when people were robbed and murdered, they endured it in silence and dared not speak of it.

Lord Yu went to his lodgings and instructed his servants to investigate carefully. They discovered that indeed a wealthy household had been broken in upon by fierce bandits, who had tortured the owner to death with heated metal. Lord Yu summoned the man's son and questioned him, but the son firmly denied it. Lord Yu said, "I have already apprehended the chief bandits here; I have no other business." The son then kowtowed and wept piteously, begging to have his father's murder avenged.

Lord Yu went to the county magistrate's residence and knocked on the gate for an audience. He dispatched sturdy constables, who left the city at the fourth watch of the night, went straight to the farmhouse, and captured eight men. Under interrogation, they confessed at once. When asked who the sick woman was, the bandits testified: "That night we were all together at the entertainment quarter, so we plotted with a courtesan. We placed gold on the bed and had her lie cradling it, to be carried to our hideout before we divided it."

All acknowledged Lord Yu's divine insight. Someone asked how he had been able to discern the truth. Lord Yu said, "This is very simple to explain—only people do not pay attention. How could there be a young woman on a bed and yet allow hands to reach beneath the quilt? Moreover, when they took turns carrying it, the weight was very great, and they kept passing it hand to hand with great care—from this, one could tell there must be something valuable inside. And if a sick woman were truly delirious and being brought to her husband's home, there would surely be women waiting at the gate to greet her. Instead, only men were seen, and no one uttered a single word of alarm or inquiry. That is how I knew for certain they were bandits."

**The Constable**

During the Wanli era, the magistrate of Licheng dreamed that the City God requested men to serve him in the underworld. He accordingly wrote the names of eight constables on a document and burned it in the temple. That night, all eight men died.

East of the temple there was a wine shop. The shopkeeper was acquainted with one of the constables. That evening, the constable came to buy wine. The shopkeeper asked, "Who are you entertaining?" The constable replied, "I have many colleagues visiting; I'm buying just one bottle—we'll drink a little and I'll tell you their names."

When dawn came, the shopkeeper saw the other constables and learned that the man had already died. He entered the temple and opened the door, and there was the bottle, still filled with wine. When he returned and looked at the money the constable had given him, it was all paper ashes.

The magistrate had images of the eight men sculpted in the temple. Whenever the constables were assigned duties, they first made offerings to these images before setting out; otherwise, they were certain to be flogged or punished.

**The Weaver Woman**

# From *Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio* (Volume 9)

In Shaoxing there was an old widow who spun thread by night. Suddenly a young woman pushed open the door and entered, smiling. "Grandmother, are you not exhausted?" The old woman looked at her: she was perhaps eighteen or nineteen, of beautiful bearing and graceful appearance, dressed in splendid robes. Startled, the old woman asked, "Where have you come from?" The girl said, "Pitying you for living alone, I have come to keep you company."

The old woman suspected she was someone who had fled from a noble household and pressed her with questions. The girl said, "Do not be afraid, grandmother. I, like you, am alone in the world. I admire your purity of character and so have come to be near you. Together we shall both be spared loneliness — surely that is a good thing?" The old woman further suspected her to be a fox-spirit and remained silent, hesitating.

The girl went right to the bed and took over the spinning. "Do not worry, grandmother. This sort of work I can manage easily, and I certainly will not burden you with food and drink." The old woman found her gentle and lovable and so felt at ease.

Late in the night, the girl said to the old woman, "The bedding and pillows I brought are still outside the door. When you go out to relieve yourself, please bring them in." The old woman went out and indeed found a bundle of clothing. The girl unwrapped it and spread it on the bed — one could not tell what kind of brocade it was, but it was incomparably fragrant and smooth. The old woman also laid out her cotton quilt, and they shared the bed. The moment her silk jacket was loosened, a strange fragrance filled the whole room.

After they had retired, the old woman thought privately: "To meet such a beauty — what a pity I am not a man!" The girl laughed beside her pillow: "A grandmother of seventy, and still harboring wild fancies?" The old woman said, "I am not." The girl said, "If you harbor no fancies, then why do you wish to be a man?" The old woman now knew for certain she was a fox and was greatly terrified.

The girl laughed again: "You wish to be a man, yet why are you afraid of me?" The old woman grew more frightened; her legs trembled and shook the bed. The girl said: "Alas! With a courage so great, you still wish to be a man! Let me tell you plainly: I am truly an immortal, but I mean you no harm. Only you must be discreet in speech, and your food and clothing will be provided."

When the old woman rose early, she prostrated herself below the bed. The girl extended her arm to raise her. Her arm was smooth as lard, warm and pouring forth fragrance; the moment her skin touched the old woman, she felt her body grow relaxed and lighthearted. The old woman's heart was stirred and she drifted into reverie again. The girl said with a smile: "The old woman has only just stopped trembling — now where has her mind wandered off to! If she were a man, she would die for love." The old woman said: "If I were a man, how could I have survived this night!"

From then on the two hearts were in perfect harmony and they worked together day by day. Looking at what they spun, it was even and fine, gleaming with light; woven into cloth, it shone bright as satin, and fetched three times the usual price. When the old woman went out, she would lock the door; if anyone came to visit, she would receive them in another room. After half a year, no one knew of it.

Later the old woman gradually let it slip to her relatives, and all the women of the neighborhood begged the old woman to arrange a meeting. The girl reproached her: "You were not careful in your speech — I shall not be able to stay here much longer." The old woman regretted her indiscretion and blamed herself severely; yet those who sought to meet her grew more numerous every day, and some even used their power to coerce the old woman. The old woman wept and told her story.

The girl said: "If it is only your female companions, meeting them would do no harm; but I fear there may be insolent young men who would insult me." The old woman pleaded and begged again, and at last the girl consented. The next day, old women and young girls, their incense trailing one after another, filled the road. The girl was wearied by the commotion. Whether high or low in station, she spoke to no one, but sat in dignified silence, merely receiving their homage as an audience. The young men of the district, hearing of her beauty, were utterly captivated, but the old woman turned them all away.

There was a certain Master Fei, a renowned scholar of the county. He spent his entire fortune in offering a large sum to the old woman. The old woman agreed and made the request on his behalf. The girl already knew of it and reproached her: "Have you sold me?" The old woman threw herself on the ground in submission. The girl said: "You were greedy for his payment, but I am moved by his foolish devotion — I will grant him one meeting. But our bond is now at an end."

The old woman prostrated herself again and kowtowed. The girl made an appointment for the next day.

When Master Fei heard this, he was overjoyed. He prepared incense and candles and went to the house. Upon entering, he made a deep bow from the doorway. The girl spoke to him from behind the curtain. "You have ruined yourself to see me — what would you have me know?" Master Fei said: "I truly dare not presume to ask anything else. It is only that Wang Qiang and Xi Shi — the greatest beauties of legend — have been known to me only by reputation. If you will not reject me for my dullness, but allow me to broaden my eyes just once, my deepest wish would be fulfilled. As for fortune or misfortune, these are fixed by fate — I do not wish to hear of them."

Suddenly, within the hanging curtain, a radiance shone forth — emerald brows and cherry lips, all fully visible, as though there were no curtain or screen between them. Master Fei's senses reeled and his spirit wandered; unconsciously he bowed low. When he rose from his bow, the heavy curtain hung deep and still; he could hear her voice but could not see her. In his dejection, he secretly regretted not having seen her lower body. Then he glimpsed beneath the curtain a pair of embroidered shoes, their tips so delicate and slender they were no wider than a finger. Master Fei bowed again.

From behind the curtain she said: "Go home and rest! I am weary!" The old woman invited Master Fei to another room and brewed tea for him. He inscribed a lyric to the tune "Nanxiangzi" on the wall:

*"Half-hidden before the painted curtain,*

*Three-inch lotus buds, jade-shoots so fine;*

*Like clear lotus petals touching the ground,*

*Slender, slender —*

*How much more pitiful with double platforms beneath.*

*Flowers set off the phoenix-head curve,*

*Held in the hand, one knows, soft as silk;*

*If only I could transform into a butterfly*

*And fly to her skirt's edge,*

*To breathe one whiff of lingering fragrance —*

*Even death would be sweet."*

When he had finished, he departed.

The girl read the inscription and was displeased. She said to the old woman: "I told you our bond was at an end — now I am proved right." The old woman threw herself to the ground and begged forgiveness. The girl said: "The blame does not rest entirely with you. I inadvertently fell into the snare of passion and showed my physical form to a man, and so was sullied by these lewd verses. This I brought upon myself — what fault is yours? If I do not move away quickly, I fear I shall sink into the cave of passion and find it hard to escape even through many kalpas."

Thereupon she packed her bedding and left. The old woman ran after her to stop her, but in an instant she had vanished.

---

# The Red-Haired Country

The country of the Red-Hairs had long been permitted to trade with China. The frontier commander, seeing their numbers, would not allow them to come ashore. The Red-Hairs earnestly petitioned: "Grant us but a felt mat's worth of land, and it will suffice." The commander thought a felt mat could hold very few people and agreed. The men placed a felt mat on the shore; it held only two men. They pulled it, and it held four or five. Pulling and boarding in turn, in a moment the felt had grown to the size of a mu, and several hundred men were already ashore. Short blades flashed simultaneously, taking the defenders by surprise, and the raiders were carried off several li before anyone could respond.

---

# The Drawn Intestine

A certain man of Laiyang was lying down during the day when he saw a man and a woman enter hand in hand. The woman was swollen and yellow in the face, her waist so thick she seemed in danger of toppling backward, her whole bearing one of misery. The man urged her, saying, "Come, come!" The man of Laiyang supposed them to be lovers meeting in secret and feigned sleep to observe what they would do.

Once inside, they seemed unaware of the man lying on the couch. The man urged again, "Hurry!" The woman then bared her chest and exposed her belly, which was swollen like a drum. The man produced a butcher's knife and drove it in with force, slicing straight from below her heart down to her navel with a crackling sound.

The man of Laiyang was terrified and dared not breathe. The woman kn her brows in endurance and never once groaned. The man took the knife between his teeth, plunged his hand into her belly, and pulled out her intestines, hooking them over his elbow. He pulled and wound, and in an instant his arm was full. Then he severed them with the knife, lifted them, and placed them on a table, before pulling out more. When the table was full, he hung them on a chair. When the chair was full, he wound them into several dozen coils, like a fisherman hauling in a net, and hurled them toward the man of Laiyang's head.

He felt a blast of hot, foul stench as his face, eyes, throat, and chest were covered without a seam. Unable to bear it any longer, he pushed the intestines away with his hands, cried out loudly, and bolted from the room. The intestines fell before the couch, his feet were entangled, and he collapsed in a swoon.

His family rushed in and saw only a body wrapped in pig's entrails. When they came closer to examine him, there was nothing there at all. Each of them thought his own eyes had deigned him, and none found it strange. Only when the man recounted what he had seen did they all marvel together. Yet there was no trace in the room, save that the smell of blood lingered for several days.

Zhang Hongjian

Zhang Hongjian was a native of Yongping. At eighteen, he was already a renowned scholar in the prefecture. At that time, a certain Magistrate Zhao of Lulong was corrupt and tyrannical, and the people suffered grieviously under him. A man named Fan, one of the students, had been beaten to death. His fellow students, angered by this injustice, planned to appeal to the provincial authorities and asked Zhang to draft the legal complaint, agreeing to act together. Zhang consented. His wife, Lady Fang, was beautiful and virtuous. When she learned of this plan, she admonished him: "In general, when scholars undertake a cause, they may share in victory but cannot share in defeat. In victory, everyone tries to claim credit for Heaven's work; in defeat, they scatter like startled birds and cannot hold together. This is a world of power and influence—right and wrong are difficult to settle by reason alone. Besides, you are alone; if things go awry, who will come to your aid in your hour of need?" Zhang was convinced by her words and regretted his decision. He politely declined the students' request but composed the complaint for them before withdrawing. When the case was reviewed, he expressed no opinion either way. Zhao, however, bribed high officials with a vast sum of money. The students were arrested on charges of forming a faction, and the authorities sought the man who had drafted the complaint. Zhang, terrified, fled.

He reached the border of Fengxiang, his money and provisions exhausted. The sun was already setting, and he wandered hesitantly across the open country with no place to shelter for the night. Suddenly he caught sight of a small village and hastened toward it. An old woman was just coming out to close her gate. Seeing the young man, she asked what he wanted. Zhang told her the truth. The old woman said: "Food and a bed are trivial matters, but there are no men in my household—it would not be proper to keep a guest." Zhang said: "I dare not ask for too much. If I might only sleep inside the gate, sheltered from tigers and wolves, that would suffice." The old woman then let him in, closed the gate, and gave him a straw mat, instructing him: "I pity you, a stranger with no home, and have privately allowed you to stay the night. You should leave before dawn, lest my young mistress learn of it and take offense." The old woman departed. Zhang leaned against the wall and dozed off.

Suddenly he saw the glow of a lantern. The old woman was leading a young lady out. Zhang quickly hid in the shadows and stole a glance—she was a beauty of about twenty years. At the gate, she noticed the straw mat and questioned the old woman, who told her the truth. The young woman was furious: "Our household is weak and defenseless—how could you admit a stranger?" She immediately asked: "Where has he gone?" Zhang, terrified, came out and prostrated himself below the steps. The young woman questioned him closely about his family and origins. Her expression softened somewhat and she said: "Fortunately you are a man of letters—it will do no harm to keep you. But the old servant should have informed me first. This is no way to treat a gentleman!" She ordered the old woman to lead the guest inside. Soon wine and food were laid out, all of exquisite quality. Then a brocade cushion was placed on the couch. Zhang was deeply grateful and privately inquired about their surname. The old woman said: "Our family is named Shi. The master and his wife have both passed away, leaving only three daughters. The one you saw is the eldest, Shunhua." The old woman withdrew. Zhang noticed a commentary on the *Nanhua Jing* on the table and took it to read by the couch. Suddenly Shunhua pushed the door open and entered. Zhang set down the book and began searching for his cap and shoes. She pressed him down on the couch and said: "No need, no need!" She sat down beside him, somewhat bashfully, and said: "I took you for a man of talent and refinement and wished to entrust my family's future to you. In doing so, I have risked the suspicion that attaches to improper relations. Will you not cast me away?" Zhang was flustered and did not know how to reply. He could only say: "To be honest, I already have a wife at home." She smiled and said: "This only shows your sincerity, but it need not be an obstacle. Since you do not despise me, tomorrow we shall engage a matchmaker." With that, she rose to leave. Zhang reached out and detained her, and she stayed. She rose before dawn and gave Zhang some gold, saying: "Take this for your expenses. Come again in the evening—it is better to arrive late, lest someone see you." Zhang followed her instructions, leaving early and returning late, and this became the routine for half a year.

One day he returned rather early. When he reached the place, the village dwellings had completely vanished, and he was filled with astonishment. As he stood hesitating, he heard the old woman's voice: "Why have you come so early?" In the blink of an eye, the courtyard was as before, and he found himself already inside the room. He was even more amazed. Shunhua came out from within, smiling, and said: "Do you suspect me? I will tell you the truth: I am a fox spirit, and you and I share a predestined bond from a former life. If you must take offense, we may part at once." Zhang was captivated by her beauty and accepted it calmly. At night he said to her: "Since you are an immortal, you should be able to travel a thousand leagues in a single breath. I have been away from home for three years, and I cannot stop thinking about my wife and children. Could you take me back for a visit?" She seemed displeased and said: "The bond between us, I had thought, was deep for you. Yet you remain here while your heart is there—all this tender intimacy is nothing but illusion!" Zhang apologized: "Why do you say such things? As the proverb goes, 'One day as husband and wife, a hundred days of kindness and devotion.' When I think of you in days to come, it will be just as I think of her today. If I were to forget the old upon gaining the new, what would you think of me?" She then smiled and said: "I have a narrow heart: where I am concerned, I wish you never to forget; where she is concerned, I wish you to forget. But if you wish to return briefly, what difficulty is there? Your home is close at hand!" She took his sleeve and went out the gate. The road was dark, and Zhang hesitated to go forward. She pulled him along, and before long she said: "We are here. Go home now, and I shall leave." Zhang stopped and looked carefully—surely enough, it was his own gate. He climbed over the broken wall and entered. The lamp in the room was still glowing. He tapped twice on the door with his fingers. From inside came the question, "Who is it?" Zhang told her everything. A candle was lit inside and the gate was opened—it was truly Lady Fang. The two were overjoyed and clasped hands as they entered the bedchamber. Seeing their son lying on the bed, Zhang said with emotion: "When I left, he was only as tall as my knee—now he is this big!" Husband and wife leaned on each other as if in a dream. Zhang recounted all that had happened. When he asked about the lawsuit, he learned that some of the students had died in prison and others had been exiled to distant places. He was even more convinced of his wife's foresight. Fang nestled in his arms and said: "You have a fine mate—I suppose you no longer think of the weeping one in the lonely bed!" Zhang said: "If I did not think of you, why would I have come? Though I share affection with her, we are after all of different kinds. It is only her kindness and devotion that I cannot forget." Fang said: "And what do you take me for?" Zhang looked closely—it was not Lady Fang at all, but Shunhua. He reached out to touch his son and found only a bamboo bolster. He was mortified and speechless. She said: "Now I know your heart! By rights we should part forever here, but fortunately you have not forgotten kindness and devotion—that is just enough to redeem yourself."

Two or three days later, she suddenly said: "I have been thinking—a lovesick attachment to a man has no lasting meaning. You have often complained that I would not escort you. Now I happen to be going to the capital, and we can go together on the way." She took the bamboo bolster from the bed, and they mounted it together. She told him to close both eyes. He felt himself rise not far from the ground, with a rushing wind whistling past. After some time, they descended. She said: "From here we part." He was about to make promises for their next meeting, but she had already vanished into the distance. He stood there dejectedly for a while, when he heard someone in the village—

The dogs barked and howled. In the vast gray expanse, he could see trees, wooden houses, and thatched cottages—all familiar scenes from his hometown. He followed the road and made his way home. He climbed over the wall and knocked on the door, just as before. Madam Fang started up in alarm, refusing to believe her husband had returned. Only after she had questioned him and confirmed the truth did she take up a lamp and come out, weeping. When they met, the tears flowed beyond all restraint. Zhang still suspected that Shunhua had conjured some illusion. Then he saw a child lying in bed, just as on the previous night, and said with a laugh, "Has the bamboo lady been brought in again?" Madam Fang did not understand and said with a change of expression, "I have yearned for you year after year; the tear stains on my pillow are still here. We have only just met, and you show no grief or tenderness at all—what manner of heart is this!" Zhang saw that her feelings were genuine, and only then did he take her arm and sob, telling her everything in detail. He asked about the outcome of the lawsuit, and it was exactly as Shunhua had said. Madam Fang sighed with emotion. Then they heard footsteps outside the door, but when they called out, there was no answer. It happened that in the neighborhood there was a ruffian who had long lusted after Fang's beauty. That night, returning from another village, he had seen a figure climbing over the wall in the distance and assumed he was going to a tryst. He followed him inside. The man did not know Zhang well, but crouched down to listen. When Madam Fang pressed him with questions, he said, "Who is in the room?" Fang tried to conceal it: "No one." The man said, "I have been listening for some time. I will catch you in the act." Fang had no choice but to tell him the truth. The man said, "The case against Zhang Hongjian is still unresolved. Even if he has returned home, he should be bound and sent to the authorities." Fang pleaded piteously, but the man's words grew ever more lewd and threatening. Zhang's fury blazed within him. He seized a saber and rushed out, hacking at the man's skull. The man fell but still cried out; Zhang struck him again and again, and he died. Fang said, "Now that things have come to this, the crime is only heavier. You must flee quickly, and I will bear the blame." Zhang said, "A man must die when his time comes—how could I disgrace my wife and burden my son in order to save my own life? Have no worries. Only let this child not break the family's scholarly tradition, and I shall close my eyes content." At dawn, he went to the county office and surrendered himself. The magistrate, considering him a person involved in an imperial case, gave him only a light punishment. Soon he was transferred from the prefecture to the capital, where he suffered greatly in chains. On the road, he encountered a woman riding past on horseback, an old woman holding the bridle—it was Shunhua. Zhang called out to the old woman, wanting to speak, and tears fell with his voice. The woman turned her carriage around, lifted the veil with her hand, and said in surprise, "Cousin! How did you come to this?" Zhang gave a brief account. The woman said, "Knowing your usual disposition, I should turn my head and pay you no heed. But I cannot bear to. My humble dwelling is not far. I will invite you and the guards to come with me—I can also help you a little with traveling expenses." They followed her for two or three miles and came to a mountain village with tall, well-kept buildings. The woman dismounted and went inside, ordering the old woman to open the house and welcome the guests. Soon wine and food were served in abundance, as if prepared long in advance. She then sent the old woman out to say, "There are no men in the house at the moment. Master Zhang, please urge the guards to drink a few more cups—you will depend on them greatly on the road ahead. I have sent someone to prepare several tens of taels of silver for Master Zhang's expenses, and to reward the two guards as well. It has not arrived yet." The two guards were secretly delighted and drank freely, no longer speaking of continuing the journey. As the day wore on, the two guards were thoroughly drunk. The woman came out, touched the fetters with her fingers, and they fell away at once. She pulled Zhang up to ride with her on one horse, galloping like a dragon. After a while, she urged him to dismount and said, "You stay here. My sister and I have an appointment in Qinghai, and because of you I have delayed a whole morning—she has been waiting anxiously for a long time." Zhang asked, "When shall we meet again?" The woman did not answer. He asked again, but she pushed him off the horse and rode away. When dawn came, he asked where he was and learned it was Taiyuan. He went to the prefecture, rented a house, and took pupils. He assumed the name Gong Ziqi. He lived there for ten years and learned that the pursuit of fugitives had gradually slackened. Then he slowly made his way back east. When he drew near his village, he did not dare enter hastily but waited until deep night before going in. When he reached the gate, the walls were high and solid—he could no longer climb over them. He had no choice but to beat on the door with his whip. After a long time, his wife finally came out to ask who it was. Zhang spoke to her in a low voice. Overjoyed, she let him in, then raised her voice in a scolding tone: "If the capital is short of funds, you should have come back early. Why send you in the middle of the night?" Once inside, they each told their story, and he learned that the two guards had fled and not returned. As they spoke, a young woman outside the curtain kept coming in. Zhang asked who she was. "My daughter-in-law," she said. "Where is my son?" "He went to the prefecture for the provincial examination and has not yet returned." Zhang wept and said, "After years of wandering, my son has grown up. I never expected him to carry on the family's scholarly tradition—you have exhausted your heart and soul!" Before he had finished speaking, the daughter-in-law had already warmed the wine and cooked the meal, spreading it all across the table. Zhang's joy and comfort surpassed all expectation. After several days, he hid in the bedroom, fearing that someone might discover him. One night, as he was lying down, he suddenly heard a clamor of voices and furious pounding on the door. Greatly frightened, they both rose. They heard someone ask, "Is there a back gate?" Still more terrified, they hastily used a door panel as a ladder and helped Zhang escape over the wall in the night. Then Fang went to the door to ask what had happened—it was a messenger announcing the family's new honor. Fang was overjoyed and deeply regretted that Zhang had fled, beyond any hope of recall. That night Zhang pushed through brambles and thickets, in such haste that he chose no path. By dawn, he was utterly exhausted. At first he had intended to head west, but when he asked a passerby, he learned he was not far from the main road to the capital. He entered a village, intending to pawn his clothes for food. He saw a tall gateway with a notice pasted on the wall. On closer inspection, it bore the surname Xu—a newly successful provincial graduate. Soon an old man came out from within. Zhang stepped forward, greeted him, and explained his situation. The old man saw that his bearing and appearance were refined and knew he was not a man seeking to cheat for food. He invited him in and treated him well. He then asked where Zhang was headed. Zhang made up a story: "I was teaching in the capital and encountered bandits on the way home." The old man kept him to tutor his younger son. Zhang made some inquiries about the family's official connections and learned that the old man was a retired minister of the imperial court; the successful graduate was his nephew's son. A month or so later, the graduate returned with a fellow graduate from the same examination—a youth of eighteen or nineteen, surnamed Zhang from Yongping. Zhang, seeing that both the provincial origin and the family register matched, secretly suspected it was his son. But there were many people of that surname in the county, so he kept silent. In the evening, when the luggage was unpacked and the examination roster was produced, he borrowed it and read it hastily—it was indeed his son. Tears fell involuntarily. They all asked him in surprise why he was weeping. He pointed and said, "Zhang Hongjian—that is me." He told them the whole story. The young graduate embraced his father and wept loudly. The uncle and nephew comforted them, and only then did they turn their grief to joy. The Xu family then sent money, silk, and a letter to the imperial censor, and father and son returned home together. Fang, having heard the good news, had been grieving day and day that Zhang was dead or alive she knew not which. When the young graduate suddenly returned, her grief deepened still further. In a moment, father and son entered together, and she was stunned as if they had descended from heaven. When she learned what had happened, they shared their grief and joy together. The ruffian's father, seeing that Zhang's son had attained high rank, no longer dared to harbor malicious intentions. Zhang treated him generously and recounted the events of that year in full. The ruffian's father was moved to shame and gratitude, and the two became friends.

Imperial Physician

Sun Shiyi

In the Wanli era, Sun Shiyi lost his father at a young age. His mother was nineteen when she was widowed and remained chaste. Sun passed the imperial examinations, but his mother had already died. He often said to others, "I must earn a noble title to bring honor to her in the underworld, so as not to let her years of bitter chastity go to waste." Suddenly he fell gravely ill, his condition extremely severe. He had long been on good terms with the Imperial Physician and sent for him; but the messenger had scarcely left the gate when his illness worsened. He opened his eyes and said, "If I cannot make a name for myself and bring honor to my parents, how can I face my old mother in the underworld?" He then died, his eyes unclosed. Before long, the Imperial Physician arrived, heard the sound of weeping, and entered to pay his respects. Seeing Sun's condition, he was struck by it. The family told him the reason. The Imperial Physician said, "If he wishes to obtain a posthumous title, that is not difficult. The Empress is about to give birth any day now. If he can be kept alive for ten days or so, the title can be secured." He immediately ordered that moxa be fetched and burned eighteen points on the corpse. As the moxa sticks were nearly consumed, a groan came from the bed; they quickly poured medicine into his mouth, and he revived. The physician instructed him, "Remember, on no account eat the flesh of bear or tiger." They all took note of this; but since such meats were not commonly encountered, they paid little mind to it. Three days later, he had fully recovered and resumed attending court to offer congratulations. After six or seven days, the Empress indeed gave birth to a crown prince, and a banquet was held for the court officials. A eunuch presented rare delicacies, distributed to all civil and white officials—white slices with red threads, of incomparable sweetness. Sun ate them without knowing what they were. The next day, he asked his colleagues, who said, "That was bear meat." He was greatly alarmed, his face changed color, and he fell ill on the spot. He died as soon as he reached home.

Niu Fei

A certain man of the county bought a cow, quite sturdy. He dreamed one night that the cow grew two wings and flew away. He took this as an ill omen and feared he might suffer a loss. He led the cow to the market and sold it at a reduced price. He wrapped the silver in a cloth and bound it to his arm. On the way home, he saw a hawk eating a remnant of a rabbit; he approached it, and it was quite tame. He used the end of the cloth to tie the hawk's legs and perched it on his arm. The hawk struggled repeatedly, and as his grip loosened slightly, it took off into the air, carrying the cloth with it. Though this was a matter of fate, had he not doubted the dream and had he not been greedy for what he found, how could the creature he had let go have suddenly been able to fly?

Wang Zian

Wang Zian was a renowned scholar of Dongchang, frustrated by the examination halls. After entering the provincial examination, his expectations were extremely high. Around the time the results were to be posted, he drank heavily and returned in a drunken stupor to his inner chamber. Suddenly someone announced, "A messenger on horseback has arrived with the results!" Wang stumbled to his feet and said, "Reward him with ten thousand cash!" His family, because he was drunk, deceived him to calm him, saying, "Just go to sleep; the reward has already been given." Wang then fell asleep. Shortly after, another person entered and said, "You have passed the jinshi examination!" Wang said to himself, "I have not yet gone to the capital—how could I have passed?" The man said, "Have you forgotten? The three sessions are already complete." Wang was overjoyed and got up, shouting, "Reward him with ten thousand cash!" His family deceived him again as before. After some time, another person rushed in and said, "You have been selected as a Hanlin academician through the palace examination. Your attendants are here." Indeed, he saw two people bowing beside the bed, their clothes neat and clean. Wang called for food and wine to be given to them, but his family again deceived him, secretly laughing at his drunkenness. After a while, Wang thought to himself that he could not fail to show off to his fellow villagers. He shouted for his attendants dozens of times, but no one answered. His family laughed and said, "Lie down and wait; he will go and find them." After a long time, the attendants indeed returned. Wang pounded the bed and stamped his feet, cursing loudly, "Where has that dull slave gone?" The attendant angrily said, "You wretched scholar! I was only joking with you before—and you actually curse me?" Wang, enraged, lunged at him and knocked off his hat. Wang himself also toppled over. His wife came in and helped him up, saying, "How can you be this drunk?" Wang said, "The attendant is detestable; I was punishing him. What do you mean, drunk?" His wife laughed and said, "In this household there is only one old woman, who cooks for you by day and warms your feet by night. Where are these attendants, waiting upon your wretched bones?" The children all laughed. Wang's drunkenness somewhat subsided, and suddenly, as if waking from a dream, he realized the delusions of before. But he still remembered the attendant's hat falling off; he searched behind the door and found a tasseled hat the size of a small cup, which they all found puzzling. He laughed at himself and said, "In the past, ghosts mocked men; now I have been made a fool of by a fox."

The Historian of Strange Tales says: "When a scholar enters the examination hall, there are seven resemblances: When he first enters, barefoot carrying a basket, he resembles a beggar. When his name is called, with officials shouting and clerks cursing, he resembles a prisoner. When he returns to his cell, poking his head out of every hole, his feet sticking out of every room, he resembles a cold wasp at the end of autumn. When he emerges from the examination, his expression dazed and confused, the world seeming a different color, he resembles a sick bird released from its cage. When he awaits the results, even the grass and trees startle him, and his dreams are full of illusions. When he imagines success, in an instant palaces and pavilions spring up complete; when he imagines failure, in a moment his bones have already rotted. At this time, he can neither sit nor stand at ease—he resembles a monkey in a trap. Suddenly a horseman gallops up with the news, but the list does not contain his name; in that moment his expression changes abruptly, and he sits dazed as if dead—he resembles a fly that has been poisoned, which does not even notice when it is toyed with. When he first fails, his heart turns to ashes and his spirit is broken; he curses the examiners for being blind and the brush and ink for being powerless, and he is determined to seize everything on his desk and burn it all; if burning is not enough, he will trample it to pieces; if trampling is not enough, he will throw it into the filthy river. From then on, he will let his hair loose and enter the mountains, facing the stone wall, and if anyone ever again presents him with essays written in the style of the ancients, he will surely take up a spear and chase them away. Before long, as the days pass, his anger gradually subsides, his spirits gradually calm, and his itch to write gradually returns; then he resembles a hatched dove, who can only gather twigs and build a nest, starting all over again. In such circumstances, the person involved weeps as if he wished to die; but to an onlooker, what could be more ridiculous? In Wang Zian's heart, in the space of a moment, ten thousand thoughts arose; the ghosts and foxes had long been secretly laughing at him, so they took advantage of his drunkenness to toy with him. When the person beside his bed awoke, how could he not burst out laughing? Yet the taste of success lasts only a moment; the gentlemen of the Hanlin Academy have only experienced two or three such moments. Wang Zian tasted them all in a single morning—so the fox's favor was equal to that of a recommending master."

Diao

The Man Named Diao

There was a man named Diao who had no property to live on. He would go out and sell the art of physiognomy—though in truth he had no such art at all. Every few months he would return home, his bags stuffed with gold and silk. People found this strange. Once, a fellow villager who was traveling abroad happened to see, from afar, a man inside a grand gate wearing a Huayang kerchief, chattering away in a lively manner while surrounded by a crowd of women. On closer inspection, it was Diao. The villager quietly observed what was going on. He heard someone ask: "Among all of us here, there is a lady present. Can you tell which one?"—for a noblewoman had disguised herself among them to test his skill. The villager felt embarrassed on Diao's behalf. Diao calmly looked up and pointed into the air, saying: "What's so difficult about that? Just look at the noble lady's head—there is naturally an aura of clouds swirling around it." Without realizing it, everyone's eyes converged on one person, watching for the cloud-like aura. Diao then pointed at that person and said: "This is the true noblewoman!" The crowd was astonished and regarded him as a god. The villager returned and recounted Diao's clever trickery. Thus it was known that even in a minor art, one must possess extraordinary talent; otherwise, how could one deceive people's eyes and ears, earn money, and build a fortune from nothing!

The Peasant Woman

West of the county, in a place called Yao Yao Wu, there was a peasant woman as brave and strong as a man. She would often settle disputes and resolve conflicts for her neighbors. She lived apart from her husband, who was from a different county. His home was in Gaoyuan, more than a hundred li from Zi. He would visit occasionally and stay only a night or two before leaving. The woman herself went to Mount Yan and made a living selling pottery. When she had surplus money, she would give it to beggars. One evening, while talking with a neighbor, she suddenly rose and said, "My belly aches slightly—I think the little creature wants to leave my body." She then went off. The next morning, the neighbor went to check on her and found her carrying two enormous wine jars on her shoulders, just about to enter her door. Following her inside, the neighbor found an infant lying swaddled. Astonished, she asked what had happened. It turned out that the woman had already carried heavy loads for a hundred li after giving birth. She was on good terms with a nun from Bei'an and had sworn sisterhood with her. Later, when she heard that the nun had been behaving improperly, she angrily seized a staff and was about to go and thrash her, but the crowd earnestly persuaded her to stop. One day, she encountered the nun on the road and immediately struck her. When asked, "What crime have I committed?" she did not answer. Fists and stones were exchanged until the nun could no longer cry out, and then she let her go and left.

The Commentator says: "The world speaks of women who are like men, yet even they know they are not men. This woman, however, completely forgot that she was a woman. Her boldness and self-possession were no different from the sword immortals of old. Could it be that her husband, too, was one of those mirror-polishers?"

Jinling Yi

A wine-seller in Jinling, known as Yi, would, whenever a batch was brewed, add poison to the water. Even the most seasoned drinkers would be dead drunk after only a few cups. For this he earned the name "Zhongshan" and amassed a great fortune. One morning, he found a fox lying drunk beside the trough. He bound its four legs and was about to look for a knife when the fox woke up and pleaded, "Please don't harm me—I will grant whatever you ask." Yi released it, and in a twinkling it had transformed into a man. At that time, a certain Sun family in the lane had an eldest daughter-in-law who was being plagued by a fox spirit. Yi asked the fox about it, and the fox replied, "That was me." Yi noticed that the wife's younger sister-in-law was especially beautiful and asked the fox to take him to her. The fox hesitated. Yi insisted. The fox invited Yi to go with him, entered a cave, and gave him a coarse garment, saying, "This was left by my late elder brother. If you wear it, you should be able to go." After putting it on and returning, none of his family could see him; only when he changed back into his usual clothes did they see him again. Overjoyed, he went with the fox to the Sun family's house. They saw a huge talisman pasted on the wall, painted with a coiling figure like a dragon. The fox said in terror, "That monk is terrible—I'm not going in!" and left. Yi approached cautiously, and there was a real dragon coiled on the wall, raising its head as if about to fly. Terrified, he also fled. It turned out that Sun had sought out a foreign monk to perform a counter-spell. The monk had given him the talisman and sent him home first; the monk himself had not yet arrived. The next day, the monk came and set up an altar to perform his rites. The neighbors gathered to watch, and Yi mingled among them. Suddenly his expression changed and he rushed out frantically, as if being seized. Outside the gate, he collapsed to the ground and turned into a fox, its four limbs still wearing human clothes. They were about to kill it. Yi's wife and children kowtowed and begged for mercy. The monk ordered them to lead it away and give it food and drink daily. After a few months, it died.

Guo An

Sun Wuli had a young servant who was sleeping alone in a room when he was suddenly seized by someone and carried away. He arrived at a palace and saw Yama sitting above. Yama looked at him and said, "This is a mistake—this is not the one." He was sent back. When he returned, he was terrified and moved to sleep elsewhere. Then a fellow servant named Guo An, seeing the bed empty, lay down in it. Another servant, Li Lu, had long harbored a grudge against the young servant and had been waiting for a chance to act. That night he entered with a knife, felt around in the dark, thought it was the young servant, and killed him. Guo An's father brought the case to the magistrate. At that time, Chen Qishan was the county magistrate, and he did not trouble himself over it. Guo An wailed, saying, "I have only this son in my life—how shall I go on living?" Chen immediately ordered Li Lu to become Guo An's son. Guo An withdrew with his grievance unredressed. This is not remarkable for the young servant's encounter with a ghost, but remarkable for Chen's handling of the case.

In a county west of Ji, there was a man who had committed murder. His wife brought charges against him. The magistrate was furious. He immediately had the culprit arrested and brought before him, slammed the table, and cursed: "A perfectly good married couple—and you would make her a widow! I shall give you to her as a husband, and let your wife be a widow too!" And so he decreed that they be joined together. Such clear and decisive judgments were the work of those who had passed the highest examinations—other paths could not produce them. Yet Chen was just like this. What path does not produce talent?

Adjudication

In the western part of the district, at Xiya Village, a merchant named Jia was killed on the road. The following night, his wife hanged herself. Jia's younger brother reported the matter to the authorities. At that time, Magistrate Fei Yizhi of Zhejiang was serving as the district magistrate of Zi. He personally went to examine the scene. He found that over five qian of silver wrapped in a cloth bundle was still on the victim's waist, and he knew the murder was not committed for money. He summoned the neighbors and village headmen from both villages for questioning, but they revealed little. He did not resort to torture, instead releasing them to return to their farming. He merely instructed the local wardens to investigate carefully and report to him every ten days. After more than half a year, the case gradually grew cold. Jia's younger brother resented the magistrate's leniency, repeatedly making noise when he came to court. The magistrate said angrily: "Since you cannot name a suspect, do you want me to shackle innocent people?" He drove him out with a scolding. Jia's younger brother had no recourse, and in frustration buried his brother and sister-in-law.

One day, several people were arrested for unpaid taxes. Among them was one Zhou Cheng. Fearing punishment, he reported that he had already prepared his tax payment, and produced a silver bundle from his waist for the magistrate to inspect. After inspecting it, the magistrate asked: "What village is your home?" He replied: "A certain village." He asked again: "How many li is it from Xiya?" He replied: "Five or six li." "The merchant Jia who was killed last year—what relation was he to you?" He replied: "I do not know him." The magistrate burst out: "You killed him, and yet you claim not to know him!" Zhou protested vehemently, but the magistrate would not listen. He was put in heavy fetters and interrogated, and in the end confessed to the crime.

Before this, Jia's wife, surnamed Wang, was on her way to visit her relatives. She felt ashamed to have no hair ornaments, and pressed her husband to borrow some from a neighbor. Her husband refused. She borrowed them herself and treasured them greatly. On the way back, she removed them and wrapped them in a cloth bundle, tucking it inside her sleeve. When she reached home, she reached for it and found it was gone. She dared not tell her husband, and had no means to repay the neighbor, and was so distraught she wished to die. That very day, Zhou happened to find it. He knew it belonged to Jia's wife. Observing that Jia was away from home, he climbed over the wall in the middle of the night, intending to seize her and force himself upon her. It was the humid heat of summer, and Madame Wang was sleeping in the courtyard. Zhou crept up and assaulted her. Madame Wang awoke and cried out loudly. Zhou urgently stopped her, leaving the bundle with the hairpin as an offering. Afterward, the woman admonished him: "Do not come again. My husband is a fierce man—if we are caught, we will both die!" Zhou said angrily: "I have the money to spend several nights at a brothel—can that be repaid with a single encounter?" The woman placated him: "It is not that I am unwilling to be with you, but he is often ill. Better to wait patiently for him to die." Zhou then departed. Thereupon he killed Jia, and went to the woman's house that night, saying: "Now someone has killed that man—please honor our agreement." The woman heard this and wailed loudly. Zhou fled in fear. By dawn, the woman was dead.

The magistrate ascertained the facts and punished Zhou according to the law. All marveled at his brilliance, but did not understand how he had been able to detect the truth. The magistrate said: "There is no difficulty in solving a matter—the key is to pay attention wherever one goes. When I first examined the body, I saw that the silver bundle bore a 'wan' character embroidered on it. Zhou's bundle also bore the same mark—they came from the same hand. When I questioned him, he claimed there was no prior acquaintance, and his words and expression shifted deceptively. That is how I knew for certain he was the true culprit."

The Historian of Extraordinary Matters says: "Those in the world who judge cases either neglect them entirely, or shackle dozens of people and treat them like beasts. The drumbeats of flesh resounding in the hall—the clamor pressing in from all directions—and then they furrow their brows and say: 'I am toiling my mind for the people's affairs.' When the cloud-girdled clapper has struck three times, they pursue pleasure and beauty together, and cases that are difficult to decide are no longer given a thought. They simply await the time to ascend the court, where they will harm the mulberry tree to cook an old tortoise. Alas! How can the people's true circumstances ever be known? I have often said: 'A wise man need not be benevolent, but a benevolent man must be wise—for when one toils with one's heart, stratagems will emerge.' The words 'pay attention wherever one goes' can serve as instruction for all who govern the people."

A man of the same district, Hu Cheng, and Feng An were neighbors, and their families had long been at odds. Hu and his son were overbearing, while Feng humored him with friendly overtures, but Hu always remained suspicious. One day, they drank together and were slightly tipsy, and Hu opened his heart to Feng. Hu declared boastfully, "Don't worry about being poor—it's no trouble to acquire a hundred gold pieces in property." Feng, knowing that Hu's household was not wealthy, laughed at him. Hu said with a grave expression, "Let me tell you the truth: yesterday I met a wealthy merchant on the road, carrying a heavy load of goods. I knocked him down into a dry well on South Mountain." Feng laughed at him again. At that time, Hu had a brother-in-law named Zheng Lun, who had asked Hu to act as intermediary in a land deal and had deposited several hundred gold pieces with Hu's family. Hu then brought it all out to show off to Feng. Feng believed him.

After they parted, Feng secretly reported the matter to the district magistrate. The magistrate had Hu brought in for interrogation, and Hu told the truth of what he had said. They questioned Zheng Lun and the owner of the property, and neither contradicted the account. They then went together to inspect the dry well. A constable was lowered down, and indeed there was a headless corpse inside. Hu was utterly terrified and could offer no defense, but only cried out that he was wronged. The magistrate, enraged, struck him dozens of times across the mouth, saying, "There is clear evidence—how can you still cry injustice!" He had Hu shackled in the instruments of a condemned prisoner. The corpse was ordered not to be removed, and notices were posted in all the villages, instructing the owner of the corpse to come forward and file a report.

After a day, a woman came with a petition, claiming to be the dead man's wife. She said, "My husband, He Jia, took out several hundred gold pieces to engage in trade, and was killed by Hu Cheng." The magistrate said, "There is a dead man in the well, but I fear it may not necessarily be your husband." The woman insisted most firmly. The magistrate then ordered the corpse brought up from the well and examined. Indeed, it was not a mistake. The woman did not dare to approach, but stood back and wailed. The magistrate said, "The true culprit has been found, but the body is not yet complete. Go back for now. Once we have found the dead man's head, I will summon a report and order compensation."

He then called Hu out from the prison and rebuked him, saying, "If you don't bring me the head tomorrow, I will break your legs with instruments of torture!" He had Hu taken away and kept for the whole day before bringing him back. When questioned, Hu could only weep. The magistrate then placed the shackles before him and made as if to apply torture, but did not actually do so. He said, "I suppose that on the night you carried the corpse in such a hurry, you didn't know where the head fell. How could you not have searched carefully?" Hu begged piteously to be allowed to search urgently. The magistrate then asked the woman, "How many children do you have?" She answered, "None." He asked, "What relatives does Jia have?" "He has only an uncle on his father's side." The magistrate said with feeling, "A young woman who has lost her husband, so alone and helpless—how will she manage to live!" The woman then wept and knocked her head on the ground, begging for mercy. The magistrate said, "The crime of murder has already been established. Once we have the whole body, this case will be closed. After the case is closed, you may remarry quickly. You are a young woman—do not come and go from the magistrate's court again." The woman, moved to tears, knocked her head and withdrew.

The magistrate then issued a warrant to the villagers, ordering them to search for the head. After one night, a man from the same village, Wang Wu, reported that he had found it. After the identification was confirmed, he was rewarded with a thousand cash. Jia's uncle was summoned, and the magistrate said, "The major case is already settled. However, a matter of human life is of great weight—it cannot be concluded in a single year. Since your nephew has no offspring, and the young widow can hardly survive, let her remarry soon. After this, there will be no other business, except that when the higher authorities review the case, you alone will need to appear in person." Jia's uncle refused, and two warrants were issued. He argued again, and another warrant was issued. Jia's uncle, frightened, agreed and left.

The woman heard of this and came to thank the magistrate for his kindness. The magistrate comforted her with the greatest sincerity. He also instructed her, "If there is a man who wishes to marry you, report it to me in court." After she left, someone immediately submitted a marriage petition—it was none other than Wang Wu, the man who had reported finding the head. The magistrate called the woman up and said, "Do you know who the true murderer is?" She answered, "Hu Cheng." The magistrate said, "No. You and Wang Wu are the true culprits." Both were greatly frightened and vehemently protested their innocence. The magistrate said, "I have long known the truth of this matter. The reason I delayed in acting was that I feared there might be the slightest injustice. Before the corpse was brought out of the well, how could you be so certain it was your husband? Because you already knew he was dead. Moreover, when Jia died, he was wearing tattered cotton padding—where did the several hundred gold pieces come from?" He also said to Wang Wu, "How did you know so well where the head was! The reason you were so eager was that you wanted to marry her quickly." Both men turned ashen and could not utter a single word in their defense. They were both shackled and interrogated, and indeed they confessed the truth. It turned out that Wang Wu and the woman had been lovers for a long time. They had murdered her husband, and it happened to coincide with Hu Cheng's careless talk. Hu Cheng was then released. Feng, for making a false accusation, was severely caned and sentenced to three years of penal servitude. When the case was concluded, not a single person had been unjustly punished.

The Historian of the Strange says: "My master was renowned for his benevolence. Even in this single matter, one can see how deeply a benevolent man deliberates. When he served as magistrate of Zibo, Song was just coming of age and received his generous favor, but being dull and untalented, I became the 'dancing crane that cannot dance' that brought shame upon the Duke of Shanyang. This was one unwise act in my master's life, and it was Song who caused it. How sorrowful!"

**The Faithful Dog**

A merchant from Zhoucun, engaged in trade at Wuhu, had acquired a great sum of money. He hired a boat to return home and saw on the dike a butcher who had bound a dog. He bought it at twice the price and kept it on the boat, feeding and caring for it. The boat was in fact full of bandits, who had been eyeing the merchant's baggage. They rowed the boat into the reeds, drew their knives, and were about to kill him. The merchant begged them to leave his body intact. The bandits then wrapped him in a felt blanket and threw him into the river. The dog saw this, howled mournfully, and leaped into the water, seizing the wrapped bundle in its mouth and floating together with it. They drifted an unknown number of miles before reaching a shallow place where they ran aground. The dog swam out, reached a place where there were people, and barked piteously. Thinking this strange, someone followed the dog and found the felt bundle in the water. He pulled it out and cut open the ropes. The merchant was not yet dead and began to tell what had happened. He again implored the boatmen to carry him back to Wuhu, intending to wait for the bandits' boat to return. When he boarded the boat, he had lost the dog and was deeply grieved. After three or four days at the pass, the moored boats were as thick as a forest, but the bandits' boat was nowhere to be seen. It happened that a fellow townsman, also a merchant, was about to return home together with him. Suddenly the dog appeared on its own, saw the merchant, and howled loudly. When called, it ran away. The merchant got off the boat and chased it. The dog ran onto a boat and bit a man on the leg and thigh, refusing to let go even when beaten. The merchant came near and shouted at it, and the man it had bitten was none other than the former bandit. His clothes and boat had all been changed, so he had not been recognized. They bound him and searched him, and the wrapped gold was still there. Alas! A single dog, and yet it repaid kindness in this way. Those in the world who have no heart—should they not be ashamed before this dog!

**Yang Dahong**

# Daya Hong Yang Lian

When the great Yang Lian of Daya was still in humble circumstances, he was already a famous scholar of Chu and thought himself no ordinary man. After taking the provincial examination, he heard the results being announced. He was in the middle of eating and went out with food still in his mouth to ask: "Is there a Yang So-and-so?" When told there was not, he was overcome with dejection, swallowed the food into his diaphragm, and it formed a painful lump, causing him great difficulty in swallowing. Everyone urged him to register as a supplementary candidate. The gentleman had no money, so they collected ten taels of gold to send him on his way, and he reluctantly set out. That night he dreamed a person told him: "Ahead on your road there is someone who can cure your illness—you must beg him earnestly." Before the figure departed, he presented Yang with a poem containing the lines: "By the willows at the river's edge, play the flute three times; cast it into the heart of the river and do not sigh." The next day along the road, he indeed saw a Daoist sitting beneath a willow. He went up and made his request. The Daoist laughed and said: "You are mistaken. How could I cure an illness? But I will play three tunes for you." He then produced a flute and played it. Yang, moved by the dream, bowed and entreated him all the more urgently, emptying his purse to offer him everything. The Daoist took the gold and flung it into the river. Yang, knowing how hard it had been to come by, cried out in alarm and regret. The Daoist said: "You cannot let it go? The gold is on the riverbank—go and fetch it yourself." Yang went to look and indeed found it. He was even more amazed and hailed the Daoist as an immortal. The Daoist gestured vaguely and said: "I am no immortal—the immortal is coming from over there." Tricking Yang into turning to look, he struck him hard on the neck and said: "How vulgar!" Yang received the blow, opened his mouth with a sound, and vomited something from his throat. It fell to the ground with a thud. He bent down and broke it open—inside, red threads still wrapped around undigested rice. His illness vanished. He turned to look, but the Daoist had already disappeared.

The Historian of the Strange remarks: "The gentleman, living, was a river and mountain; dead, he is a sun and star. Why must he have attained immortality to be considered undying? Some may lament that he could not escape vulgarity and did not become a celestial immortal. But I say: one more immortal in heaven is not as good as one more sage on earth. Those who understand will surely not consider my words wrong."

---

# The Cave on Chaya Mountain

On Chaya Mountain in Zhangqiu there was a stone grotto shaped like a well, several feet deep. In the northern wall there was a cave entrance, visible by lying flat and craning one's neck. It happened that several men from a nearby village, on the ninth day of the ninth month, climbed the mountain and drank there. Together they plotted to enter and explore. Three men took lamps and were lowered down by rope. The cave was as tall and spacious as a great hall; after entering a few paces, it narrowed, and suddenly they could see the bottom. At the bottom there was a small opening, into which one could wriggle like a snake. They held a lamp to it—pitch black and unfathomably deep. Two men, fearful, drew back. One man snatched the lamp and mocked them, squeezing his body into the narrow passage. Fortunately the tight spot was only as thick as a wall, and then it suddenly became high and wide again. He could stand, then walk. Above, the rocks jutted at precarious angles, seemingly about to fall yet not falling. The two walls were rough and jagged, like temple sculptures—all in the shapes of birds, beasts, men, and ghosts: birds as if in flight, beasts as if running, men as if sitting or standing, and the demon *wangliang* manifesting rage. Strange and grotesque—mostly ugly, with little that was pleasing. His heart trembled with dread. He was glad the path was level, with no small inclines. After several hundred paces, the western wall opened into a stone chamber. To the left of the door stood a monstrous stone ghost, facing a person. Its eyes bulged, its mouth was stretched wide, its teeth and teeth hideous. Its left hand was clenched at its waist; its right hand spread five fingers as if about to seize someone. His heart was filled with terror, his hair standing on end. Gazing into the distance, he saw ash in the doorway, showing that someone had been there before. His courage somewhat strengthened, he forced himself to enter. On the ground he saw bowls and cups arranged in a row, caked with mud—but they were all modern objects, not ancient ware. Beside them were four tin pots, which he coveted. He loosened his sash and tied them around his waist. Then glancing to the side, he saw a corpse lying in the western corner, arms and legs spread out in all directions. He was terrified. Examining it more closely, he saw it wore pointed shoes with plum-blossom patterns still visible on the soles—he knew it was a young woman. Who knew her village? When had she perished? Her clothing was faded and rotted, its colors no longer distinguishable. Her hair was wild, like a basketful of tangled silk clinging to her skull. Her eyes and nostrils were two each. Her teeth, two rows, white and jagged—he supposed that was her mouth. He thought her head might have gold or pearl ornaments, so he brought the lamp near her head. It seemed as though she breathed on the lamp; the flame wavered unsteadily, its glow a dusky yellow, and her clothing stirred as if blowing in a breeze. He was again greatly frightened, his hands trembling. The lamp suddenly went out. Remembering the path, he ran in haste, not daring to touch the walls with his hands for fear of contacting ghostly things. His head struck a rock and he fell, then immediately rose again. Cold dampness soaked his chin and cheeks—he realized it was blood. He felt no pain, yet dared not groan. Panting, he rushed to the opening. Just as he was about to crouch, it seemed someone seized his hair and held him fast. He fainted and lost consciousness.

The others had been waiting at the top of the well for a long time and grew suspicious. They lowered two more men down. They crawled into the opening and saw Yang's hair caught on a rock, blood flowing freely—he was already stiff. The two men turned pale and dared not enter, sitting in distress and sighing. Soon two more were sent down from above. Among them was a brave man who pressed forward vigorously and dragged Yang out. They laid him on the mountain. Half a day later he woke and told the story in detail. What was regrettable was that they had not reached the bottom; had they gone all the way, there must have been even finer sights. Later, Magistrate Zhang heard of this and sealed the opening with clay, so it could never be entered again.

---

In the twenty-sixth or twenty-seventh year of Kangxi, on the southern cliff of Yangmu Ravine, a rockfall revealed a cave entrance. Gazing into it, stalactites stood thick like a dense forest of bamboo shoots. But it was deep and dangerous, and no one dared enter. Suddenly a Daoist arrived, claiming to be a disciple of Zhongli. He said: "My master sent me first to cleanse the cave dwelling." The locals provided him with lamp oil. The Daoist took it and descended, but fell onto a stone stalagmite and was pierced through the belly, dying. The magistrate was informed and ordered the cave sealed. Within there must have been wondrous sights; it was a pity the Daoist achieved deliverance by means of his corpse and there was no word of his return.

Liu Hongxun of Changshan, a grand secretary, was sent on a diplomatic mission to Korea together with a certain military officer. Having heard that Anqi Island was the abode of immortals, he wished to command a boat to go and visit it. The ministers and officials of the kingdom unanimously declared this impossible and told him to wait for Little Zhang—for Anqi had no dealings with the world, save only through his disciple Little Zhang, who came once or twice a year. Those wishing to reach the island had first to make their case to him. If he deemed it acceptable, a fair wind would carry them there; otherwise, a typhoon would capsize their boat.

A day or two later, the king summoned them to an audience. Upon entering the court, they saw a man wearing a sword and a palm-fiber hat, seated upon the throne; he was about thirty years of age, with a refined and immaculate bearing. Upon inquiry, this was Little Zhang. Liu thereupon expressed his longing to visit the island, and Little Zhang granted permission, but said, "The vice-envoy cannot go." He then came out and inspected the entire retinue; only two men were fit to accompany the journey. He accordingly ordered a boat to guide Liu and the two men to set forth.

The water route was of no known distance, but they felt as though they were riding upon clouds and mist, and in due time they arrived at the region. It was the depth of winter, yet once they reached the island, the climate was warm and mild, and mountain flowers covered every cranny of the valleys and cliffs. The guide led them into a cave dwelling, where they saw three old men sitting in meditation. The two seated to the east and west paid no attention to the guests' arrival, as though wholly unaware; only the one seated in the middle rose to greet them, and they exchanged courtesies. When they were seated, tea was called for. A boy took a tray and went out. On the stone wall outside the cave there was an iron spike, its sharp point buried deep in the rock. The boy pulled out the spike, and water gushed forth in a jet. He caught it in a cup; when it was full, he stopped the hole again. Presently the tea was brought in, of a pale green color. Liu tested it and found it so cold it set his teeth on edge. Being averse to the cold, he did not drink it. The old man looked at the boy and nodded. The boy took the cup away, sipped what remained, then went back to the same spot, pulled out the spike, and filled the cup again from the gushing water—but this time the tea was fragrant and steaming, as though freshly poured from a cauldron. Liu marveled inwardly at this wonder.

He asked about fortune and misfortune, but the old man laughed and said: "We who live beyond the world do not even know the passage of years—how should we understand the affairs of men?" He asked about the art of warding off old age, and was told: "This is not something a man of wealth and rank can practice." Liu rose to take his leave, and Little Zhang escorted him back. Upon returning to Korea, Liu recounted all that had happened in detail. The king sighed and said: "What a pity he did not drink the cold tea! That is the primal jade liquor—a single cup could prolong life by a hundred years."

When Liu was about to depart for home, the king gave him a gift, wrapped in many layers of paper and silk, and instructed him not to open it while near the sea. Once they had left the coast, he hastily unwrapped it; after removing several hundred layers, he at last saw a mirror. Examining it closely, he found that the dragon palaces and the tribes of the dragon king were all clearly visible within. As he was gazing fixedly at it, he suddenly saw a tidal wave rising higher than a tower, surging toward him with a roar. Terrified, he fled at top speed; the wave pursued him, swift as wind and rain. In great fear, he threw the mirror into the wave, and at once the tide subsided.

---

**Yuan Customs**

Li Jilin was acting magistrate of Yuanjiang. Upon first assuming office, he found his hall filled with cats and dogs and was astonished. His subordinates said: "These are the local folk come to gaze upon your distinguished presence." A short while later, half of them had become human; in due course, they all resumed human form and departed in a crowd.

One day, he went out to call upon a guest, his sedan chair on the way. Suddenly one of the bearers cried out in alarm: "I've been eaten by a pest!" He at once asked another man to take his place, then prostrated himself on the ground and begged leave. Liu angrily rebuked him, but the man would not listen and fled at speed. Liu sent someone to follow him. The man ran into the market and found an old man, begging him to examine him. The old man inspected him and said: "Indeed, you have been eaten by a pest." He then pressed and felt the man's flesh with his hands, pushing forcefully from top to bottom; when he reached the lower leg, he found a swelling beneath the skin. He cut it open with a sharp blade and extracted a stone pellet, saying: "You are cured." The man then ran back.

Liu later heard that it was a local custom there for a person's hand, while the body lay in the bedroom, to fly out on its own and enter other people's houses to steal property. If the owner discovered it and bound the hand so it could not return, then that person would be crippled in one arm.

---

**Princess Yunluo**

An Dalong was a man of Lulong. He could speak from birth; his mother fed him dog's blood, and only then did he stop. As he grew, he was handsome and graceful, with no equal when he regarded his own shadow; he was clever and could read. Families of standing vied to betroth their daughters to him. His mother dreamed, saying, "Our child will marry a princess." She believed it. By the time he was fifteen or six, it had still not come to pass, and she gradually came to regret it.

One day, An was sitting alone when suddenly he caught an unusual fragrance. In a moment, a beautiful maid came rushing in, saying, "The princess has arrived." At once she spread a long felt carpet along the ground, running from the doorway all the way to the foot of the couch. While he was still in shock and bewilderment, a young lady entered, leaning on the maid's shoulder; her attire and radiant complexion illuminated all four walls. The maid at once placed an embroidered cushion on the couch and helped the lady sit down. An was flustered and did not know what to do; he bowed and asked, "What immortal from what realm has deigned to honor me with her presence?"

The young lady smiled, covering her mouth with her sleeve. The maid said, "This is Princess Yunluo of the Empress's household. The Empress has taken a fancy to you, my lord, and wishes to give the princess to you in marriage, so she has sent us to inspect your dwelling."

An was overjoyed and could find no words; the young lady also lowered her head. The two sat in silence. An had always loved to play chess, and his board was usually placed beside his seat. One maid dusted the board with a red kerchief and moved it onto the table, saying,, "My lady is addicted to this every day—I wonder who would win, she or the Prince Consort?" An moved closer to the table, and the princess smilingly followed him. After just thirty or so moves, the maid disrupted the board, saying, "The Prince Consort has lost!" She gathered the pieces back into the box and said, "The Prince Consort must be a master among commoners—my lady can only yield six stones." She then placed six black stones on the board, and the princess followed accordingly.

Whenever the princess sat, she would have a maid lie down beneath her so that she could rest her feet upon the maid's back; when her left foot tired, she was replaced by another maid lying to the right. Two little maids also attended her on either side. Whenever An was deep in thought, one of them would bend her elbow and rest it on his shoulder. Before the game was finished, a little maid laughed and said, "The Prince Consort has lost one stone." She stepped forward and said, "My lady is tired and should withdraw for now."

The princess then leaned close and whispered into a maid's ear. The maid went out, returned after a short while, and placed a thousand taels of gold on the couch, telling An, "Just now my lady said your dwelling is cramped and low. She asks that you use this to make some small repairs; when the work is finished, you will meet."

One maid said, "This month offends Heavenly Punishment—it is not suitable for construction. Next month will be auspicious." The princess rose. An tried to detain her and closed the door. The maid produced an object resembling a bellows and pumped it on the ground; clouds of vapor burst forth, and in an instant they filled all around, so dark that nothing could be seen. When he searched for them, they had vanished.

His mother learned of this and suspected it was demonic. But An's spirit was entranced, his heart lost in dreams, and he could not bear to let her go. He was eager to complete the construction and had no time for taboos; he pressed the work day by day, and his halls and chambers were made entirely new.

Previously, there had been a scholar named Yuan Dayuan from Luanzhou, lodging in a neighboring ward. He had presented his calling card at An's gate. An was not sociable by nature and made excuses to be elsewhere, and when he saw that Yuan had left, he sent his reply. More than a month later, they happened to meet outside the gate. Yuan was a young man of about twenty, wearing a single gown of palace silk, silk ribbons, and black shoes—his manner was most refined. After a brief conversation, he proved very warm and respectful. An was pleased and invited him in with a bow. He asked to play chess with him, and they won and lost in turn. Afterward, An set out wine and kept him there, and they talked and laughed with great delight.

The next day, Yuan invited An to his lodgings. Exquisite dishes were served in abundance, and he treated him with deep warmth. There was a young boy of twelve or thirteen who sang to the beat of a clapper and performed acrobatic tricks. An was too drunk to walk, so he had the boy carry him. An thought the boy too slight and feared he could not bear the weight. Yuan insisted. The boy had strength to spare, carrying An on his back and delivering him home. An marveled at this. The next day, he rewarded the boy with gold, and only after declining twice did the boy accept it.

From then on, their friendship grew intimate, and every few days they would visit each other. Yuan was a man of few words, yet generous and fond of giving. When someone in the market owed a debt and was selling his daughter to pay it, Yuan would open his purse to redeem her, without the slightest trace of reluctance. An valued him all the more for this.

Several days later, Yuan came to take his leave of An. He presented him with more than ten items—ivory chopstards, nanmu pearls, and the like—and five hundred taels of silver, to help with the construction. An returned the silver but accepted the gifts, repaying him with bundles of silk.

More than a month later, there was a man who had served as an official in Letting and returned home, his bags overflowing with wealth. Thieves entered at night, seized the master of the house, burned him with heated iron tongs, and plundered everything. The family recognized Yuan, and a warrant was issued for his arrest.

A butcher named Tu, living in a neighboring courtyard, had long been at odds with An's family. Seeing the great scale of construction underway, he secretly grew suspicious and jealous. It happened that a young servant had stolen the ivory chopsticks and sold them to the butcher's household. Knowing they had been Yuan's gift, the butcher reported this to the magistrate. The magistrate surrounded the house with soldiers, but An and his servants had gone out; they seized his mother and took her away.

His mother, old and frail, had been so frightened that she barely clung to life; for two or three days she could neither eat nor drink. The magistrate released her. An heard the news of his mother's condition and rushed home in haste, but her illness already was critical, and the next day she died.

He had just finished the funeral preparations when the constables seized him. The magistrate, seeing that he was young and gentle in bearing, secretly suspected the charges were false, but nevertheless tried to intimidate him. An gave a truthful account of the whole course of his association with Yuan. The magistrate asked, "How did you come by such sudden wealth?" An replied, "My mother had savings. Because I wished to bring my bride home, I was preparing the bridal chamber." The magistrate believed him and sent the case up to the prefecture with a full report.

The neighbors, knowing An was in no real danger, bribed the guards escorting him with a large sum of gold to kill him on the way. When they reached a deep mountain, they dragged him near a sheer cliff and were about to push him over. The scheme was desperate, the danger imminent—at the moment of greatest peril, suddenly a tiger burst from the thicket, bit both guards to death, and carried An away in its mouth.

Arriving at a place of layered towers and storied pavilions, the tiger entered and set him down. He saw Princess Yunluo emerge, leaning on her maid. She offered him comfort with sorrow in her eyes: "I wished to keep you, but your mother's funeral has not yet been completed. Take your documents and go to the prefecture to surrender yourself—you will be safe."

She then took the sash at An's chest and tied more than ten knots in it, instructing him, "When you see the official, pinch these knots and undo them, and disaster will be averted." An followed her instructions and went to the prefecture to surrender himself. The prefect was pleased by his honesty, and upon examining the documents confirmed that he had been wronged. He struck An's name from the rolls and sent him home.

On the way back, An met Yuan. He dismounted and took his hand, relating everything that had happened. Yuan's face darkened with anger, but he said nothing. An said, "With your distinguished bearing, why have you soiled yourself?"

Yuan replied, "All those I have killed were men without righteousness; all that I have taken was wealth gained without righteousness. Otherwise, even if it were left by the roadside, I would not pick it up. Your advice to me is well enough, but as for your neighbor—how could such a man be allowed to remain in this world!"

With that, he leaped onto his horse and rode away.

An returned home, and after burying his mother, closed his gate and withdrew from all visitors. But one night, thieves entered the neighbor's house and killed more than ten people—father and sons—leaving only one maid. They gathered up all the valuables and divided them between themselves and the boy to carry. Before leaving, they took up a lamp and said to the maid, "Remember this well: I am the one who killed them. It has nothing to do with anyone else."

Without even opening the gate, they flew across rafters over walls and were gone.

The next day, he went to report to the authorities. They suspected the scholar of being complicit, so they arrested him again. The county magistrate was severe in both word and expression. The scholar went up to the court holding his sash, defending himself and explaining as he went. The magistrate could not press him further and released him once more.

After returning home, he withdrew even further from the world, reading his books and never going out, with only a lame old woman to cook for him. When his mourning period was complete, he swept the courtyard steps every day, awaiting good tidings.

One day, a strange fragrance filled the entire courtyard. He climbed the pavilion to look, and found that both inside and outside, the furnishings were completely renewed. He quietly drew aside the painted curtain, and there sat the princess, fully adorned. He hurriedly bowed to her. She took his hand and said, "You did not trust in fate, and so brought disaster upon these walls and grounds; and again, because of your mourning obligations, you delayed our marital bliss for three years: what was hastened has thereby been delayed—this is generally how matters in the world turn out."

The scholar was about to provide funds to prepare a feast. The princess said, "There is no need." A maid opened a chest, and the dishes and broth were hot as if freshly from the cauldron; the fragrant wine was also cool and clear. After drinking for some time, the sun had already set, and the maids he had been treading upon gradually all disappeared. The princess's limbs were delicate and languid; her feet and legs bent and stretched as if they rested on nothing. The scholar embraced her playfully. The princess said, "Release me for a moment. There are two paths—please choose for yourself." The scholar put his arm around her neck and asked why. She said, "If we be friends of chess and wine, we may have thirty years together; if we share the pleasures of the bedchamber, we may have but six years of harmony. Which will you choose?" The scholar said, "We shall discuss it again in six years." The princess then fell silent, and they enjoyed each other's company.

The princess said, "I knew well that you could not escape the ways of the world—this too is fate." She then had the scholar keep maids and an old woman, living separately in the southern courtyard, cooking and weaving to make a living. In the northern courtyard there was no cooking fire at all—only a chess board and wine vessels. The door was always shut; when the scholar pushed it, it opened of itself, and no one else could enter. Yet whether the people in the southern courtyard worked diligently or lazily, the princess always knew. She would send the scholar to reprimand them, and none failed to submit. The princess spoke no idle words and laughed no loud laughs; when she conversed, she merely lowered her head and smiled faintly. Whenever they sat side by side, she liked to lean against him. The scholar lifted her onto his knees—she was light as an infant. The scholar said, "You are so light—you could dance on a palm." She said, "What difficulty is that! But it is what a maid would do, and beneath me. Feiyan was originally a handmaid of my ninth elder sister; she repeatedly offended through her frivolity, and in anger was banished to the mortal world, where she failed to preserve a woman's chastity. She is now imprisoned."

The pavilion above was covered entirely with brocade cloth; in winter it was never cold, and in summer never hot. In the depths of winter the princess wore only light gauze; the scholar had fresh clothes made for her and tried to make her wear them. After a while she removed them, saying: "The dusty things of the world—they nearly press the bones to exhaustion!"

One day, as he held her on his knees, he suddenly felt she was twice as heavy as before and was surprised. She smiled and pointed to her belly, saying: "There is a mortal seed within." After a few days, she frowned and would not eat, saying: "I have been suffering from morning sickness of late and have a great longing for the taste of cooked food." The scholar then prepared savory dishes for her. From then on, her food and drink were no longer different from those of ordinary people.

One day she said: "My constitution is frail and weak; I cannot endure childbirth. The maid Fan Ying is quite robust—she may serve in my stead." She then removed her inner garments and dressed Fan Ying in them, shutting her in a chamber. Shortly after, the sound of a baby's cry was heard. He opened the door and looked—it was a boy. Delighted, he said: "This child has the appearance of good fortune—he will be a great vessel!" He therefore named him Daqi. He swaddled the child and placed him in the scholar's arms, bidding him hand the boy to the wet nurse to be raised in the southern courtyard. After the princess gave birth, her waist was slender as before, and she ate no cooked food again.

She suddenly took leave of the scholar, wishing to return home for a visit. He asked when she would return; she answered, "Three days." She beat the leather bellows as before, and then she was gone. The appointed time passed and she did not come; a year and more went by, and all news of her ceased. He had already given up hope.

The scholar kept his door bolted and curtains drawn, and then passed the provincial examination. He steadfastly refused to take a wife; every night he slept alone in the northern courtyard, bathing in her lingering fragrance. One night, tossing and turning on his bed, he suddenly saw lamplight shining through the window; the door opened of itself, and a crowd of maids escorted the princess in. The scholar was overjoyed and rose to ask the reason for her broken promise. The princess said, "I have not missed the appointed time—it is only two and a half days in Heaven." The scholar was pleased with himself and told her of his success in the autumn examination, thinking she would surely be delighted. The princess said gravely: "What use are such windfalls! They are not worth either honor or shame—they only shorten a man's lifespan. Three days without seeing me, and you have sunk one layer deeper into the mire of the mundane world." From then on, the scholar no longer strove for advancement.

After several months, the princess again wished to return home for a visit. The scholar was deeply sorrowful at the parting. The princess said: "This time I shall certainly return early—do not trouble yourself with watching and waiting. Moreover, the unions and separations of human life all have their fixed destiny; if one is temperate, they are long; if one is indulgent, they are short." After she left, she returned within a month. From then on, she would go once every year or so, often not returning for several months. The scholar grew accustomed to it and thought nothing of it.

She bore another son. When the princess held him up, she said: "A wolf!" and immediately ordered him abandoned. The scholar could not bear to do so and kept the child, naming him Keqi ("May Be Abandoned"). As soon as he reached one year of age, the scholar quickly sought a betrothal for him. Matchmakers came one after another, but when they asked the child's birth date, all said it was incompatible. The princess said: "I wish to build a deep pen for this wolf cub, but it cannot be done. That his household will be ruined in six or seven years is also fate." She instructed the scholar, saying: "Remember—in four years, a daughter will be born to the Hou family, with a small fleshy growth on her left side. She shall be this boy's wife. Betroth him to her, and do not be particular about her family's social standing." She then had him write it down and mark it.

Afterward, the princess again returned home for a visit and never came back. The scholar often told his relatives and friends of her instructions. There was indeed a daughter born to the Hou family who had a fleshy growth; the Hous were of low station and of evil conduct, and everyone despised them. The scholar nevertheless arranged the match through a matchmaker.

Daqi passed the jinshi examination at the age of seventeen and married a woman of the Yun family; both husband and wife were filial and brotherly. Their father doted on him. As Keqi grew, he took no pleasure in study and secretly gambled with worthless men, constantly stealing things to pay off his gambling debts. His father was angry and beat him, but in the end he did not reform. They all warned each other to watch him carefully and not let him get hold of anything. He then went out at night and committed petty burglaries. He was discovered by his master, bound, and sent to the county magistrate. The magistrate, upon learning his name and surname, sent him home with a calling card. His father and elder brother bound him together and beat him savagely, until he nearly breathed his last. His elder brother pleaded for mercy on his behalf, and only then was he released. His father, in his rage and resentment, fell ill and ate less and less. He then drew up a document dividing the property between his two sons: the fine buildings and fertile fields all went to Daqi. Keqi, resentful and angry, entered the house at night with a knife, intending to kill his elder brother, but by mistake struck his sister-in-law. Earlier, the princess had left behind a pair of trousers, extremely light and soft, which Yun had picked up and made into sleeping clothes. Keqi struck them with his knife, and sparks flew in all directions. Terrified, he fled out. When his father learned of this, his illness grew worse, and within a few months he died. Only upon hearing of his father's death did Keqi return. His elder brother treated him kindly, but Keqi grew even more wanton. After a little over a year, the property he had been allotted was nearly exhausted, and he went to the prefecture to sue his elder brother. The magistrate, upon learning what sort of person he was,

He drove them away. From then on, the fraternal bond was severed entirely. Another year passed. Keqi was now twenty-three, and the Hou girl fifteen. The elder brother recalled his mother's words and wished to hasten the marriage. He summoned them to his house, prepared a fine dwelling for them to live in, and brought the bride into the household. He took all the good farmland his father had left behind, recorded it in the registry, and handed it over to them, saying: "These few qing of poor land—I risked death to preserve them for you, and now I entrust them all to you. My younger brother is without virtue; if I gave him even a blade of grass, he would squander it. From this point on, success or failure rests with the new bride: if she can reform his ways, you need not fear cold and hunger. If not, even I cannot fill a bottomless pit."

Though the Hou girl came from a humble family, she was by nature clever and beautiful. Keqi both feared and loved her deeply, and dared not disobey anything she said. Whenever he went out, she set a strict time limit; if he exceeded it, she would berate him furiously and deny him food and drink. For this reason, Keqi somewhat restrained himself. In a little over a year, she bore a son. The wife said: "From now on, I shall have no need to depend on anyone. With several qing of fertile land, what worry could a mother and son have about food and clothing? Without a husband, I could manage as well."

It happened that Keqi stole grain to go gambling. His wife learned of it and stood at the gate with a bow to block his way. Terrified, he fled and hid. Peeking to see his wife go inside, he hesitantly followed. The wife seized a knife and rose to her feet. Keqi turned and ran; she chased him and hacked at him, cutting through his robe and wounding his thigh, blood soaking his socks and shoes. In a fury, he went to complain to his elder brother, but his brother received him with no courtesy. Wronged and ashamed, he left. After spending the night elsewhere, he returned and knelt before his sister-in-law, weeping piteously, begging her to intercede with his wife first. The wife adamantly refused to admit him. Enraged, Keqi set out to kill his wife. His elder brother said nothing. Keqi rose in anger and strode out spear in hand. His sister-in-law was alarmed and tried to stop him, but her husband silenced her with a glance. After Keqi had gone, the elder brother said: "He puts on this show, but he truly does not dare come back." He sent someone to watch, and Keqi had already entered his own gate. Only then did the elder brother's expression change, and he was about to rush to help—but Keqi had already burst in, panting heavily. It turned out that when Keqi entered the house, his wife was playing with their child. She saw him, threw the child onto the bed, and found a kitchen knife. Keqi, terrified, dragged his spear and fled back out. His wife chased him beyond the gate before returning. The elder brother had already learned the full story, which is why he questioned him. Keqi said nothing, but sat facing the corner and wept until his eyes were swollen. His elder brother took pity on him, personally led him back, and his wife then took him in. After the elder brother left, she punished him by making him kneel for a long time, extracted a heavy oath from him, and only then gave him food in an earthenware basin. From this point on, he reformed his ways and did good.

The wife managed the accounts and kept the books, and day by day their prosperity grew, while Keqi merely reaped the benefits of her efforts. Later, at the age of seventy, surrounded by children and grandchildren, his wife would still sometimes pluck at his white beard and make him crawl on his knees.

The Historian of Strange Tales says: "A shrewish wife or a jealous spouse—those who encounter them are like a festering sore attached to the bone, which does not end until death. Is this not poison indeed? Yet arsenic and aconite are the most potent poisons under heaven; if used rightly, they can cure grave ills that ginseng and poria could never match. But unless one is an immortal who can see into a person's very viscera, who would dare bequeath poison to his descendants?"

Li Shanyan, a provincial graduate of Zhangqiu, was unrestrained and unconventional in his youth, and excelled at stringed and wind instruments, song, and opera. His two elder brothers had all passed the highest examinations, and the provincial graduate became even more frivolous. He married a woman named Xie, who gradually tried to restrain him. He then ran away and did not return for three years; though searched for everywhere, he could not be found. Eventually he was discovered in the pleasure quarter of Linqing. When his family entered, they found him seated facing the south, with a dozen or so young concubines attending him on either side—all of them students of music and arts who had acknowledged him as their master. Before departing, he accumulated piles of clothes and trunks of goods, all gifts from these women. After he returned, his wife locked him in a single room, filling his desk with books. She tied a long rope to the foot of his bed, threaded the other end through the window lattice, and fastened it to a large bell hung in the kitchen. Whenever he needed anything, he would step on the rope; when the rope moved and the bell rang, she would respond. His wife personally established a pawnshop, sitting behind a curtain to receive goods and appraise their value; she held the counting tallies in her left hand and the writing brush in her right. An old servant ran errands for her—and through this, they amassed wealth and grew rich. She was constantly ashamed of not matching the status of the other wives. After confining him for three years, the provincial graduate passed the examination. She said joyfully: "Three eggs, two hatched—I thought you would be the unhatched one. So you have succeeded after all?"

There was also Jinshi Geng Songsheng, also of Zhangqiu. His wife always spun thread by lamplight to keep him company in his studies: as long as she did not stop spinning, he dared not stop reading. Sometimes friends would come to visit, and she would secretly listen from behind the curtain: if they discussed literature, she would brew tea and prepare millet; but if they indulged in idle jesting, she would hurl abuse and drive the guests away. Whenever he received middling results in an examination, he dared not enter the inner door; only if he placed exceptionally high would she greet him with a smile. When he received payment for tutoring, he handed it over to her in full, daring to conceal even the smallest amount. Therefore, whenever his employer presented gifts, he would insist on counting every zi and hua before his face. Others mocked him for this, not knowing how difficult her accounting truly was. Later, his father-in-law engaged him to teach his younger brother. That year the younger brother entered the county school, and the father-in-law presented ten taels of silver as a gratuity. Geng accepted the flask but returned the silver. His wife learned of it and said: "Though he is a close relative, what of the 'tongue-plow'—his livelihood?" She pursued the silver and made him accept it. Geng dared not argue, but in his heart he remained uneasy, and he thought of repaying the amount secretly. From then on, each year he would underreport the amount of his tutoring fees to his wife. After accumulating this for over two years, he had amassed a certain sum. Suddenly one night a person appeared in a dream and told him: "Tomorrow, climb to a high place, and the sum will be complete." The next day, he tried climbing to a height to look out, and indeed found lost silver—exactly matching the shortfall—and thus repaid his father-in-law. Later he became a metropolitan graduate, yet his wife still scolded and reproached him. Geng said: "Now that I have become an official, how can you carry on like this?" His wife replied: "As the proverb says: 'When the water rises, the boat rises with it.' Even if you become a prime minister, would that make you great?"

In the central plains region there was a Daoist priest who begged for food in the villages. After eating, he heard an oriole singing and thereupon warned his host to be careful with fire. When asked why, he replied, "The bird said, 'A great fire will be hard to put out—terrible!'" Everyone laughed at him, and in the end no one took precautions. The next day, a fire indeed broke out, spreading to burn several households. Only then did they marvel at his uncanny powers. A curious man caught up with him and hailed him as an immortal. The priest said, "I merely understand the language of birds—how could I be an immortal?" Just then a brown-speckled sparrow was singing in a tree. The crowd asked what it was saying. He said, "The sparrow says, 'Raise them on the sixth of the first month, raise them on the sixth; on the fourteenth and sixteenth they will die.' I suppose this family has twins. Today is the tenth, so within five or six days both will die." They inquired, and it turned out she had given birth to two sons; before long, both died, and the dates matched exactly.

The county magistrate, hearing of this marvel, summoned the priest and retained him as a guest. A flock of ducks happened to pass by, and he asked the priest about them. The priest replied, "Within your lordship's inner chambers, there must be a quarrel. The ducks say, 'Enough, enough! He favors her! He favors her!'" The magistrate was greatly impressed, for his wife and concubines had been bickering, and he had just been driven out by the clamor. He therefore kept the priest in the yamen, treating him with the highest courtesy. At that time, his interpretations of bird speech were often remarkably accurate. But the priest was rustic and uncouth, and when he spoke freely he showed no restraint whatsoever. The magistrate was extremely greedy; all supplies and provisions were converted into cash and pocketed by him. One day, as they were sitting, the flock of ducks came again, and the magistrate questioned the priest once more. The priest replied, "What they say today is not the same as before—they are keeping accounts for your lordship." "What accounts?" asked the magistrate. "They said, 'One hundred and eight candles, one thousand eight hundred cinnabar.'" The magistrate was ashamed, suspecting the priest was mocking him. The priest asked to leave, but the magistrate would not allow it. Several days later, a banquet was held for guests, and suddenly a cuckoo was heard. The guests asked about it. The priest replied, "The bird says, 'Lose your office and depart.'" The guests turned pale with alarm. The magistrate flew into a rage and drove him out on the spot. Before long, the magistrate was indeed dismissed for corruption. Alas! This was a warning from an immortal, yet sadly, those whose hearts are steeped in peril and avarice cannot bring themselves to awaken.

In the customs of Qi, people call the cicada *shaoqian* ("slightly promoted"), and the green variety is called *douliao* ("all done"). In a certain county there were a father and son, both students of the academy, about to sit for the annual examination, when suddenly a cicada alighted on the father's collar. The father was delighted and said, "*Shaoqian*—an auspicious omen!" A servant boy looked at it and said, "What *shaoqian*? It's just a *douliao*." The father and son were displeased. In the end, both failed the examination.

**A Tale of Guo Sheng**

Guo Sheng was a man from the capital. In his twenties, he was graceful and handsome. One evening, an old woman brought him a jar of wine. He was puzzled, as he could not fathom her reason. The old woman smiled and said, "No need to ask. Just drink it, and you shall find wondrous delights." With that, she left directly. He uncovered the jar and sniffed it—a piercing fragrance wafted in all directions. He drank it down. Suddenly he fell into a deep stupor, unconscious to all things. When he awoke, he found himself lying with another person, sharing a pillow. He touched the person—the skin was smooth as grease, perfumed with musk and orchid. It was a woman. He questioned her, but she did not answer. He then lay with her. Afterward, he felt along the walls—they were all stone, damp and earthy, much like a tomb. He was greatly alarmed, suspecting he had been bewitched by a ghost. He asked the woman, "What spirit are you?" She replied, "I am no spirit; I am an immortal. This is a grotto dwelling. We share a predestined bond from a former life. Do not be startled, but endure your stay here. Beyond one more gate, there is a place where light seeps through—you may relieve yourself there." Soon after, the woman rose and closed the door behind her as she left.

After a long while, hunger gnawed at him, and a maidservant arrived, bringing him flatbreads and braised duck, which he groped for and ate in the pitch black, knowing neither day or night. Before long, the woman came to sleep, and only then did he know it was night. Guo said, "By day there is no sun or sky; by night there is no lamp or fire. I eat roasted meats without knowing where my mouth is. If it is always thus, how is Chang'e any different from a rakshasa, and how does paradise differ from hell?" The woman laughed and said, "Because you are a man of the mundane world, who talks too much and cannot keep secrets, I do not wish to be seen by your eyes. Even in the dark, groping by touch, one can still tell beauty from ugliness—why must there have been candles and lamps?"

After several days, he was oppressed beyond measure by the darkness and repeatedly begged to return home briefly. The woman said, "Tomorrow evening I shall take you on an excursion to the celestial palace, and then we shall part." The next day, a young maid arrived carrying a lantern, saying, "My mistress has long awaited you, sir." He followed her out. Amid the light of the stars, he saw countless pavilions and towers. After passing through several winding painted corridors, they arrived at a place where pearl curtains hung in the hall, and giant candles blazed as bright as day. Inside, a beauty sat facing south in splendid attire, appearing about twenty years of age. Her brocade robes dazzled the eyes; upon her head, large pearls trembled and hung on all sides. Short candles were placed all along the floor, illuminating even beneath her skirts—truly a celestial being. Guo was bewildered and lost his composure, involuntarily dropping to his knees. The woman ordered a maid to help him to his seat. In moments, a feast of eight delicacies was spread before them. The woman raised her cup and said, "Drink this to send you on your way." Guo bowed and said, "Before, I beheld your face yet did not know you were an immortal—truly I am filled with shame and regret. If you would allow me to redeem myself, I wish to be your loyal servant unto death." The woman glanced at her maid and smiled, then ordered the feast moved to the bedchamber. Inside, the chamber was hung with tasseled embroidered curtains, and the quilts and coverings were fragrant and soft. She had Guo sit upon the couch. As they drank, the woman repeatedly said, "You have been away from home for long; a brief return would do no harm." When the cup had been passed once more, Guo said nothing of parting. The woman called for a maid to carry a lantern and escort him. Guo said nothing, feigning drunken sleep upon the couch, remaining motionless when shaken. The woman had the maids strip him naked. One maid, parting his private parts, said, "This man has such a gentle and refined face—why is this thing so uncouth!" They placed him on the bed and left laughing. The woman also retired, and Guo then stirred. She asked, "Are you drunk?" He said, "How could this young man be drunk? It is only that upon seeing an immortal, my wits were overturned." The woman said, "This is the celestial palace. Before dawn, you should leave early. If you find the grotto oppressive, it is best to part soon." Guo said, "Now there is a man who, by night, obtains a famous flower—he smells its fragrance and strokes its stem, yet suffers the lack of lamp or candle. How can such longing be endured?" The woman laughed and promised to provide him with lamps and candles. At the fourth watch, she called for a maid to carry a lantern, bundle his clothes, and escort him back. Entering the grotto, he saw the walls were finely plastered, and the bedding was laid upon a thick mat of leather and felt, several inches deep. Guo removed his shoes and wrapped himself in the quilt, but the maid lingered and would not leave. Guo gazed at her—she was graceful and lovely. He joked, "Was it you who said I was uncouth?" The maid smiled and kicked the pillow with her foot, saying, "You should be stiff as a board! Speak no more." He noticed that the tip of her shoe was inlaid with a pearl as large as a giant bean. He seized it and pulled; the maid fell into his arms. They dallied together, and she moaned as if she could not bear it. Guo asked, "How old are you?" She answered with a smile, "Seventeen." He asked, "Can a maiden also know passion?" She said, "I am no maiden, but it has been three years since I last lay with anyone." Guo pressed her for the immortal's surname, her lineage, and her rank. The maid said, "Do not ask! Even if this is not the heavens, it is no ordinary place. If you must know the truth, I fear you would find no place to die." Guo dared not ask again.

The following evening, the woman indeed came with candles, and they slept and ate together, and this became the custom. One night, the woman entered and said, "I had hoped for an eternal union, but I did not expect human feelings to turn cold and obstructive. Now the celestial palace is to be swept clean, and I can no longer keep you here. Let me offer you a cup of wine in farewell." Guo wept and begged to keep some token of her affection. She refused, but gave him a catty of gold and a hundred pearls. After three cups were drained, he suddenly fell into a drunken stupor. When he awoke, he felt his four limbs bound, tightly entangled—his legs could not stretch, his head could not emerge. He struggled to turn and fell, dizzy, from the bed. Reaching out to feel, he found himself wrapped in a brocade quilt, bound with thin ropes. He sat up and pondered, glimpsing the bed frame, and only then realized he was in his own study. By then he had been away from home for three months; his family believed him already dead. Guo dared not speak plainly at first, fearing punishment from the immortals, yet his heart was filled with suspicion and wonder. In secret, he told his closest friends, but none could fathom the reason. The quilt was placed at the head of his bed, its fragrance filling the room. When he opened it, he found it was made of Lake-region cotton mixed with fragrant powder, so he treasured it and kept it hidden.

Later, a high official heard of it and questioned him. Guo laughed and said: "This is an old trick of Empress Jia. How could an immortal act thus? Even so, this matter should be kept secret—if it is revealed, your clan will be destroyed!" There was a shaman who had frequented noble households and described the layout of the buildings—it was strikingly like the residence of Yan Donglou. When Guo heard this, he was greatly terrified and fled with his family. Before long, Yan was executed, and only then did they return.

**The Commentator says:** "Lofty pavilions shrouded in haze, fragrance filling embroidered curtains; young maids tripping lightly, shoes studded with pearls—without the licentious excess of a powerful minister or the arrogant extravagance of a mighty house, how could such things exist! Yet once the dice of lust are cast, the Golden Chamber becomes the Long Gate; before the spittoon is dry, the fields of passion are overgrown with wild grass. An empty bed wounds the heart, a hidden candle consumes the soul. Frowning before the Jade Terrace, gazing within the precious curtains—thus upon the Wine-mound Terrace, the road leads to the celestial palace; in the Land of Tenderness, one mistakes a man for an immortal. The indiscretions of a vulgar man's bedchamber are indeed nothing to be ashamed of, but those who let their own fields lie fallow should take warning!"

**Qiao's Daughter**

Qiao Sheng of Pingyuan had a daughter who was dark-skanned and ugly: she had a sunken nose and a lame foot. By the age of twenty-five or twenty-six, no one had yet asked for her hand. In the county there was a Mu Sheng, over forty, whose wife had died; being too poor to take another, he married her. After three years she bore him a son. Before long Mu Sheng died, and the family fell into ever greater destitution. Greatly straitened, she went to beg mercy of her mother, but her mother could hardly bear it. The woman, resentful, never returned to her mother's house, supporting herself solely by spinning and weaving. A certain Meng Sheng, who had lost his wife, had left behind a son nicknamed Wu-tou, barely a year old. Unable to find a wet nurse, he was urgently seeking a new match. Though matchmakers made several proposals, none pleased him. Suddenly he saw the woman and was greatly delighted. He secretly sent someone to hint at his intentions to her. The woman declined, saying: "Starving and freezing as I am, to follow an official and obtain warmth and food—how could I not wish for it? But I am maimed and ugly, inferior to others. The only thing I can trust in is my virtue. Moreover, to serve a second husband—what would an official gain from that?" Meng thought her all the more worthy, and his admiration grew even more ardent. He had the matchmaker present gold and silk and persuade her mother. The mother was pleased and went in person to the woman's dwelling to insist. But the woman's resolve was never shaken. Ashamed, the mother offered her younger daughter in marriage to Meng. The whole family rejoiced, but Meng was decidedly not willing. Before long, Meng fell ill suddenly and died. The woman went to mourn and wept with all her grief. Meng had had no kin, and after his death the village bullies all took advantage of the situation, carrying off every piece of furniture until nothing remained. They were just plotting to divide up his land when his own household servants each stole what they could and fled, leaving only an old nursemaid holding the child and weeping behind the curtain. The woman learned what had happened and was deeply indignant. Hearing that Lin Sheng had been close to Meng, she went to his door and told him: "Husband and wife, friend and friend—these are the great bonds of humanity. I, being grotesque and ugly, am scorned by the world, yet only Meng Sheng could understand me. Though I firmly refused him before, in my heart I had already pledged myself to him. Now that he is dead and his son is young, I ought to repay the one who knew me well. But preserving an orphan is easy; warding off aggression is hard. If I have no brothers or parents, and sit by watching his son die and his family perish without lifting a hand to help, then among the five bonds friendship may as well be abolished. I ask nothing more of you than to write a single petition to the county magistrate. As for raising the orphan, I will not refuse." Lin said, "I will do it." The woman left and returned home. Lin was about to follow her advice when the bullies, enraged, all wanted to attack him with blades. Lin was terrified and shut his door, daring not to go. The woman waited several days in silence; when she inquired, she learned that Meng's land had already been entirely seized. She was furious and went to the magistrate herself, determined to see justice done. The magistrate demanded what relation she was to Meng. The woman said: "You administer a county; what you rely on is reason alone. If my words are false, then even the closest relative cannot escape punishment; if they are not false, then even a passerby deserves a hearing." The magistrate was angered by her blunt words and drove her out with a scold. With no way to vent her grief and indignation, she wept and pleaded at the gates of the gentry. A certain gentleman, hearing of it, was moved by her righteousness and presented her case to the magistrate on her behalf. The magistrate investigated and found it to be true. He rigorously punished the bullies and returned everything they had taken. Some suggested that the woman be allowed to remain in Meng's house and raise his orphan; she refused. She locked the house, had the nursemaid carry Wu-tou, and returned with them to another dwelling she had arranged. Whatever Wu-tou needed for daily living, she would open the storehouse with the nursemaid and provide grain and supplies, managing everything for him. Not a penny did she touch for herself, raising her son in poverty, just as before. After several years, Wu-tou gradually grew and she engaged a tutor for him to study; her own son she set to learning trades. The nursemaid urged that both be taught. The woman said: "Wu-tou's expenses come from his own resources. If I squander another's money to educate my own son, how could I justify it to myself?" Several more years passed; she accumulated several hundred bushels of grain for Wu-tou, then arranged a marriage with a distinguished family, prepared a house for him, and divided the household so that he could return to his own home. Wu-tou tearfully begged her to live with him, and she agreed; but she continued spinning and weaving as before. Wu-tou and his wife tried to take her tools away. She said: "How could my son and I sit and eat without working, with any peace of mind?" So she managed their affairs from morning to evening, sending her own son to patrol the fields like a hired laborer. When Wu-tou and his wife committed small faults, she rebuked and reproached them without leniency; if they did not reform, she would become angry and threaten to leave. The couple would kneel on the road and offer words of repentance, and only then would she relent. Before long, Wu-tou passed the county examination. The woman again wished to return home. Wu-tou would not allow it. He contributed betrothal gifts and arranged a marriage for her son, Qiao. She then divided the household and let her son go. Wu-tou could not keep her, so he secretly had someone purchase a hundred mu of land in a nearby village and gave it to her. Later the woman fell ill and asked to return home. Wu-tou would not listen. Her illness grew worse, and she instructed him: "You must bring me back for burial!" Wu-tou promised. After she died, he secretly bribed her son Qiao to have her buried together with Meng. On the day, the coffin was so heavy that thirty men could not lift it. Qiao suddenly collapsed, blood flowing from his seven orifices, and said in a voice not his own: "Unworthy son! How could you sell your mother?" Wu-tou was terrified and bowed and prayed, and only then did Qiao recover. So they waited several more days, repaired Meng's tomb, and then buried them together.

The Historian of the Strange says: "To pledge oneself out of gratitude for being understood—this is what a resolute man does. What did that woman know, yet how extraordinary she was! Had she met Jiu-fang Gao, he would have looked upon her as a male."

---

In the Eastern Sea there is a clam. When hungry, it floats to the shore and opens its two shells. Inside is a small crab, tied to it by a red thread. The crab leaves the shell several feet away, hunts for food, and when it is full, returns; only then do the shells close. If someone secretly cuts the thread, both creatures die. This too is a marvel of the workings of nature.

---

Madam Liu

Lian was a native of Zhangde. From youth he was devoted to study, but having lost his father early, his family was extremely poor. One day, having gone out, he lost his way on his return at dusk. He entered a village, and an old woman came up to him saying, "Where are you bound, young Master Lian? The night is growing deep, isn't it?" Lian, just then flustered and frightened, had no leisure to ask who she was, but begged to be allowed to stay the night. The old woman led him away and brought him into a large mansion. Two maidservants with hair in twin topknots carried lanterns and ushered out a woman of over forty years, whose bearing was that of a great family. The old woman came forward and said, "Young Master Lian has arrived." Lian hastened to bow. The woman said with pleasure, "The young master is so handsome and promising—why settle for being merely a rich man?" She immediately laid out a feast, sitting to one side and urging him to drink with great warmth, yet she herself never raised her cup to drink nor raised her chopsticks to eat. Lian was bewildered and repeatedly tried to ascertain her family background. She smiled and said, "After three more cups, I will tell you." Lian complied as bidden. The woman then said, "My late husband was of the Liu family. He was traveling in Jiangyou when he met with a sudden calamity and perished. I, his survivor, dwell alone in this desolate place, daily declining. Though I have two grandsons, they are no better than owneys and worthless nags. Though you are of a different surname, you are flesh and blood to me through three lifetimes. Moreover, your disposition is pure and earnest, and so I have thus presumed to appear before you without ceremony. It is no great trouble—I have a few hundred taels of silver stored away and wish to entrust you, young master, to take them and trade upon the rivers and lakes, sharing the profits, which would be better than dying of poverty bent over a desk like a firefly." Lian declined, saying he was a young bookworm and feared he might fail so heavy a trust. The woman said, "The plan for study must come after the plan for making a living. You are intelligent—what can you not do?" She sent a maid to bring out the money, handing over more than eight hundred taels. Lian was alarmed and firmly refused. The woman said, "I also know that you are not yet accustomed to trade, but try it and there will be no loss." Lian worried that so great a sum could not be managed by one person and proposed finding a trading partner. The woman said, "No need. Only find an honest, reliable, and experienced servant to serve you—that will suffice." Thereupon she turned her slender fingers and divined, saying, "One of the surname Wu will bring luck." She ordered a servant to saddle a horse, pack the gold, and escort Lian out, saying, "When the year's end comes, I shall wash the cups and wait to receive the treasure back." Then she turned to the servant and said, "This horse is well-trained and may be ridden—I present it to the young master. You need not bring it back." Lian returned home—it was only the fourth watch of the night—and the servant tethered the horse and left of his own accord. The next day, he searched far and wide for a servant and indeed found one surnamed Wu, whom he engaged at a generous wage. Wu was experienced in travel, and being a man of blunt honesty and scrupulousness, Lian entrusted all the funds to him. They traveled to Jing and Xiang, returning only at the year's end, with profits three times the original sum. Lian, feeling he owed much of his success to Wu's efforts, gave him extra rewards beyond the usual terms, scheming to skim some off the top without letting his patroness know. He had scarcely arrived home when the woman sent someone to welcome him, and he went with her. He saw that a splendid feast had already been laid in the main hall. The woman came out and consoled him with the warmest words. After Lian had handed over the money, he presented the account books, but the woman paid no attention to them. Shortly afterward they took their seats. Singing and dancing filled the hall with a booming sound. Wu too was given a feast in an outer chamber, and all drank to the point of intoxication before returning. As Lian had no family, he was asked to stay and guard the mansion through the new year. The next day, he again asked to examine the accounts. The woman smiled and said, "There will be no need for that hereafter—I have kept the accounts long ago." She then brought out a ledger and showed it to Lian. The entries were recorded in the most meticulous detail, including even what had been given to the servant. Lian was astonished and said, "The lady is truly a divine being!" After several days, he was treated with lavish hospitality, as if he were a son or nephew. One day, a feast was set in the hall—one place facing east, one facing south; below the hall, a mat was laid facing west. The woman said to Lian, "Tomorrow the star of wealth shines upon you—it will be well to travel far. Today I have roughly laid out a farewell feast to dignify your journey." In a little while, Wu was also summoned and given a seat below the hall. All at once, drums and gongs clamored. A singing-girl came forward and presented a list of songs. Lian bade her sing "Tao Zhu's Wealth." The woman laughed and said, "This is an omen—you will gain a Xi Shi as your helpmeet." When the feast was over, she again gave Lian all the capital, saying, "This journey cannot be measured in months—do not return until you have gained a fortune of ten thousand. Your patroness and you—what we rely upon is fortune and fate; what we trust is the heart. Do not trouble yourself with calculations—whether there is surplus or shortfall in distant lands, I myself shall know." Lian assented and withdrew. He traveled to Huai and engaged in the salt trade. After a year, his profits were again severalfold. Yet Lian was fond of reading and never forgot his books even while handling accounts. Those he associated with were all men of letters. Having gained ample profits, he secretly thought of stopping when enough was enough and gradually entrusted more of the business to Wu. A certain Xue of Taoyuan was his closest friend. Happening to visit him, he found that Xue's whole family had gone to their country estate, and at dusk he had nowhere to turn. The gatekeeper invited Lian in, swept a bed, and prepared a meal. Lian asked in detail about the master's whereabouts—at this time there was a rumor circulating that the court intended to select girls from good families to reward the frontier garrisons, and the people were in an uproar. It was said that where there was a young man without a wife, without going through a matchmaker, they would deliver a girl to his house—some even obtained two wives in a single night. Xue had also recently married into a great family but feared that the noise of carriages and horses might be heard by the magistrate, and so had temporarily moved to the country. The first watch was nearly ending and they were just about to sweep the bed and retire when suddenly several men burst through the door. The gatekeeper could not make out what was said, but heard one voice ask, "Since the master is not at home, who is it that holds the candle?" The gatekeeper answered, "It is young Master Lian, a traveler from afar." Soon the questioner had entered—his robes and hat were gleaming clean—and with a slight gesture of his hand he asked Lian's name and family. Lian told him. He said with delight, "We are fellow townsmen! Whose daughter have you married?" Lian replied, "I have none." He was even more pleased, hurried out, and quickly summoned a young man to enter with him, greeting Lian with great courtesy. He said abruptly, "To tell you the truth, young master: my surname is Mu. I came tonight to deliver my younger sister to Master Xue, but only upon arriving did I know it would serve no purpose. Caught in a dilemma, I happened to encounter young master—is this not fate?" Lian, not yet knowing the man well, hesitated and dared not respond. Mu would not listen to his words and urgently called for those bringing the girl. In a short while, two old women helped a young lady in and seated her on Lian's bed. Lian glanced at her—she was fifteen or sixteen, of matchless beauty. Lian was overjoyed, then straightened his cap and thanked Mu. He also told the gatekeeper to go buy wine, and they exchanged courtesies with some warmth. Mu said, "My ancestors were from Zhangde. My mother's family too was a great house, though now it has declined. I hear my maternal grandfather left two grandsons—I do not know how their household fares." Lian asked, "Who are they?" He said, "My maternal grandfather was Liu, styled Huiruo, said to live thirty li north of the prefecture." Lian said, "I am from the southeast of the prefectural city, quite far from the northern villages. Moreover, I am the youngest and have few acquaintances. This surname is the most common in the prefecture. I only know there is a Liu Jingqing in the north of the prefecture, also a man of letters—I do not know if it is he—but he is poor." Mu said, "My grandfather's tomb is still

In Zhang Commandery, he often wished to transport the two coffins back for burial in his native village, but since he had not yet raised the funds, he had been putting it off. Now that his young sister would accompany him, his resolve to return was all the more firm." When the young man heard this, he eagerly took it upon himself to help. Both sisters were delighted. After several rounds of wine, they took their leave. The young man dismissed his servant and moved his lamp aside; the joy of their union as intimate as that of the lute and zither cannot be fully described. The next day, Xue learned of the matter and hastened into the city to arrange separate quarters for the young man. The young man went to Huai, settled the accounts, and left Wu at the shop. He then packed up his wealth and returned to Taoyuan, where he and the two sisters exhumed the remains of their parents-in-law. The small members of both families were taken along in the carriage. After arriving home and settling everything, he went to his patron with the gold in his bag. The former servant was already waiting for him on the road. Following him, the woman came out to welcome them, her face bright with joy, and said: "Lord Tao Zhu has brought back the Lady of Xi! You were a guest the other day; now you are my nephew-in-law." She prepared wine to welcome him, showing even greater warmth and affection. The young man marveled at her foreknowledge and asked, "What is your relationship to my mother-in-law?" The woman said, "Do not ask; you will know in time." Then she piled the gold on the table and divided it into five portions. Taking two portions for herself, she said, "I have no use for it. Let me give it to my eldest grandson." The young man protested that it was too much and declined to accept it. She said sorrowfully, "My family has fallen into ruin; the tall trees in our compound were chopped into firewood by others. My grandson lives far from here, and our household is desolate. I beg you, sir, to attend to this matter." The young man promised to do so, but accepted only half the gold. The woman insisted, pressing the rest upon him. She saw him out the door and returned, wiping away her tears. Wondering at this strange encounter, the young man looked back at the residence—and saw that it was nothing but a ruined tomb. He then understood that the woman was his wife's maternal grandmother. Upon his return, he redeemed an acre of burial land and enclosed it with handsome plantings. Liu had two grandsons: the elder was Jingqing; the younger, Yuyqing, was a drinker and gambler of dissolute habits. Both were poor. The brothers came to the young man to express their gratitude, and he gave them generous gifts. From then on, their relations were the closest. The young man spoke rather freely about how he had come by his wealth. Yuyqing secretly supposed that the tomb must contain much gold. That night, he joined several gambling companions and broke open the tomb to search it. They split the coffins and exposed the rotting flesh, but found nothing of value, and dispersed in disappointment. The young man, learning that the tomb had been broken into, informed Jingqing. Jingqing went with him to inspect it. Entering the tomb, they saw the gold piled on the table—all that had been divided earlier was still there. Jingqing wished to take it together with the young man. The young man said, "The lady originally left this for your brother." Jingqing then bagged it and carried it home, and reported the matter to the county magistrate, who conducted a strict investigation. Later, someone sold a jade hairpin from the tomb and was arrested. Under exhaustive interrogation, his accomplices were revealed, and it became known that Yuyqing had been the ringleader. The magistrate intended to punish him with the extreme penalty; Jingqing pleaded on his behalf, and Yuyqing barely escaped with his life. Both families, inside and outside the tomb, joined forces to repair and fortify it, making it even more solid and handsome than before. From then on, both the Lian and the Liu families grew wealthy, except for Yuyqing, who remained as before. The young man and Jingqing often helped him, but it was never enough to satisfy his gambling. One night, robbers broke into the young man's house, seizing him and demanding his gold. His gold was stored in ingots of one thousand five hundred taels each. He showed them. The robbers took two ingots. There was only a ghost horse in the stable, which they used to carry the gold away. They made the young man escort them into the countryside, then released him. The villagers, seeing the robbers' torches still not far off, shouted and gave chase. The bandits fled in alarm. When the villagers reached the spot, they had abandoned the gold by the roadside, and the horse had already collapsed into ashes. They then understood that the horse too had been a ghost. That night, only a single gold bracelet had been lost. Earlier, the robbers had seized the young man's wife and, pleased with her beauty, were about to violate her. One robber, wearing a mask, fiercely rebuked them and stopped them; his voice sounded like Yuyqing's. The robber released the young man's wife but took the bracelet from her wrist. Because of this, the young man suspected Yuyqing, though in his heart he felt secretly grateful to him. Later, a robber pawned the bracelet to gamble, and was caught by constables. Under interrogation about his accomplices, Yuyqing was indeed found to be among them. The magistrate, enraged, subjected him to the five punishments in their most extreme form. His brother and the young man plotted to bribe officials to secure his release, but before the plan could be carried out, Yuyqing had already died. The young man still occasionally provided for his wife and children. The young man later passed the provincial examination, and for several generations his descendants were all prosperous. Alas! The written form of the character "greedy" (tan) is remarkably close to the character "poor" (pin). One may take Yuyqing as a warning!

The Fox of Ling County

At the residence of Academician Li of Ling County, vases, tripods, and antique curios would often be found moved to the edge of the table, balanced precariously as if about to fall. Suspecting the servants, he would angrily rebuke them. The servants protested their innocence, yet no one knew the cause. He then strictly locked the study doors, but by dawn the objects were again displaced. Knowing it was something strange, he secretly watched. One night, the room was filled with light; startled, he thought it was a thief. Two servants crept near to look and saw a fox lying on a chest, light emanating from its two eyes, sparkling in all directions. Fearing it would escape, they rushed in and seized it. The fox bit into a servant's wrist and tried to break free, but the servant held on tighter, and together they bound it. When they lifted it up, they saw that its four legs had no bones; they dangled limply like sashes hanging down. The Academician, considering it a supernatural creature, could not bear to kill it. He covered it with a willow basket, but the fox could not get out—so it put the basket on its head and walked away. The Academician then enumerated its offenses and released it, and the strange occurrences ceased.