Volume 10

Volume 10

**The Wine Seller Wang**

A certain old wine seller of Jinan dispatched his son, Little Two, to Qihe to collect outstanding debts. Passing through the west gate, he met his elder brother, Big One—who had long been dead. Two asked in alarm, "How did you come here?" The brother replied, "There is a doubtful case in the underworld that requires your testimony." Two scowled and reviled him. Big One pointed to a man dressed like a yamen runner behind him and said, "An official servant is here—do you think I am free to come and go as I please?" He merely raised his hand and beckoned, and Two found himself following involuntarily. They raced through the entire night, arriving at the foot of Mount Tai. Suddenly an official yamen appeared. Just as they were about to enter together, they saw a crowd pouring out. The runner bowed and asked, "How does the matter stand?" One man said, "There is no need to enter again. The case is closed." The runner then released Two and sent him home. Big One worried that his brother had no travel funds. The runner thought for a long time, then led Two away. They walked twenty or thirty *li*, entered a village, and stopped beneath the eaves of a house. The runner instructed, "If someone comes out, have them escort you. If they refuse, just say that the peddler Wang told you so." Then he left. Two fell into a trance and lay stiff. When dawn came, the landlord emerged and found a dead man outside his gate—he was greatly alarmed. He watched over him for some time, and Two slowly revived. He was helped inside, fed, and then told his place of origin, asking for travel money. The landlord hesitated. Two then spoke as the runner had instructed. The landlord was utterly astonished and quickly hired a horse to send him home. When offered payment, Two refused it. Asked why, he said no more, but took his leave.

**The Exhausted Dragon**

A censor of Jiaozhou named Wang was sent as an envoy to the Ryukyu Islands. As his ship sailed the seas, a great dragon suddenly fell from the clouds, sending water spraying several *zhang* high. The dragon floated half-submerged, raising its head so that the boat rested beneath its jaw. Its eyes were half-closed, as though bereft of spirit. The entire crew was terrified and stopped their oars, not daring to move. A boatman said, "This is an exhausted dragon from the heavens, sent to make rain." Wang hung an official placard above, and all burned incense and prayed together. After a while, the dragon departed peacefully. The ship had only sailed a short distance when another dragon fell, just as before. This happened three or four times a day. After yet another day, the boatman ordered that large quantities of white rice be prepared, saying, "We are not far from Clear Water Pond. If you see anything, merely scatter rice into the water and remain silent—do not make a sound." Soon they reached a place where the water was clear to the bottom. Below were multitudes of dragons of five colors, some large as basins, some as urns, all lying prostrate. Among them was one coiled and winding, its scales, whiskers, claws, and teeth clearly countable. The souls of all aboard were utterly vanquished; they held their breath and closed their eyes, not only daring to look but unable to move. Only the boatman grasped the rice and scattered it himself. After a long while, they saw the sea turn deep black, and only then did someone dare to groan. When asked the reason for throwing the rice, the boatman answered, "Dragons fear maggots, which might enter their scales. White rice resembles maggots, so dragons lie prostrate when they see it. A boat passing over them will suffer no harm."

**Mr. Zhen**

A scholar of Chang'an, Jia Zilong, was passing through a neighboring lane one day when he met a gentleman of elegant and refined bearing. Upon inquiry, he learned it was Mr. Zhen, a lodger from Xianyang. Jia admired him greatly. The next day, he went to pay a call, but Zhen happened to leave. He called three times and failed to find him at home. Jia then secretly sent someone to watch for when Zhen was in, and only then went to visit—but Zhen fled and would not emerge. Jia searched him out and he finally appeared. They sat knee to knee and talked freely, taking great delight in each other. Jia lodged at an inn and sent a boy to buy wine. Zhen was also a fine drinker and skilled in witty banter, and they were very merry. When the wine was nearly gone, Zhen searched his trunk and produced a drinking vessel—a jade cup without a bottom. He poured a cup of wine into it, and it was immediately full. He ladled wine from it into a small pot with a tiny cup, and the amount never diminished. Jia was amazed and begged to learn the technique. Zhen said, "The reason I did not wish to see you is that you have no other fault, but your heart is still tainted by greed. This is a secret art of the immortals—how could I impart it to you?" Jia said, "How unjust! How am I greedy? If I occasionally entertain extravagant thoughts, it is only because I am poor." They parted with a smile. From then on, they visited each other constantly, forgetting all reserve between them. Whenever Jia was in need, Zhen would produce a piece of black stone, breathe a spell upon it, rub it on a potsherd, and it would instantly turn into white silver, which he would give to Jia—just enough for his needs, never a surplus. Jia always asked for more. Zhen would say, "I told you that you are greedy—see, see!" Jia realized that honest entreaty would never succeed, and resolved to steal the stone while Zhen was drunk and asleep. One day, after drinking, they lay down. Jia rose stealthily and searched beneath Zhen's clothes. Zhen awoke and said, "You have truly lost your mind—we can no longer be friends!" He then took his leave and moved away. More than a year later, Jia was strolling along a riverbank when he found a stone of lustrous purity, exactly like the one Zhen had owned. He picked it up and treasured it as a precious jewel. Several days later, Zhen suddenly appeared, looking as though he had lost something. Jia asked what was wrong. Zhen said, "What you saw before was the Immortal's Stone for Transmuting Gold. In the past, I traveled with Master Baozhen, who pitied my stubbornness and gave it to me. I lost it after getting drunk, and I divined secretly that it must be in your possession. If you return it, I shall not forget the kindness." Jia laughed and said, "In all my life I have never deceived a friend—it is indeed as you divined. But no one knows poverty like Bao Shu knew Guan Zhong's—what will you do?" Zhen offered a hundred pieces of gold. Jia said, "A hundred pieces is no small sum, but if you teach me the incantation and let me try it once myself, I shall have no regrets." Zhen feared he could not be trusted. Jia said, "You yourself are an immortal—how could you not know that Jia would never betray a friend's trust?" So Zhen taught him the incantation directly. Jia saw a large stone on the courtyard wall and was about to test it. Zhen seized his elbow and would not let him approach. Jia then bent down, scooped up half a brick, and placed it on the anvil, saying, "This—is this not enough?" Zhen then allowed it. But Jia did not rub the brick—he rubbed the anvil. Zhen changed his face and tried to contest him, but the anvil had already turned into pure gold. Jia returned the stone to Zhen. Zhen sighed and said, "It has come to this—what more is there to say? Yet to bestow fortune upon others recklessly will surely bring heavenly punishment. If you would absolve my sin, would you be willing to donate a hundred coffins and a hundred padded garments?" Jia said, "The reason I wanted money was never to hoard it in a cellar. Do you still take me for a miser who guards his coins like a barbarian?" Zhen departed happily. Jia obtained the gold, giving some away and trading with the rest; in less than three years, he had given away the full amount required. Zhen suddenly appeared, took his hand, and said, "You are a man of honor and integrity! After we parted, the God of Fortune reported me to the Emperor of Heaven and I was struck from the immortal register. Through your extensive charity, my sins have been offset by merit. I pray you continue thus and do not cease." Jia asked what office Zhen held in heaven. He said, "I am merely a fox who has attained the Way. My origins are extremely humble. I could not bear the burden of accumulated sins, so throughout my life I have cherished myself and dared not act recklessly in the slightest." Jia prepared wine, and they drank together joyfully as before. Jia lived to over ninety, and the fox still visited his home from time to time.

A certain man from Changshan sold a drug called Jie Xin Wan ["Relief-of-Distress Pills"]. Even those on the verge of death could be revived by dosing them with it; yet he kept the formula secret and would not pass it to even his closest kin and friends. One day, he was arrested due to involvement in another's crime. His wife's brother brought him food in prison and secretly concealed the pill in it. The man sat and waited until he had finished eating, and then told him. He did not believe it. A short while later, his stomach began to churn and break up; he was greatly alarmed and cursed: "You beast, hurry home! Although there is medicine powder at home, I fear the road is long and I cannot wait; quickly find some *bili* [creeping fig] in town, grind it into powder, bring a cup of clean water, and come quickly!" His wife's brother followed his instructions. By the time he had found the ingredients and arrived, the man was already vomiting and purging as if near death; they quickly administered it, and he was immediately restored. From then on, this formula gradually became known. This is just like the fox who kept his stone secret.

**The Cloth Merchant**

A certain cloth merchant, traveling to the Qingzhou region, happened to enter an abandoned temple. Seeing its courtyard fallen to ruin, he sighed with grief without end. A monk at his side said: "Now if there were a good and faithful man to temporarily restore the mountain gate, it would also be a glory to the Buddha's face." The merchant generously took it upon himself. The monk was delighted and invited him into the abbot's quarters, treating him with great hospitality. Soon after, he pointed out the inner and outer halls and pavilions and asked him to arrange renovations; the merchant declined, saying he could not. The monk stubbornly pressed him, his words and expression fierce and angry. The merchant, afraid, asked to empty his purse at once; he then turned his bags inside out, emptied them completely, and handed everything to the monk. As he was about to leave, the monk stopped him: "You've exhausted your funds, but it wasn't truly your wish—have you not a grudge against me? Better to go first." Thereupon he grasped a knife and faced him. The merchant begged piteously, but the monk would not listen; he asked to hang himself, and the monk agreed. He forced him into a dark room and pressed him to do it. It happened that a general defending the coast was passing by outside the temple; from afar, through a gap in the wall, he saw a woman in red garments entering the monk's quarters and was suspicious. He dismounted and entered the temple, searching everywhere front and back but finding nothing. Coming to the dark room, he found its double doors tightly barred; the monk refused to open them, claiming there was a demon there. The general, enraged, broke through the door and saw the merchant hanging from a beam. He saved him; in a short while, the merchant revived, and the general learned the full story. He then put the monk in chains and questioned him about the woman's whereabouts; in truth she had never existed—it was a manifestation of a god or Buddha. He killed the monk and returned the merchant's goods to him. The merchant then raised more funds to repair the temple, and from then on its incense burned abundantly. Vice-Director Zhao Yuan of the Imperial Academy recounted this in the greatest detail.

**Peng Erzheng**

Han Gongfu of Yucheng said of himself: "I was walking on the road with a townsman, Peng Erzheng, when suddenly I looked back and no longer saw him—only his empty donkey following along. But I heard a very urgent cry for help; listening closely, it was coming from inside his saddlebag. I looked closely and saw it was full inside, and though it was particularly heavy, it would not fall. I wanted to get him out, but the bag's opening had been sewn shut very tightly; cutting the thread with a knife, I finally saw the dog Peng lying inside. I brought him out and asked how he had become a man, but he was completely bewildered and knew nothing himself. It turned out that a fox spirit had been causing mischief in his family, and there were many incidents of this sort."

**Immortal He**

Wang Ruiting, a gentleman of Changshan, was able to perform spirit-writing. The spirit called itself Immortal He, a disciple of Chunyang [Lü Dongbin], or some said it was the crane-riding immortal of Lü Zu. Each time it descended, it would discuss literature and compose poetry with people. Academician Li Zhijun served as his disciple; in grading examination essays, the reasoning was clear and precise; the Academician's success in mastering the craft owed much to Immortal He's power, and because of this, many literary scholars became devoted to it. Yet when settling difficult questions for people, it mostly relied on reason and did not speak much of fortune or misfortune. In the year *xinwei*, when Provincial Literary Examiner Zhu came to Jinan for the examinations, after the tests, various friends asked Immortal He to determine the rankings. Immortal He asked for the examination essays and graded them all. Among those present was a friend of Li Bian of Leling; Li was a man of deep learning and thought, and everyone had high hopes for him, so he presented his essay and asked on his behalf. The spirit-writing noted: "First class." A short while later, it wrote again: "I just graded Mr. Li's essay and judged it on its merits. However, this man's luck is extremely dim and he should be subject to beating. Strange! His essay and his fortune do not match at all—could it be that the Literary Examiner does not judge by the essay? Gentlemen, wait a moment; I will go and investigate." A short while later, it wrote again: "I just went to the Provincial Education Commissioner's office and saw the Commissioner busy with official business; what worried him was not the essays at all. Everything was handed over to six or seven private secretaries—shedegree holders and purchased-degree holders among them, all with no root of learning in their previous lives, for the most part wandering spirits from the road of hungry ghosts begging food in all directions. They spent eight hundred years in the dark hell, which damaged the essence of their eyes, like a man long in a cave who, upon emerging, sees heaven and earth as strange colors with no proper light. Among them are one or two who were transformed from human bodies, but dividing the grading among them, they may not happen to match up properly." The crowd asked if there was a way to remedy this. The writing said: "The method is extremely obvious and commonly known—why ask?" The crowd understood its meaning and told Li. Li was afraid and presented his essay to Academician Sun Weizi, the Academician's son, and told him of the omen. The Academician praised his essay and dispelled his doubts. Li, considering the Academician a master of national renown, grew even bolder in spirit and no longer paid heed to the spirit-writing's words. When the results were published, he was placed in the fourth class. The Academician was greatly shocked and took his essay to read it again—there were truly no flaws to be found. He commented: "Lord Shimen [the examiner], who has long had a literary reputation, surely would not be so absurd. This must have been done by a drunken man among the secretaries who cannot even read sentences." From then on, the crowd was even more convinced of Immortal He's divinity and all burned incense and gave thanks. The spirit-writing said: "Mr. Li, do not let this temporary setback make you feel ashamed. You should write more examination papers and expose them more widely; next year you can obtain a high ranking." Li followed his teaching. After a while, the office heard of it and specially posted a notice to comfort him. The following year, he was indeed listed among the top names—such was its responsiveness.

The Historian of the Strange remarks: "With so many such guests among the private secretaries, no wonder that in the alleys of ugly women in the capital, there are no idle beds even at night. Alas!"

**Niu Tongren**

(Missing upper section) When Niu passed his father's room, he found the old man still lying in bed, not yet awake, and from this he knew it was a fox spirit. He said angrily, "A fox I can tolerate—but how dare it corrupt my family's virtue! Lord Guan is known as the 'Subduer of Demons'—where is he now, allowing such creatures to run rampant?" He therefore composed a memorial to the Jade Emperor, subtly complaining of Lord Guan's dereliction of duty.

After some time, Lord Guan suddenly heard shouting and neighing in the sky—it was Lord Guan himself. He roared angrily, "How dare a scholar be so impolite! Do I exist solely to drive foxes from your household? If your memorial had gone unheeded, who would you blame?" He then ordered Niu to be beaten twenty strokes on the thigh, the flesh nearly stripped from the bone.

Shortly afterward, a dark-faced general arrived, bound a fox, and dragged it away. The haunting ceased.

Three years later, the daughter of a游击 (youji) military officer in Jinan was bewitched by a fox spirit, and no method could drive it away. The fox said to the girl, "In my life, the only one I have ever feared is Niu Tongren." The游击 did not know where Niu lived and had no way of finding him. It happened that an education commissioner was inspecting the province, and Niu had come to sit for the examination. In the provincial capital, he was insulted by a soldier of the garrison and went in anger to the游击's gate to lodge a complaint.

The游击, upon hearing his name, was overjoyed and bowed with the utmost deference. He immediately had the soldier seized and punished to the full extent of the law. Afterward, he explained the true situation. Niu had no choice but to submit a petition to Lord Guan on his behalf.

In an instant, a golden-armored deity descended upon the游击's house. The fox was in the room; its face suddenly changed, and it revealed its true form—like a dog—howling and darting around the house. Soon it came out and threw itself at the foot of the steps. The deity said, "The Emperor spared you before, but now you have offended again—there is no pardon!" It bound the fox by the neck to a horse and departed.

Mi Sheng was a man of Fujian. The person who recorded this story had forgotten his given name and his native district and county. On one occasion he entered the prefectural capital and, having drunk his fill, was passing through the marketplace when he heard from inside a grand gate the sound of pipes and drums like thunder. He asked a resident about it and was told that someone was celebrating a birthday banquet, though the courtyard seemed remarkably quiet and still. Listening more closely, he could hear the dense clamor of flutes and songs. In his cups, he was greatly fond of music, and without asking whose household it was, he went straight to a shop on the street to buy birthday presents and submitted a card as a "junior." Some people, seeing his plain and shabby dress, asked, "What relation are you to this gentleman?" He replied, "None." Someone else said, "This is a sojourner who has settled here. No one knows what office he holds, but he is very haughty and proud. Since you are not a relative, what do you hope to gain?" On hearing this, Mi Sheng regretted what he had done, but his card had already been taken inside.

Before long, two young men came out to greet the guests. Their resplendent garments dazzled the eye; their bearing was refined and elegant. They bowed and ushered him inside. He saw an old man seated facing south, with several tables arrayed to the east and west. There were six or seven guests, all appearing to be of noble rank. When they saw Mi Sheng arrive, they all rose to pay their respects, and the old man also stood leaning on his cane. Mi Sheng stood for a long time, waiting to exchange courtesies with him, but the old man never left his seat. The two young men spoke on his behalf: "Our father is decrepit in his old age and finds it very difficult to rise and bow. We his sons take his place in acknowledging the honor of your condescending visit." Mi Sheng made modest apologies and sat down. An additional table was then placed above, adjoining the old man's seat.

Before long, female musicians performed below. Behind the seats a glass screen was set up to screen the womenfolk. The music swelled mightily, and the guests at the tables could no longer converse. When the banquet was nearing its end, the two young men rose, each urging the guests to drink from enormous cups that could hold three bushels. Mi Sheng showed a look of difficulty, but seeing the other guests accept, he also accepted it. In a moment he looked around and saw that host and guests had all drained their cups. Mi Sheng had no choice but to force himself to finish his as well. The young men poured again. Mi Sheng felt utterly exhausted and rose to take his leave. The young men firmly tugged at his robe. Mi Sheng, dead drunk, staggered and fell to the ground. He was only aware of someone splashing cold water on his face, and he woke as if from a dream. He rose and looked around: the guests had all dispersed. Only one young man was there, holding his arm to see him off, and then they parted and he went home.

Later, when he passed by that gate again, the household had already moved away.

After returning from the prefectural capital, he happened to go to the marketplace one day, when a man came out of a shop and invited him to drink. He looked at him but did not recognize him. He followed him in, and already seated at the table was a townsman of his, Bao Zhuang. He asked the man's name; it was Zhu, a grinder of mirrors in the marketplace. He asked, "How do you know me?" Zhu said, "The gentleman who celebrated his birthday the other day—do you know him?" Mi Sheng said, "I don't know him." Zhu said, "I have been in and out of his household more than anyone. The old man's surname is Fu, but I don't know what province or what office he holds. When you offered birthday congratulations, I was standing below the steps, so I recognized you."

At dusk, the drinking ended and they dispersed. Bao Zhuang died on the road that night. Bao's father did not know Zhu, so he brought charges against Mi Sheng by name. An examination of Bao Zhuang's body revealed severe injuries. Mi Sheng was charged with murder and sentenced to death, and he endured every kind of shackle and torture. Because Zhu had not yet been apprehended, there was no one to testify against, and so Mi Sheng was held in prison awaiting trial. Over a year later, a touring inspector arrived, learned of the injustice, and released him. By then his family's lands and property were entirely gone, and his status as a scholar had been stripped. Hoping that he could have it restored, he packed his bag and went to the prefectural capital.

It was getting late in the day, and his walking had exhausted him, so he rested by the roadside. In the distance he saw a small cart approaching, with two maids in blue accompanying it. After it had passed, someone suddenly ordered the carriage to stop. He could not hear what was said inside. Presently one of the maids asked Mi Sheng, "Are you not surnamed Mi?" He rose in astonishment and answered that he was. She asked, "How have you come to be so destitute?" He told her the reason. She asked again, "Where are you going?" He told her that too. The maid went back and spoke to someone in the cart, then returned and invited Mi Sheng to come to the front of the carriage. Inside, a delicate hand lifted the curtain; she glanced at him slightly—she was a peerless beauty. She said to Mi Sheng, "You have met with a most undeserved calamity. I have heard of it and sigh deeply. Today, in the office of the Education Commissioner, one cannot come and go empty-handed. I have nothing to offer you on the road..." Then she plucked a pearl flower from her hairpin and gave it to him, saying, "This can be sold for a hundred taels of silver. Please keep it hidden."

Mi Sheng bowed down. He was about to ask her family and official rank, but the cart drove off swiftly and was already far away. He did not know who she was. Holding the flower, he pondered it; it was studded with bright pearls—no ordinary thing. He treasured it and went on his way.

He arrived at the prefectural capital and submitted his petition, but the officials at every level extorted from him severely. When he took out the flower and looked at it, he could not bear to part with it, so he returned home. He had no home to return to, so he depended on his elder brother and sister-in-law. Fortunately his brother was a good man and managed affairs for him, so that despite his poverty his studies were not neglected.

After a year, he went to the prefectural capital to sit for the county examination, but by mistake he wandered deep into the mountains. It happened to be the Qingming Festival, and there were many sightseers. Several women came on horseback, and among them was a young lady—the very woman from the cart in former days. Seeing Mi Sheng, she reined in her horse and asked where he was going. He told her everything. The young lady said in surprise, "Has your scholar's rank not yet been restored?" Mi Sheng sorrowfully drew out the pearl flower from beneath his robe and said, "I could not bear to discard this, so I am still only a county student." A blush rose to the young lady's cheeks. After a while, she told him to sit and wait by the roadside, and she departed at an easy pace.

After a long time, a maid came galloping on horseback and gave him a package, saying, "The young lady says: Today the Education Commissioner's gate is as crowded as a market. She sends two hundred taels of silver as funds for your advancement." Mi Sheng declined, saying, "The young lady has already been too generous to me! I am confident that passing the examination will be no difficult matter, but I dare not accept such a large sum. If only I could know her name, I would paint a small portrait of her and burn incense before it—that would be enough." The maid paid him no heed, dropped the package on the ground, and left.

After this, Mi Sheng's means were quite ample, but he never stooped to seek favor through connections. Later he placed first in the county examination. He gave the silver to his brother, who was skilled at managing finances, and within three years all their former property was recovered.

It happened that the governor of Fujian had been a disciple of Mi Sheng's grandfather, and he treated the brothers with great generosity, so that they became a wealthy family. But Mi Sheng had always been upright and unbending; though he was connected by old ties to a high official, he never once sought a favor from him.

One day, a visitor arrived at his gate with fine furs and a splendid horse—no one recognized him. Mi Sheng came out to look and found it was Master Fu's son. He bowed and invited him in, and each spoke of how long it had been since they last met. He prepared a feast to entertain him. The guest pleaded business as a reason to leave, but did not actually say he was going. After the food and wine had been set out, the young master rose and asked to speak privately. They went together into the inner room, where the young master prostrated himself on the ground. Mi Sheng asked in alarm, "What is this about?" The young master said sorrowfully, "My father has just met with a great calamity. We wish to petition the governor, and only you can help us." Mi Sheng declined, saying, "Though there is an old connection between our families, to use private influence to intercede with someone is something I have never done in my life." The young master prostrated himself and wept piteously. Mi Sheng said sternly, "A humble scholar and yourself are merely friends who have shared a drink together. How can you try to force someone to sacrifice his integrity!" The young master was deeply ashamed, rose, and took his leave.

The next day, Mi Sheng was sitting alone when a maid in blue entered. He looked at her—it was the one who had given him gold in the mountains. He was just rising in astonishment when the maid said, "Sir—"

"Have you forgotten the pearl flowers?" The scholar replied, "No, no, I dare not forget!" She said, "The young master yesterday is the elder brother of the young lady." Hearing this, the scholar secretly rejoiced, but feigned disbelief, saying, "This is hard to believe. If I could hear it from the young lady's own lips, I would walk through a cauldron of boiling oil for her; otherwise, I dare not accept this charge." The maidservant went out and galloped away on horseback. When the night watch had passed, she returned, knocked on the door, and entered, saying, "The young lady has come!" Before she had finished speaking, the young lady entered with a sorrowful countenance, faced the wall, and wept, saying not a word. The scholar bowed and said, "Had it not been for you, young lady, I would not have what I have today. Whatever you command, I dare not but obey!" The woman said, "Those who receive favors are often arrogant toward others; those who seek favors are often fearful before others. To rush about in the middle of the night—in all my life, how could I endure such suffering? It was only because I feared others. What more is there to say?" The scholar comforted her, saying, "The reason I did not agree immediately was that I feared it would be difficult to arrange another meeting after this one. That you should be exposed to the dew day and night—I know my fault!" He then took her sleeve and gently stroked it. The woman flew into a rage and said, "You are truly a worthless man! You forget the kindness of the past and seek to take advantage of another's distress. I was wrong! I was wrong!" She stormed out angrily and got into her carriage, preparing to leave. The scholar ran out after her to apologize, knelt in the long form, and blocked her way. The maidservant also interceded on his behalf. The woman's anger somewhat abated. From the carriage, she said to the scholar, "I will tell you the truth: I am not a human being, but a goddess. My father is the Chief Administrator of the Southern Peak. He was guilty of a breach of protocol before an earthly official and will be brought before the Emperor of Heaven. Without the official seal of a local magistrate, this cannot be resolved. If you have not forgotten your old bond, take a sheet of yellow paper and obtain it for me." With that, the carriage departed and she was gone. The scholar returned home, filled with dread and anxiety. He then used the pretext of driving away evil spirits to make his request to the provincial governor. The governor said the matter smacked of sorcery and witchcraft and refused. The scholar bribed the governor's confidant with a large sum of gold, and the man promised to help but had not yet found the opportunity. When the scholar returned home, the maidservant was waiting at the door. The scholar told her everything, and she left in silence, seemingly resentful of his disloyalty. The scholar ran after her and said, "Tell the young lady: if this matter cannot be accomplished, I will sacrifice my life for it!" That night, he tossed and turned, unable to devise a plan. It happened that a favorite concubine of the governor's household had been seeking to purchase pearls, so the scholar presented the pearl flowers to her. The concubine was overjoyed and secretly stamped the official seal for the scholar. He carried it home, and the maidservant happened to arrive just then. She smiled and said, "Fortunately, I have not failed in my mission. But what I could not bear to sell even when I was poor and begging for food these past several years—now I have cast it away again for my master!" She then told him the circumstances and added, "I do not regret throwing away gold and all; but tell the young lady: the pearl flowers must be repaid!" Several days later, Master Fu came to the hall to express his gratitude and presented a hundred taels of gold. The scholar changed countenance and said, "The reason I did this was because your sister showed me selfless kindness. Otherwise, even ten thousand pieces of gold would not be enough to exchange for my honor and integrity!" When pressed further, his voice and expression grew even more severe. Master Fu left in shame, saying, "This matter is far from settled!" The next day, the maidservant, bearing the young lady's command, presented a hundred pearls and said, "Are these sufficient to repay the pearl flowers?" The scholar said, "What I valued in the flowers was not the precious pearls. Had she given me a fortune in treasure at the time, I would simply have sold it and become a rich man. Why would I have treasured it and remained in poverty? The young lady is a divine being—how could I, a mere mortal, harbor other hopes? If I can repay even a ten-thousandth part of her great kindness, I will die without regret!" The maidservant placed the pearls on the table, but the scholar bowed to them in the morning and then refused them. Several days later, the young master came again. The scholar ordered food and wine prepared. The young master sent his attendants into the kitchen to do the cooking themselves, and the two drank freely together, as happy as one family. A guest had sent some bitter glutinous rice wine; the young master drank it and found it excellent, draining a hundred cups, with a slight flush on his cheeks. He then said to the scholar, "You are a man of unwavering integrity. My brother and I did not come to know you sooner—we have much to be ashamed of compared to the women. My father is deeply grateful for your great virtue and, having nothing with which to repay you, wishes to join my sister to you in marriage, though he fears the disparity between the living and the divine may give you pause." The scholar was both overjoyed and terrified, not knowing how to respond. The young master took his leave and said, "Tomorrow night is the ninth day of the seventh month—the new moon hangs like a hook, and the Weaving Maid has a young daughter to be married. It is an auspicious day. Prepare the bridal chamber." The following evening, the young lady was indeed sent, and in every way she was no different from an ordinary person. After three days, the woman, from her elder brother and sister-in-law down to the maidservants and servants, all gave gifts large and small. She was also the most virtuous of women, serving her sister-in-law as she would a mother-in-law. After several years without children, she urged the scholar to take a concubine, but he refused. It happened that his brother was trading in Jianghuai and bought a young concubine to bring home. The concubine was of the Gu family, with the little name Boshi. Her appearance was also gentle and lovely, and both husband and wife were pleased. They noticed a pearl flower pinned in her hair, very much like the one from years past. They took it down to look—and indeed it was. Astonished, they questioned her. She replied, "In the past, a beloved concubine of the provincial governor died, and her maidservant stole it and sold it in the market. My late father, finding the price fair, bought it and brought it home. I loved it. My late father had no sons and had only one daughter—me—so there was nothing I asked for that I did not receive. Later, my father died and our family fell into decline. I was sent to be raised in the home of Old Mother Gu, who is my aunt. Gu saw the pearl flower and repeatedly wished to sell it, but I threw myself into a well seeking death, so it has survived to this day." The husband and wife sighed and said: "An object of ten years, returned to its rightful owner—is this not fate?" The young lady then produced another pearl flower and said, "This one has long lacked its mate!" She gave it as well, and personally pinned it in the concubine's hair. After Boshi withdrew, she asked in great detail about the young lady's family background, but the family all kept it secret. She said privately to the scholar, "I observe that the young lady is not a woman of the mortal world—there is a divine spirit in her brows and eyes. Yesterday, when she pinned the flower, I was able to observe her closely. Her beauty comes from within her very flesh—it is not like ordinary people, whose beauty is merely a matter of where the dark and light features happen to fall." The scholar laughed at her. Boshi said, "Say nothing, but let me test her: if she is divine, whenever you have a need, burn incense and pray to her in a place where no one is around, and she will know of it herself." The young lady's embroidered socks were exquisitely made. Boshi loved them but did not dare to speak of it, so she burned incense and made a prayer in the inner chamber. The young lady rose early, suddenly opened her chest, took out a pair of socks, and sent a maidservant to present them to Boshi. The scholar saw this and laughed. The young lady asked why, and he told her the truth. The young lady said, "What a cunning little maid!" Because of her cleverness, she cherished her all the more. But Boshi became even more respectful, and at dawn she would always bathe and burn incense to pay her respects. Later, Boshi bore two sons in one birth, and the two women each named one. The scholar lived to the age of eighty, and the young lady's appearance was still that of a maiden. When the scholar fell ill, the young lady gathered craftsmen to make a coffin, ordering it to be twice the usual size. When he died, the young lady did not weep. While the sons and daughters had gone elsewhere, the young lady had already entered the coffin.

He died, and they buried him together with her. To this day it is known as the "Tomb of the Great Timber."

The Historian of the Strange remarks: "The woman was divine indeed, but the learned doctor could perceive her—by what art was this? It shows that human wisdom can surpass even the spirits!"

Xiang Qun

Yan Zhong was a man from Yan'an in Shaanxi. He lived with his elder brother, Bo, and their fraternal love was deep and sincere. Bo died at the age of thirty without an heir, and his wife also died soon after. Yan Zhong grieved bitterly and resolved that if he had two sons, he would give one to continue his brother's line. He had just fathered a son when his own wife died. Fearing that a second wife would not care for the child, he planned to buy a concubine. In a neighboring village there was a woman selling a maidservant. Yan Zhong went to inspect her but found her quite unsatisfactory. In low spirits and bored, he was detained by a friend for wine and returned home tipsy. On the way he met his old school friend Liang, who shook his hand warmly and invited him to his home. In his drunkenness, Yan Zhong forgot that Liang was already dead and followed him. When he entered the gate, he found it was not the old residence and asked in surprise. Liang replied, "We have recently moved here." Inside, they wanted wine, but the household brew was exhausted. Liang told Yan Zhong to sit and wait while he took a jug to buy some. Yan Zhong stood outside the gate to wait. He saw a woman riding a donkey past, followed by a boy of about eight or nine whose face and expression were strikingly like his brother's. His heart was moved with pity, and he hurriedly followed them. He asked the boy his surname. The boy replied, "Yan." Yan Zhong was even more startled and asked, "What is your father's name?" The boy answered, "I don't know." As they spoke, they reached the gate. The woman dismounted and went inside. Yan Zhong seized the boy and asked, "Is your father at home?" The boy nodded and went in. Soon an old woman came out to look—it was truly his sister-in-law. She was astonished to see her brother-in-law and asked how he had come. Yan Zhong was overcome with grief and followed her inside. He saw the house was well kept. He asked, "Where is my brother?" She said, "He has gone to collect a debt and has not yet returned." He asked, "Who was the woman on the donkey?" She said, "That is your brother's concubine, Gan. She has borne two sons. The elder, A-da, has gone to the market and not yet returned; the one you saw is A-xiao." After sitting for a long time and the wine gradually wearing off, he realized that all he had seen were ghosts. But because his fraternal bond was so strong, he was not afraid. His sister-in-law warmed wine and prepared food. Yan Zhong was eager to see his brother and urged A-xiao to find him. After a long while, A-xiao returned weeping, saying, "The Li family refuses to repay what they owe and has even quarreled with Father." Yan Zhong, hearing this, rushed out with A-xiao. He saw two men wrestling his brother to the ground. Enraged, Yan Zhong charged in with his fists, and those who stood against him all fell. He quickly helped his brother up, and his assailants had already fled. He caught one of them and beat him mercilessly before letting him go. He took his brother's hand and stamped his feet, weeping bitterly; his brother also wept. When they returned home, the whole family comforted them, and wine and food was prepared in celebration of the brothers' reunion. After some time, a young man of about sixteen or seventeen entered. Bo called him A-da and told him to bow to his uncle. Yan Zhong raised him and, weeping, said to his brother, "Elder brother, you have two sons beneath the earth, yet their graves are unswept. I have but one son and am a widower. What can be done?" Bo was also saddened. His wife said to Bo, "Send A-xiao to follow his uncle—that would do." When A-xiao heard this, he clung to his uncle's elbow and would not leave. Yan Zhong stroked him, his heart aching all the more. He asked, "Are you willing to follow me?" A-xiao replied, "I am willing." Yan Zhong reflected that though ghosts are not human, they still provide comfort where there was none, and so he smiled. Bo said, "Let him go, but do not spoil him. You must feed him flesh and blood and expose him to the midday sun—only after noon may he stop. A child of six or seven, through spring and summer, will grow flesh and bone anew and may take a wife and beget sons; but I fear he may not live long."

As they spoke, a young girl peeped in from outside, listening with gentle grace. Yan Zhong suspected she was his brother's daughter and asked. His brother said, "This is Xiang Qun, my concubine's younger sister. She is an orphan with no home and has been raised here for ten years." He asked, "Is she betrothed?" Bo said, "Not yet. Recently a matchmaker has spoken of the Tian family in East Village." The girl whispered from outside, "I will not marry the Tian family's cowherd." Yan Zhong was deeply moved but did not speak plainly. Soon Bo rose and prepared a bed in the study for his brother to spend the night. Yan Zhong did not wish to stay, but his heart was drawn to Xiang Qun, and he wanted to find a way to sound out his brother's intentions, so he bade his brother goodnight and went to the bed. It was early spring and still cold; the study had never had a fire, and he shivered. He sat coldly by the candle, wishing for a little drink. Soon A-xiao pushed the door open and placed a cup of gruel and a dipper of wine on the table. Yan Zhong was overjoyed and asked who had sent them. A-xiao replied, "Aunt Xiang." When the wine was nearly gone, A-xiao covered the brazier with ashes and placed it under the bed. Yan Zhong asked, "Are Father and Mother asleep?" A-xiao said, "They have been asleep for some time." "Where do you sleep?" "I share a bed with Aunt Xiang." A-xiao waited until his uncle was asleep, then closed the door and left. Yan Zhong reflected that Xiang Qun was kind and thoughtful, and his admiration for her grew all the more; and because she could care for A-xiao, his desire to have her became even stronger. He tossed and turned all night without sleeping.

Early in the morning, he told his brother, "I am alone without a mate. I would trouble you, elder brother, to keep an eye out for me." Bo said, "Our family is not destitute—a suitable match will present itself. Even if there are beauties among the dead, I fear they would bring you no benefit." Yan Zhong said, "The ancients also had ghost wives—what harm is there?" Bo seemed to understand his meaning and said, "Xiang Qun is also a fine choice. But you must pierce a person's ying point with a large needle; if the blood flows without stopping, she may become a living man's wife. This cannot be done carelessly." Yan Zhong said, "If I can have Xiang Qun to care for A-xiao, that would suffice." Bo only shook his head. Yan Zhong pressed his suit without ceasing. His sister-in-law said, "Try seizing Xiang Qun and piercing her to test her—if it fails, then let the matter rest." She took a needle and went out. Outside she encountered Xiang Qun and quickly seized her wrist, but the blood was already flowing—for Xiang Qun, having heard Bo's words, had already tested herself. The sister-in-law released her hand with a laugh and went back to tell Bo, "She has been playing hard to get for some time now—and you were worrying on her behalf?" The concubine, hearing this, was furious. She approached Xiang Qun, poked her in the eye with her finger, and cursed, "Shameless slut! Want to run off with your uncle? I will never let you have your way!" Xiang Qun, ashamed and enraged, wept and tried to kill herself. The whole household was in an uproar. Yan Zhong was deeply ashamed and took leave of his brother and sister-in-law, leading A-xiao out. His brother said, "Go for now, but do not let A-xiao come again—I fear it would harm his vital energy." Yan Zhong agreed.

After returning, he falsely added to his years, claiming to be the posthumous son of his brother's sold maid. Because his appearance bore a striking resemblance, everyone believed him to be the elder brother's surviving child. The second brother taught him to read, often sending him to sit in the sun holding a scroll and reciting. At first the boy found it bitter, but gradually he grew accustomed to it. In the sixth month, the desk and tabletop burned to the touch, yet the child played and read without the slightest complaint. The boy was very bright—he finished half a scroll each day, and at night, sharing a bed with his uncle, he would always recite from memory. The second brother was greatly comforted. And because he had not forgotten Xiang Qun, he no longer harbored thoughts of "Swallow Tower."

One day, two matchmakers came to arrange a marriage for A-Xiao. With no one to manage the household, the second brother was deeply agitated. Suddenly, Sister Gan entered from outside and said, "Younger brother, do not be offended—I have brought Xiang Qun here. Because the girl was shameless, I deliberately humiliated her. With a man of your distinguished qualities, if she will not follow you, whom else does she wish to follow?" He saw Xiang Qun standing behind her and was overjoyed. He respectfully seated Sister Gan and explained that there had been guests in the hall, then hurried out. When he returned a short while later, Madam Gan had already left. Xiang Qun removed her makeup and went to the kitchen, where the sound of knives and chopping boards filled the ears. Soon dishes were spread out, cooked to perfection. After the guests left, the second brother entered and found Xiang Qun sitting in the chamber in full bridal dress. They performed the marriage rites and bowed to each other. That evening, the woman still wished to sleep with A-Xiao. The second brother said, "I wish to warm her with my vital essence—she cannot be separated from me." So he placed her in a separate room, visiting her only in the evening for wine and lovemaking. Xiang Qun cared for her stepson as her own child, and the second brother thought all the more highly of her.

One night, husband and wife were enjoying an intimate conversation. The second brother jokingly asked, "Are there beautiful women in the underworld?" The woman thought for a long time and replied, "I have not seen any. Only my neighbor Wei Lingxian is considered beautiful by the others. But her looks are merely ordinary—she is simply skilled at adorning herself. She and I have been friends the longest, but in my heart I secretly despise her wantonness. If you wish to see her, she can be summoned in an instant. But such a woman must not be trifled with." The second brother was eager to see her. The woman took up her brush as if to write a letter, but then threw it down and said, "No, no!" He pressed her again and again, and at last she said, "Do not be seduced by her." The second brother promised. She then tore paper into several pieces, drawing what looked like talismans, and burned them outside the door. Shortly afterward, the curtain stirred and the hooks tinkled, and a giggling sound was heard. The woman rose and pulled her in—a high cloud-like coiffure, almost like a painted image. She was helped to sit at the bedside, and they drank wine together, catching up on old times. At first, when she saw the second brother, she still covered her mouth with her red sleeve and did not speak freely; after several cups, she became playfully familiar without restraint, gradually extending one foot to press upon his clothes. The second brother's mind was bewildered—he knew not where his soul had gone. The only obstacle before him was Xiang Qun; and Xiang Qun deliberately guarded against it, never leaving his side for an instant. Wei Lingxian suddenly rose and lifted the curtain to leave; Xiang Qun followed her, and the second brother followed as well. Wei Lingxian took the second brother's hand and hurried into another room. Xiang Qun was furious but could do nothing; she returned to her chamber in anger and could only listen to what transpired. When the second brother came back, Xiang Qun reproached him, "You would not listen to me—later you may fear you cannot be rid of her!" The second brother suspected her of jealousy and left in displeasure. The next evening, Wei Lingxian came uninvited. Xiang Qun was loath to see her and haughtily refused to greet her; Lingxian simply went off with the second brother. This happened for several nights in a row. Whenever the woman saw her coming, she cursed and insulted her, yet still could not drive her away. After more than a month, the second brother fell ill and could not rise. Only then did he deeply regret it. He called Xiang Qun to sleep and live with him, hoping to avoid her; but whenever the daytime or nighttime vigilance relaxed slightly, the ghost and man were already upon the terrace. Xiang Qun took up a staff to drive her out, but the ghost angrily fought back. Xiang Qun was frail, and her hands and feet were all injured. The second brother grew gravely ill. Xiang Qun wept, "How shall I face my sister?"

Several days later, the second brother died, his senses extinguished. At first he saw two yamen runners enter with a summons, and unknowingly followed them. On the road, he worried he had no money for the journey and invited the runners to stop by his elder brother's place along the way. His brother saw him, turned pale with shock, and asked, "What have you been doing lately?" The second brother said, "Nothing else—only a ghost-sickness." He told him the truth. His brother said, "So that is it." He then produced a packet of silver and said to the runners, "Please accept this with a smile. My younger brother's sins do not warrant death. Please release him to return. I will send my little pig along with you, and all should be well." He called A-Da to keep the runners company with wine. Turning back into the house, he told everyone the reason. He then ordered Madam Gan to call Wei Lingxian from next door. She arrived shortly and, seeing the second brother, tried to flee. The elder brother seized her and cursed, "Lewd wench! In life you were a wanton woman, in death a base ghost—long have you been beneath the notice of decent people! And now you torment my younger brother!" He struck her at once, and her cloud-like hair flew in disarray, her seductive beauty instantly diminished. After a while, an old woman came and prostrated herself, begging piteously. The elder brother also reproached the old woman for allowing her daughter to spread licentiousness, berating her at length before finally ordering her to leave with the girl.

The elder brother then escorted the second brother out. In a fluttering instant, they had reached his home, going straight to his bedchamber. He awoke suddenly, as if from a dream, and only then realized that he had been dead a short while ago. The elder brother reproached Xiang Qun, "My sister and I thought you virtuous and capable, and so allowed you to follow my younger brother. Would you hasten my younger brother's death instead! Were it not for the impropriety of our positions, I would have beaten you!" Xiang Qun, ashamed and afraid, sobbed and prostrated herself before the elder brother in apology. The elder brother looked at A-Xiao with delight and said, "The boy has become a living person after all!" Xiang Qun wished to go out and prepare a meal, but the elder brother declined, "My younger brother's affairs are not yet settled—I have no leisure." A-Xiao was thirteen and had gradually grown to love his father. Seeing his father leave, he followed in tears. His father said, "It is happiest to follow your uncle. I will come back when I go." He turned and swiftly departed, and from then on there was no further communication between them.

Later, A-Xiao took a wife and had a son, who also died at the age of thirty. The second brother raised his orphan as he had when his nephew was alive. When the second brother was eighty and his son was over twenty, he divided the household. Xiang Qun had borne no children. One day, she said to the second brother, "May I go first and drive the foxes away in the underworld?" She dressed in her finest and died in bed. The second brother did not grieve, and half a year later he too died.

The Historian of the Strange says: "In all the world, how many are there who love their brothers as the second brother did! It is fitting that he did not die and was granted added years. That his line was cut off in the world of light but continued in the shadow—all this was brought about by the sincere heart that could not bear to let his elder brother die. Among men there is no such principle; in Heaven, could there be such a decree? Those born in the underworld who wish to carry on their ancestors' legacy must be many; I fear it is the virtuous elder and younger brothers who inherit a dying line and refuse to care for them!"

A certain man of Hunan could remember his past three lives. In one life, he had been a magistrate serving as an examiner in the provincial examination. A talented scholar named Xing Yu Tang was rejected and, in his frustration and rage, died. He went to the underworld and filed a complaint with the documents in hand. Once this petition was submitted, those who had suffered the same fate and died numbered in the tens of thousands. They pushed Xing to the fore, and the dead gathered in swarms. The Hunan man was summoned to face them, and they confronted each other for questioning.

The King of Hell asked, "Since you were evaluating essays, how could you reject a worthy scholar and promote the mediocre?"

The man defended himself, saying, "There was a chief examiner above me. I merely carried out his orders."

The King of Hell then dispatched a warrant to summon the chief examiner. After some time, he was brought in. The King of Hell repeated the man's words. The chief examiner said, "I merely oversaw the final results. Even if there were excellent essays, if the assistant examiners did not recommend them, how could I have seen them?"

The King of Hell said, "You cannot shift the blame onto each other. You are equally at fault. By law, you should both be flogged."

Just as the punishment was about to be carried out, Xing was not satisfied and let out a great cry. The ghosts on both sides of the hall echoed him with ten thousand voices. The King of Hell asked the reason. Xing protested loudly, "A flogging is too light a punishment. You must gouge out his eyes as retribution for failing to recognize literary talent."

The King of Hell refused, but the crowd cried out even more fiercely. The King of Hell said, "It is not that he did not wish to find excellent writing; it is simply that his judgment was vulgar."

The crowd then asked that his heart be cut open. The King of Hell had no choice. He had them strip off the man's robes and, with a white blade, split open his chest. The two men bled and cried out in agony. Only then was the crowd greatly satisfied. They all said, "We have been suppressed beneath the springs, and none of us has been able to vent this grievance. Now that we have Mr. Xing, our resentful anger is all dispelled." With a clamor, they dispersed.

After the Hunan man had been cut open, he was sent to be reborn as a commoner's son in Shaanxi. In his twenties, when a great uprising of local bandits occurred, he was caught among them. A provincial military inspector went to suppress the bandits and captured many prisoners, the Hunan man among them. He still told himself in his heart that he was not a bandit and hoped he could argue for his release. But when he saw the official presiding over the court, who was also in his twenties, he looked closely—and it was Xing Yu Tang. He was alarmed and said, "I am surely done for!"

Afterward, all the captives were released. Only the Hunan man arrived last, and he was not given a chance to defend himself. He was beheaded. The Hunan man went to the underworld to file a complaint against Xing. The King of Hell did not summon Xing immediately. He waited until Xing's allotted lifespan was exhausted—delaying for thirty years—before Xing finally arrived to face the charges. Xing, for recklessly taking human life, was punished by being reborn as a beast. Upon reviewing the Hunan man's deeds, it was found that he had once beaten his parents, and his crime was equally grave. The Hunan man, fearing revenge in the next life, requested to be reborn as a large beast. The King of Hell sentenced him to be a large dog and Xing a small dog.

The Hunan man was born in a marketplace in Shuntian Prefecture in the north. One day, lying in the street, he saw a traveler from the south carrying a golden-furred dog, large as a wildcat. The Hunan man looked at it and recognized Xing. He looked down on its small size and bit it. The small dog bit him on the throat, hanging on like a bell. The large dog thrashed, howled, and fled, but the people in the market could not separate them. In a moment, both were dead.

They both went to the underworld, where they argued against each other. The King of Hell said, "Vengeance begets vengeance—when will it end? Now I shall resolve this for you." He sentenced Xing to be the Hunan man's son-in-law in the next life.

The Hunan man was born in Qingyun and passed the provincial examination at the age of twenty-eight. He had a daughter, graceful, quiet, and lovely, and families of standing competed to propose marriage. The Hunan man refused them all. Once, passing through a neighboring prefecture, he happened to encounter an education commissioner failing a group of scholars. The first paper on the list bore the surname Li—it was in fact Xing Yu Tang. He brought him to his inn and treated him generously. He asked about his family and learned that he was not yet married, so he arranged a betrothal. People all said the Hunan man was showing compassion for talent, but they did not know there was a karmic cause from a previous life.

Afterward, Xing took the daughter away, and they lived together in great harmony. However, the son-in-law, relying on his talent, often insulted his father-in-law and would not visit his home for years at a time. The father-in-law bore it patiently. Later, the son-in-law fell on hard middle years and struggled to achieve success. The father-in-law used every means to help him, and at last he succeeded in the world of scholarship. From then on, they were as close as father and son.

The Historian of the Strange remarks: "To be rejected once and not be freed of it for three lifetimes—such is the extremity of vengeful hatred! The King of Hell's mediation was certainly well done. But with the vast multitude below the hall, all in such turmoil, could it be that all the beloved sons-in-law of this world are the ones who cry and wail so piteously in the underworld?"

Shi Taipu, a native of Mount Tai, was skilled in the arts of exorcism. A Taoist priest once encountered him, admired his intelligence, and accepted him as a disciple. The priest opened a case of bamboo slips and produced two volumes—the upper volume for driving away fox-spirits, the lower for expelling ghosts. He gave Shi the lower volume, saying: "If you devoutly follow this book, fine clothing and beautiful food shall both be yours." When Shi asked his name, the priest replied: "I am Wang Chicheng of the Xuan Emperor Temple in the northern village of Biancheng." After staying several days and transmitting all the secret techniques, Shi became proficient in talismanic arts, and those who sought his services came to his door in an unbroken stream.

One day, an old man came, giving his surname as Weng. He displayed a generous array of silks and silk fabrics, saying that his daughter's ghost-illness had become critical, and he begged Shi to come in person. Hearing that the patient was gravely ill, Shi declined the offered gifts and merely accompanied the old man. After traveling some ten *li* into a mountain village and arriving at the Weng household, he found the buildings handsome and well-appointed. Entering the inner chamber, he saw a young girl lying behind a gauze curtain; a maid used a hook to draw back the bed-curtain. She appeared to be about fourteen or fifteen, propped up on the bed, her features already wasted. As Shi approached and looked at her, she suddenly opened her eyes and said: "The good physician has come!" The whole household rejoiced, for she had not spoken in several days.

Shi then came out and inquired about the nature of the illness. The old man said: "Every day at noon a young man comes and lies with her together. When they try to seize him, he vanishes; after a short while he returns. We believe he is a ghost." Shi said: "If it is a ghost, driving it away is not difficult. But if it is a fox-spirit, that is beyond what I can guarantee." The old man said: "Certainly not! Certainly not!" Shi gave him a talisman and that night lodged in the Weng household.

At midnight, a young man entered, his dress neat and dignified. Shi suspected he might be a member of the household and rose to question him. The young man said: "I am a ghost. The Weng family are all fox-spirits. I happened to take a fancy to their daughter Hongting and stopped here for a while. A ghost being plagued by fox-spirits does no harm to one's hidden virtue. Why must you sever human attachments to protect them? The girl's elder sister, Changting, possesses surpassing radiance and beauty. I respectfully keep her whole and unblemished, awaiting a worthy gentleman. If she is betrothed, then I will consent to treat the illness; at that time I myself shall depart." Shi agreed.

That night the young man did not return, and the girl at once revived. At daybreak, the old man was overjoyed and told Shi, inviting him to come in and examine the patient. Shi burned the old talisman and sat down to make his diagnosis. He saw a young lady behind the embroidered curtain, beautiful as a celestial being—and knew in his heart that this was Changting. After finishing his examination, he asked for water to sprinkle on the curtain. The young lady hastily handed him a bowl of water, and as she moved with quick, mincing steps, his heart was stirred and his spirit moved. At that moment, Shi's mind was no longer on the ghost at all.

He took his leave of the old man, claiming he must go prepare medicine, and did not return for several days. The ghost grew more brazen; besides Changting, the daughters-in-law and maidservants were all seduced and bewitched. The household then sent horses and servants to summon Shi, but Shi feigned illness and did not go. The next day, the old man came in person. Shi pretended to have injured his thigh, leaning on a staff as he came out. After the old man had bowed, he asked the reason. Shi said: "This is the hardship of a widower! Last night a maid climbed onto my bed, lost her footing, and scalded both my feet with boiling water from the soup kettle." The old man asked: "Why have you not remarried?" Shi replied: "I only regret there is no pure household like yours." The old man left in silence. Shi walked him out, saying: "When my ailment is healed, I myself will come—please trouble yourself no further."

Several days later, the old man came again; Shi limped out to see him. After the old man had offered a few words of consolation, he said: "Just now I spoke with my wife. If you would drive the ghost away and allow the whole household to sleep in peace, our younger daughter Changting is seventeen years of age and we are willing to send her to serve you as a wife." Shi was delighted and kowtowed to the ground. He then said to the old man: "Since your kind intention is so generous, how dare this ailing body hold itself back?" He set out at once, and they rode together.

After examining the afflicted one, Shi, fearing the agreement might be broken, asked to swear a covenant with the old woman. The old woman came out at once and said: "Why does the gentleman doubt us?" She then gave him the golden hairpin that Changting wore as a pledge. Shi bowed to her in the morning-court manner. Afterward, he gathered all the family members and performed purification rites for every one of them. Only Changting remained deeply hidden and could not be found. He therefore wrote a talisman to be worn on the body and had someone deliver it to her. That night all was still—ghostly traces vanished entirely. Only Hongting still groaned in pain; when the consecrated water was administered to her, her ailment disappeared as if it had never been.

Shi was about to take his leave, but the old man detained him with earnest entreaties. By evening, a lavish spread of food was laid out, and the toasts were pressed with great warmth. At the second watch of night, the host finally took leave of his guest. Shi had just lain down to sleep when he heard urgent knocking at the door. He rose to look—it was Changting, slipping in, her manner panicked and her voice hurried. She said: "My family intends to take revenge on you with blades—flee at once!" With that, she turned and left directly. Shi was terrified and pale; he scrambled over the wall and fled in haste. In the distance he saw torchlight and ran swiftly toward it—it was villagers out night-hunting. Overjoyed, he waited until the hunt was finished and then returned home with them.

His heart burned with resentment and anger, yet he had no way to vent it. He thought of going to Biancheng to seek out Chicheng, but his old father at home had long been bedridden from illness. Day and night he deliberated and could not decide whether to go or stay. Then one day, two sedan chairs arrived at his door—it was the old Weng couple bringing Changting. The old woman said to Shi: "After returning home the other night, why did you not plan further?" Seeing Changting, Shi's resentment all melted away, and he kept his feelings hidden and did not raise the matter. The old woman urged the two to perform the courtyard bow. When Shi was about to set out a feast, the old woman declined, saying: "I am not an idle person who can sit and enjoy fine food. My old husband is senile and confused. If anything should go wrong, would you be willing to think of this old woman for Changting's sake? That would be my greatest fortune." She then got into her chair and left.

As for the plot to kill the son-in-law, the old woman had not known of it; it was only when the pursuit failed and they returned that she learned of it. She was greatly displeased and quarreled with the old man daily; Changting also wept and would not eat. It was the old woman who had insisted on sending the daughter—it had not been the old man's wish. When Changting entered the household and Shi questioned her, he learned the truth of the matter.

After two or three months, the Weng family came to take their daughter back for a visit. Shi, guessing she would not return, forbade her to go. From then on, the girl shed tears from time to time. In a little over a year, she bore a son, whom they named Hui'er, and they hired a wet nurse to nurse him. But the child was prone to crying and at night had to be with his mother.

One day, the Weng family came again with a sedan chair, saying the old woman missed her daughter greatly. Changting grew even more sorrowful, and Shi could not bear to keep her any longer. He wished to take the child and leave, but Shi would not allow it, so Changting returned home by herself. When they parted, they agreed on one month as the term; but half a year passed without any news. Shi sent someone to inquire, and found that the house they had formerly rented had long been empty.

More than two years passed, and all hope and longing were cut off. But the child cried through every night, and Shi's heart was torn to pieces. Soon after, Shi's father also died of illness, doubling his grief. He fell ill from exhaustion, lingering on the mourning bed in his final hours, unable to receive the condolences of guests and friends. In the midst of his delirium, he suddenly heard a woman weeping as she entered. He looked—it was Changting, dressed in mourning garments. Shi was overcome with grief and, after one great wail, lost consciousness. The maid cried out in alarm; only then did the girl begin to sob. She tended to him for a long time before he gradually revived. Thinking he had died, he believed they had met in the underworld. The girl said: "No—

# From *Liaozhai Zhiyi* (Volume 10)

---

"Yes. I have been unfilial and could not win my stern father's favor. He sent me back three years ago, and indeed I have betrayed his trust. Recently my family passed by here from the eastern coast and brought news of my father's death. I obeyed my father's strict command and severed all ties of love, daring not to follow a rash order and violate the rites between father-in-law and daughter-in-law. When I came, my mother knew of it, but my father did not." As she spoke, the child threw himself into her arms. When she had finished, she began to stroke him and weep, saying, "I have a father, but this child has no mother!" The child also wailed aloud, and the whole household covered their faces and wept. The woman rose and managed the household affairs; the sacrificial offerings before the coffin were prepared with the utmost purity and completeness, and Shi was greatly comforted. But his illness had lasted long, and he could not rise quickly. The woman then invited Shi's cousin outside to entertain the mourning guests. After the funeral was over, Shi was at last able to lean on a cane and stand, and together they planned the burial rites. When the burial was done, the woman wished to take her leave and return home, to receive the reproach for having defied her father. But her husband held her back and the child cried, so she restrained herself and stayed. Before long, someone came to report that her mother was ill, so she said to Shi, "I came for your father's sake. Will you not let me go for my mother's sake?" Shi gave his consent. She had the nurse take the child elsewhere, and left the door with tears streaming down her face. After she left, she did not return for several years. Shi and his son gradually forgot about her.

One day, at the first light of dawn, he opened the gate, and a woman floated in from the long pavilion. Shi was just asking in alarm when the woman sat sorrowfully on the couch and sighed, "I grew up in the women's quarters, and thought even one *li* was far. Now in a single day and night I have rushed a thousand *li*—I am done for!" Pressed for details, the woman tried to speak but stopped. When he pressed her again, she cried and said, "If I tell you now, I fear what is grief to me will be joy to you. In recent years my family moved to the border of Jin and rented the residence of the gentryman Zhao. The master and guest were on the best of terms, and he gave Hongting in marriage to his young master. The young master was often dissolute, and the household was far from peaceful. My sister returned and told our father; father kept her and would not let her return for half a year. The young master was furious and resentful, and from somewhere hired a villain, who sent spirits with chains and ropes and bound my old father and took him away. The whole household was thrown to great terror and scattered in an instant." Shi, upon hearing this, could not restrain a laugh. The woman was angry and said, "Though he lacks benevolence, he is still my father. I and you have been husband and wife for several years, and we have only shown affection, never resentment. Now a man is dead and a household is ruined, a hundred mouths are scattered—even if you grieve not for my father, will you not mourn for me? To hear of it and dance with joy, without a single word of comfort—how unrighteous!" She swept her sleeve and left. Shi pursued her to apologize, but she had already vanished. He stood there full of melancholy regret, resolved to sever all ties.

After two or three days, the old nurse and the woman both came. Shi was overjoyed and asked after them. Both mother and daughter prostrated themselves. Startled, he questioned them, and both mother and daughter wept. The woman said, "I left in anger, and now I cannot stand on my own and must come back to beg of others—what face do I have left!" Shi said, "Your father is certainly no good man; but your mother's kindness and your own affection—these I cannot forget. Yet to take pleasure in hearing of disaster is also human feeling. Why could you not bear it a little while?" The woman said, "On the road just now I met my mother, and learned that the one who imprisoned my father is your master." Shi said, "If that is so, it is very easy. But if your father does not return, your family will be scattered; and if your father does return, then your husband will weep and your child will grieve." The old nurse swore to make things clear, and the woman also swore to repay him. Shi then immediately prepared for the journey to Bian. He inquired and went to the Black Emperor Temple, where Chicheng had not yet long returned. He went in to pay his respects and was asked, "Where have you come from?" Shi looked at the kitchen and saw an old fox, with its front legs pierced and tied. He laughed and said, "Your disciple has come for this old demon." Chicheng questioned him, and Shi said, "This is my father-in-law." He then told him the whole truth. The Taoist priest said the fox was too cunning and deceitful, and was unwilling to release him lightly. Shi insisted, and at last the priest consented. Shi then recounted all his deceptions in full; the fox, hearing this, buried itself in the stove as if ashamed. The priest laughed and said, "His sense of shame and aversion to evil has not entirely perished." Shi rose, led the fox out, and cut the rope and whipped it. The fox was in such agony that its teeth grated audibly. Shi did not whip it quickly but paused and tormented it, laughing as he asked, "Does it hurt, Father-in-law? Should I not whip you?" The fox's eyes flashed angrily, as if enraged. When released, it wagged its tail and left the temple. Shi took his leave and returned.

Three days earlier, someone had already brought news of the old man; the old nurse went ahead, leaving the woman to wait for Shi. When Shi arrived, the woman came to meet him and prostrated herself. Shi raised her and said, "If you do not forget our love, it is not out of gratitude." The woman said, "Now we have moved back to our old home. Our villages are close neighbors, and word can pass without obstruction. I wish to visit my parents—I can return in three days. Do you believe me?" Shi said, "My child was born without a mother, yet has not died young. I have been widowed every day and am accustomed to it. Now I am not like the young master Zhao, and instead repay virtue with virtue—I have done all I can for you. If you do not return, the breach of faith will be yours. Though the road is near, I suppose I shall not inquire further. What is there not to believe?" The woman left the next day and returned in two days. He asked, "Why so quickly?" She said, "My father was once toyed with by you in Bian and cannot forget it; he spoke of it endlessly. I did not wish to hear it again, so I came early." From then on, there was no interruption in her visits to the inner chambers, but between father-in-law and son-in-law, there was still no exchange of condolences or congratulations.

The Historian of the Strange says: "The fox's nature is capricious—her cunning and deceit have gone too far. The matter of breaking the betrothal followed the same pattern with both women; her trickery is plain to see. Yet to press her into marriage was to plant the seeds of her betrayal from the very beginning. Moreover, since the son-in-law loved the woman and saved her father, he should have set aside old grievances and transformed him with benevolence. Instead, he toyed with him in a moment of crisis—no wonder he could not forget it to his dying day! Those in the world who cannot coexist like ice and jade are generally like this."

---

**Xi Fangping**

Xi Fangping was a man of Dong'an. His father's name was Lian, and he was blunt and simple by nature. Because he had a feud with a wealthy family of the Yang surname in the village, the Yang man died first. Several years later, Lian fell gravely ill and said to others, "Mr. Yang has now bribed the underworld lashings to beat me." Soon his body turned red and swollen, and with cries and shouts he died. Xi was grief-stricken and would not eat, saying, "My father was plain-spoken and simple, and now he is oppressed by a powerful ghost. I shall go down below and vent his grievance on his behalf." From then on he spoke no more, now sitting, now standing, his manner like that of an imbecile—for his soul had already left his body.

Xi Jue first stepped out the door with no idea where to go, but seeing people on the road, he asked for the nearest city. Before long, he entered the city. His father had already been thrown into prison. Reaching the prison gate, he saw from afar his father lying beneath the eaves, looking utterly wretched. When his father raised his eyes and saw his son, tears streamed down his face. He said, "The jailers have all been bribed and instructed. They flog me day and night—my legs and thighs are horribly mangled!" Xi Jue flew into a rage and cursed the jailers: "If my father has committed a crime, there are laws of the realm to deal with it—how can you dead demons presume to wield such power!" He then went out and drafted a petition. It happened that the City God was holding his early court session, so Xi Jue shouted his grievance and submitted the petition. The rich man Yang was terrified and sent bribes through every channel, inside and outside, before the case finally came to trial. The City God, finding the accusations unsubstantiated, sided against Xi Jue. Burning with fury and with no outlet for his rage, Xi Jue walked through the darkness for more than a hundred li until he reached the prefecture and reported the corrupt conduct of the local officials to the prefectural magistrate. He waited half a month before the case was finally heard. The prefectural magistrate had Xi Jue beaten and sent the case back to the City God for reinvestigation. When Xi Jue returned to the county, he was subjected to every manner of shackles and restraints, his grievous wrongs utterly beyond redress. The City God, fearing he would appeal again, dispatched escorts to send him home. The escorts reached his door and took their leave. Xi Jue refused to go inside and instead fled to the underworld court to accuse the prefect and magistrate of their cruelty and greed. The King of the Underworld at once summoned all parties for a hearing. The two officials secretly sent their confidants to negotiate with Xi Jue, offering him a thousand pieces of gold. Xi Jue would not listen. After several days, his innkeeper told him, "You have carried your obstinacy too far. The authorities sought reconciliation, but you stubbornly refused. Now I hear that both sides have sent letters to the King—I fear the matter has turned dire." Xi Jue, having only hearsay to go on, was still not fully convinced. Soon a man in black robes summoned him inside. He ascended the hall and saw the King of the Underworld wearing an angry expression; he was not allowed to utter a word before being ordered to receive twenty strokes of the bamboo. Xi Jue demanded fiercely, "What crime have I committed?" The King of the Underworld remained silent as if he had not heard. After receiving the blows, Xi Jue shouted, "I deserved the beating—but who told me I had no money!" The King grew even angrier and ordered him placed on the fire bed. Two demons dragged Xi Jue down and he saw, on the eastern terrace, an iron bed with a blazing fire beneath it, its surface glowing red. The demons stripped off his clothes and placed him on it, pressing and kneading him back and forth. The pain was excruciating—his flesh and bones were charred black—and he suffered terribly without dying. After about the time of a single meal, one demon said, "That will do." They helped him up and urged him to get off the bed and put his clothes back on. By fortune he could still walk, though lame. He was brought back to the hall, and the King of the Underworld asked, "Dare you bring another appeal?" Xi Jue said, "My great wrong has not yet been redressed, and my heart is not yet dead. If I say I will not appeal, that would be deceiving Your Majesty. I must appeal!" The King asked, "On what grounds?" Xi Jue said, "Everything that has been done to me, I will speak of it all." The King of the Underworld flew into another rage and ordered him to be sawn apart. Two demons dragged him away and he saw a standing wooden post, about eight or nine chi high, with two wooden boards laid face-up upon it, above and below, crusted with dried blood. Just as they were about to bind him, a great shout came from the hall: "Xi Jue!" The two demons immediately dragged him back. The King of the Underworld asked again, "Do you still dare to appeal?" He answered, "I must appeal!" The King ordered them to take him away and saw him apart quickly. Once below, the demons clamped Xi Jue between two boards and bound him to the post. As the saw began to descend, he felt his skull gradually splitting open—the pain was unbearable—but he endured it without crying out. He heard one demon say, "What a brave fellow!" The saw rumbled downward until it reached his chest. Then he heard another demon say: "This man is deeply filial and innocent. Tilt the saw slightly so as not to damage his heart." He then felt the saw blade cutting a crooked path downward, and the pain was doubly agonizing. In a moment, half his body had been split open. The boards were removed and both halves of his body fell to the ground. A demon went up to the hall and reported in a loud voice. The order came from the hall to join his body together and present him. The two demons pushed the halves back together and dragged him forward. Xi Jue felt the saw cut as a single line of pain through him, as if it were about to split open again; after half a step he stumbled and fell. One demon produced a silk sash from around his waist and handed it to him, saying, "I give this to repay your filial devotion." He received it and bound it around himself, and at once his whole body felt strong and sound, free of the slightest pain. He then ascended the hall and prostrated himself. The King of the Underworld asked as before. Xi Jue, fearing he would again suffer torments, answered, "I will not appeal." The King of the Underworld at once ordered him sent back to the world of the living. The bailiffs led him out the north gate and pointed him toward the road home, then turned and departed.

Xi Jue reflected that the darkness and corruption of the underworld were even worse than those of the living world, yet he had no way to reach the Emperor's ear. It was said that the Erlang Spirit of Guankou was a kinsman of the Emperor—a god of wisdom and upright integrity—and that an appeal to him would surely produce a miraculous response. Secretly rejoicing that the two bailiffs had already left, he turned and headed south. As he raced along, two men caught up with him and said, "The King suspected you would not return home, and indeed you have not!" They dragged him back to see the King of the Underworld. Xi Jue expected the King to be even more enraged and the calamity to be even worse, but the King showed no harsh expression at all. He said to Xi Jue, "You are truly and deeply filial. But your father's wrong has already been avenged for you. He has now been reborn into a wealthy and noble household—what use is there for you to cry out in protest? Now I will send you home, granting you a fortune of a thousand pieces of gold and a lifespan of a hundred years. Will that satisfy your wishes?" He then inscribed this in the registry, pressing a great seal upon it, and made Xi Jue's father look upon it. Xi Jue thanked him and withdrew. The demons accompanied him outside and, on the road, drove him along and cursed him: "Treacherous scoundrel! Turning and turning again, making us run ourselves to death! If you offend again, we will seize you and throw you into a great mill and grind you to powder!" Xi Jue glared and shouted back, "What are you devils about? I can endure the knife and the saw, but I cannot endure a beating. Take me back to the King. If the King orders me to return on my own, what trouble is there in your escorting me?" He turned and ran back. The two demons were frightened and spoke gently to persuade him to return. Xi Jue deliberately hobbled slowly, walking a few steps and then resting by the roadside. The demons seethed with anger but dared not speak again. After about half a day, they reached a village. There was a gate half-open. The demons brought him to sit together there, and Xi Jue positioned himself on the threshold. The two demons took advantage of his unpreparedness and pushed him through the gate.

Calming himself and looking down, he found he had been reborn as an infant. He wailed in fury and refused to nurse, and on the third day he died. His soul wandered restlessly, never forgetting Guanpo. He rushed some tens of leagues, when suddenly he saw plumed canopies approaching, with banners and halberds blocking the road. He tried to dodge across the road, but in doing so intruded upon the imperial guard of honor and was seized by the outriders and bound before the carriage. Looking up, he saw a youth inside the carriage, of majestic bearing and extraordinary appearance. "Who is this?" asked the carriage's occupant. Xi was brimming with wronged fury and had no outlet for it, and moreover he reckoned this must surely be a great official, one perhaps capable of wielding power, so he poured out his bitter tale of suffering. The man in the carriage ordered his bonds released and bade him follow the carriage. Soon they arrived at a place where some dozen officials came to greet them at the roadside, and the carriage's occupant exchanged inquiries with each of them. Then he pointed to Xi and said to one official: "This man from below was on his way to file a grievance. You should adjudicate it at once." Xi inquired of an attendant and learned that the man in the carriage was the Ninth Prince, the Emperor Below, and the one he had recommended was Erlang. Xi looked at Erlang—a tall, full-bearded figure, nothing like the depictions in the world above. After the Ninth Prince departed, Xi followed Erlang to a government office, where his father and the man surnamed Yang, along with all the yamen clerks, were assembled. Before long, prisoners were brought out from the cage-cart—the King of the Underneath, the prefect, and the City God. They were tried before the bench, and everything Xi said proved true. The three officials trembled, looking like cowering mice. Erlang took up his brush and rendered his judgment at once; before long, the written verdict was passed down for all those involved to read. It said:

"Investigation finds that the King of the Underneath: holding princely rank and receiving the Emperor's grace, ought to have led his subordinates with integrity, yet instead pursued corruption and brought censure upon his office. With his ornamented tassels and ceremonial halberds, he merely flaunted the dignity of his station; fierce as wolves and greedy as goats, he has utterly disgraced the virtue of a subject. The axe strikes and carves—carving into wood—while the flesh and bones of wives and children are hollowed out; the whale devours the fish, the fish devours the shrimp—and the tiny lives of ants deserve pity. We shall scoop up the waters of the Western River to wash your bowels; we shall burn the bed of the Eastern Wall—let the guest enter the jar. The City God and the Prefect: they are officials who serve as parents to the common people, stewards of the flocks and herds entrusted by the Emperor. Though their posts rank below, those who serve wholeheartedly do not shrink from bending low; even when pressed by powerful ministers, those of resolve should stand firm. Yet they raised and lowered their talon-like hands, unmindful of the people's poverty; and they unleashed their cunning and treacherous schemes, caring not at all that the ghosts grew thin. Taking bribes and perverting the law—truly they wear the faces of men but harbor the hearts of beasts! They should have their marrow scraped and their hair plucked, and be temporarily sentenced to death in the underworld; they should shed their skins and exchange their hides, and be reborn into the womb. The clerks: being denizens of the ghostly bureaucracy, they are no longer human. They should have cultivated virtue in the yamen, so as to return to their mothers' wombs; how instead have they raised waves in the sea of suffering, heaping up boundless sin? Arrogant and overbearing, their dog-faces bring frost in the sixth month; trampling and howling, their tiger-fierceness blocks the roads in all directions. They exercised wanton cruelty in the underworld, where all know the prison clerks are to be feared; they abetted the tyrannous cruelty of dim-witted officials, so that all dread the slaughterer. They should have their four limbs hacked off within the execution ground; their sinews and bones should be fished out from the cauldron of boiling oil. One Yang: wealthy yet unkind, cunning and full of deceit. A golden glow covered the earth, so that the Hall of King Yalm was shrouded in gloom; the stench of copper filled the heavens, so that the City of Wrongful Death knew no sun or moon. The lingering reek could still command ghosts; his great power could reach straight to the gods. The household of the Yangs should be confiscated to reward Xi for his filial devotion. Let them be sent to Dongyue for execution."

He then addressed Xi Lian: "In consideration of your son's filial piety and righteousness, and given your own gentle and weak nature, you are granted an additional thirty-six years of life." He then sent two men to escort them home. Xi copied down the verdict, and father and son read it together along the way. When they arrived home, Xi revived first. He had his family open the coffin to look at his father—the corpse was still cold as ice—but after waiting all day, it gradually warmed and he came back to life. When they went to retrieve the copied verdict, it was already gone. From that time on, the family grew ever more prosperous; within three years, rich farmland stretched everywhere. But the descendants of the Yangs dwindled, and their mansions and estates all became the Xi family's. When some villagers bought land from them, they dreamt at night of a divine figure rebuking them: "This is the Xi family's property—how dare you possess it!" At first they did not truly believe it, but when they planted crops, they harvested not a single peck all year, and so they sold it back to the Xis. Xi's father lived to be over ninety before he died.

The Chronicler of the Strange says: "Everyone speaks of the Pure Land, yet does not know that between life and death, across the divide of worlds, all consciousness is confused—they do not even know whence they came, still less where they go; and what of those who die yet again and are born yet again? When the resolve of loyalty and filial piety is fixed, it shall not shift through ten thousand kalpas. How extraordinary this Xi—how magnificent he was!"

---

Suqiu

Yu Shen, styled Jin'an, was the son of an old family of Shuntian. He went to the capital to sit for examinations and lodged in the suburbs. There he noticed a youth in the house opposite, beautiful as a piece of jade set in a cap. He was drawn to him, and gradually drew near to converse; the youth's refinement was quite extraordinary. Delighted, Yu Shen took him by the arm and invited him to his lodging, where he entertained him lavishly. On learning his name, the youth said: "I am from Jinling, surnamed Yu, given name Shichen, styled Xunjiu." The young gentleman, hearing they shared the same surname, grew even closer, and they swore brotherhood. The youth thereupon reduced his given name and went by Chen.

The next day, he visited their home. The study was bright and clean, but the courtyard was desolate, with no servants in sight. He led the young master inside and called his sister out to pay her respects. She was thirteen or fourteen years old, her skin luminous and translucent—not even powdered jade could match her fairness. Shortly after, she served tea to the guest, as though there were no maids in the household either. The young master found this strange, spoke a few words, and then took his leave. From that day on, they were as close as brothers born of the same mother.

Shunjiu came to the lodgings every day without fail. Sometimes he stayed overnight, pleading that his frail sister had no one to keep her company. The young master said, "My brother, you have drifted a thousand li from home, yet you have no servant to answer the door. Brother and sister, both slight and delicate—how do you manage to live? I think it would be better if you came with me. I have a small room where we can lodge together. What do you say?" Shunjiu was delighted and agreed to come after the examinations. When the exams were over, Shunjiu invited the young master to his home, saying, "On the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival, the moon is bright as day. My sister Suqiu has prepared vegetables and wine—do not refuse her kind intention." He pulled him inside. Suqiu came out, exchanged a few words of greeting, then withdrew to the inner room, lowered the curtain, and began preparing the meal. After a short while, she came out herself to roast the meat. The young master rose and said, "Your sister bustles about like this—how can I bear it!" Suqiu smiled and went back inside. Presently, she lifted the curtain and came out, followed by a maid in blue carrying a jug, and then an old woman bearing a platter of cooked fish. The young master was astonished and said, "Where did these people come from? Why didn't you prepare earlier, and trouble your sister?" Shunjiu smiled faintly and said, "Suqiu is playing her tricks again." From behind the curtain came the sound of suppressed giggling, but the young master could not understand the reason. When the banquet ended, the maid and old woman cleared away the dishes. The young master happened to cough and accidentally spat on the maid's dress. The maid fell at once, and the bowl shattered, the hot food spilling everywhere. He looked at the maid—she was a little figure cut from silk, barely four inches tall. Shunjiu burst out laughing. Suqiu came out laughing, picked it up, and carried it away. Soon the maid appeared again, bustling about as before. The young master was greatly amazed. Shunjiu said, "This is nothing more than a little trick my sister learned as a girl—divining with the Purple Maiden." The young master then asked, "Your sister and you are both grown. Why have you not married?" He replied, "Since our father passed away, we have not yet settled on where to stay or go, so the matter has been delayed." They then agreed on a date for departure. Shunjiu sold his house, took his sister, and went west with the young master. Upon their return, the young master prepared rooms for them and also sent a maid to serve them.

The young master's wife was the niece of Vice Minister Han, and she was especially fond of Suqiu, sharing her meals with her. The young master and Shunjiu did the same. Shunjiu was also the most brilliant, able to read ten lines at a glance. When he composed an essay, even veteran scholars could not match him. The young master urged him to take the county examination. Shunjiu said, "I have pursued this path only to share your hardships. I know my own fortune is thin—I am not fit for an official career. Moreover, once one enters this path, one cannot help being troubled by success or failure. That is why I do not pursue it." Three years passed, and the young master failed the provincial examination again. Shunjiu was deeply distressed and said with resolve, "A single name on the list—how can it be so hard to obtain? At first I did not wish to be swayed by success or failure, so I kept to myself. But now I see that my elder brother cannot fulfill his ambitions, and I cannot help but feel a fire within me. A nineteen-year-old 'old boy' should gallop like a colt!" The young master was overjoyed. When the examination period came, he sent Shunjiu to the examination hall. Shunjiu placed first at the county, prefectural, and circuit levels. He and the young master studied together with even greater diligence. The following year, at the prefectural examination, both won first place in the prefecture and county. Shunjiu's name became widely known, and people from far and near sought his hand in marriage, but he refused them all. The young master urged him strongly, and Shunjiu only put him off by saying he would consider it after the examinations.

Shortly after, the examination concluded, and those who admired him vied to copy his essay, reciting it among themselves; Xunjiu also felt in his heart that he would not deceive himself by ranking second. When the results were posted, both brothers were rejected. At the time they were drinking together, and the young master still forced himself to make jokes; Xunjiu lost his color, his wine cup tipped and fell, and he collapsed beneath the table. They helped him to his bed, and he was already gravely ill. He urgently called his sister to come, opened his eyes, and said to the young master: "Though the affection between us two is as close as that of womb-mates, we are not of the same clan. My brother has long felt that his name is already inscribed among the dead. I harbor this gratitude with no way to repay it; Sushu has grown up, and since she has been nurtured with love by my sister-in-law, she may be given as a concubine." The young master said sternly: "This is truly my brother's dying wish spoken in confusion! Would you have me be called a beast that speaks with a human head?" Xunjiu wept. The young master then used a great sum of money to purchase fine wood for a coffin. Xunjiu had it carried there, and forcing himself despite his illness, he entered it, instructing his sister: "After I die, close the coffin quickly, and let no one open it to look inside." The young master still wished to say something, but his eyes had already closed. The young master grieved as though he had lost a limb. Yet he privately found her instructions strange, and when Sushu went out one day, he opened the coffin to look inside. He found a hat, scarf, robe, and garments, like a shed skin; lifting them, there was a silverfish a foot long, lying stiff within. While he was still astonished, Sushu hurried in and said sorrowfully: "What barrier stands between brother and sister? The reason for this is not to avoid you; I only feared that word would spread and fly abroad, and then I too could not remain here long." The young master said: "Ritual is governed by feeling; where feeling is present, what difference does a different clan make? Do you not know my heart? Even the household affairs will have no leaks—please do not worry." He then quickly selected an auspicious date and gave him a lavish burial.

At first, the young master had wished to arrange a marriage for Sushu with an old established family, but Xunjiu had not wanted it. After his death, the young master consulted Sushu, but she would not answer. The young master said: "Sister, you are already twenty years old; if you grow older and remain unmarried, what will people say of me?" She replied: "If it must be so, then I will follow only my brother's command. But I feel in myself that I lack the appearance of good fortune; I do not wish to enter a noble household—a poor scholar will do." The young master said: "Agreed." Within days, matchmakers came in succession, but none was acceptable. Earlier, the young master's wife's brother Han Quan had come to offer condolences and had caught a glimpse of Sushu; his heart was captivated, and he wished to buy her as a secondary wife. He discussed it with his sister, who urgently warned him not to speak of it, fearing the young master would learn of it. After Han left, he could not let the matter rest; he asked a matchmaker to hint at it to the young master, offering to purchase success in the provincial examination for him. When the young master heard of this, he flew into a rage, cursed and reviled him, and drove the messenger from his door; from then on, all contact between them was severed. It happened that a certain Jia, a grandson of a former minister, was about to be married when his bride suddenly died, and he too sent a matchmaker. His mansion was grand and connected by clouds of buildings, and the young master had long known of it; but wishing to see the man himself, he arranged with the matchmaker for Jia to pay a personal visit. When the day came, a curtain was hung inside, and Sushu was told to observe him herself. Jia arrived with furs, horses, and a retinue of attendants, dazzling the neighborhood. And when they looked at the man himself, he was elegant and refined as a maiden. The young master was greatly pleased; all who saw him praised him, but Sushu was distinctly unhappy. The young master paid her no heed and agreed to the match. He prepared a lavish trousseau, the cost beyond reckoning. Sushu firmly tried to stop him, asking only for an old serving woman to attend her. The young master would not listen to her and gave her a generous dowry in the end.

After the marriage, they lived in great harmony as zither and lute in tune. But his brother and sister-in-law missed her, and every month she would return home to visit. When she came, she would always bring several items of pearl embroidery from her trousseau and entrust them to her sister-in-law for safekeeping. The sister-in-law did not understand her intention but went along with it for the time being.

Jia had been orphaned young and had only a doting mother who loved him beyond the ordinary. Day by day he drew near to bad companions, who gradually lured him into debauchery and gambling; the family's inherited books, paintings, tripods, and ritual vessels were all sold to pay off his gambling debts. Now Han Quan was connected to him by marriage ties, so he invited him to drink and secretly sounded him out, offering two concubines and five hundred pieces of gold in exchange for Sushu. Jia was unwilling at first; Han pressed him hard, and Jia seemed to waver, fearing the young master would not consent. Han said: "I am his closest relative, and moreover she is not of his direct line; if the matter is already accomplished, there is nothing he can do about it; and if anything goes wrong, I will take responsibility myself. With my father at home, why should I fear a Yu Jin'an?" He then had his two concubines richly dressed and brought out to serve wine, saying: "If the agreement is fulfilled, these will be your household members." Jia was seduced and left after setting a date. On the appointed day, fearing Han might be deceiving him, he waited along the road at night; indeed a carriage came, and when he opened the curtain to verify, it was true. He led it away and placed it temporarily in the study. Han's servant handed over the five hundred pieces of gold, the exchange clearly completed. Jia rushed in and falsely told Sushu that the young master had fallen gravely ill and was calling for her. Sushu had no time to arrange her toilet and went out in haste. Once the carriage had set off, they lost their way in the night and did not know where they were; they traveled a great distance, and it seemed they would never arrive. Suddenly two enormous candles appeared, and all secretly rejoiced that they could ask for directions. But before long, when they reached the front, it was a giant python with eyes like lanterns. All were terrified; men and horses scattered in every direction, abandoning the carriage by the side of the road. When dawn came and they gathered again, only the empty carriage remained. They supposed she had been buried in the belly of the snake; they returned to report to their master, hanging their heads in despair.

Several days later, the young master sent someone to visit his sister and learned for the first time that she had been taken away by a villain; at first he did not suspect that her husband had been party to the deception. He brought the serving woman back and questioned her closely about the circumstances, glimpsing something of the change; he was furious and lodged complaints throughout the city and beyond. Jia, fearing, sought help from Han. Han, having lost both the gold and the concubines, was already vexed and frustrated, and rebuffed him, refusing to help. Jia, dull-witted, had no further recourse; warrants arrived from every quarter, but he used bribes to avoid being summoned. Within a month, his gold, pearls, and clothing were all pawned and exhausted. The young master pressed the matter urgently before the provincial court, and the county officials all received strict orders; Jia knew he could no longer hide, so he appeared and before the court told the whole truth. The court issued a warrant to summon Han for confrontation. Han, afraid, told his father. His father, who had retired from office, was enraged at his unlawful conduct and handed him over to the bailiffs. When he appeared before the officials and spoke of the encounter with the python, they all said his words was rambling and unfounded; his family members were flogged nearly to a man, and Jia himself was repeatedly beaten. Fortunately his mother sold off farmland every day to rescue him from above and below, and his sentence was lightened so that he escaped death, but Han's servant had already died in prison. Han, long imprisoned, offered to help Jia bribe the young master with a thousand pieces of gold, begging him to drop the lawsuit. The young master refused. Jia's mother then offered the two concubines as well, asking only that the case be left unresolved pending further search; Jia's wife, following her aunt's instructions, pleaded for release morning and evening, and the young master at last agreed. Jia's family was extremely poor; they mortgaged their house to raise the money, but in their haste could not find a buyer, so they sent the concubines first, begging for an extension of time.

Several days later, the young master sat one night in his study when Sùqiū suddenly entered, accompanied by an old woman. Startled, he asked, "Is my sister well after all?" She smiled and said, "The python transformation was merely a trifling skill of mine. That night I fled into the home of a certain scholar and attached myself to his mother. She says she knows you and is now waiting outside. She asks to be let in." The young master rushed out to greet her, shoes reversed in his haste. By candlelight he saw that it was none other than Zhōu Shēng, a celebrated gentleman of Wǎnpíng, with whom he had long enjoyed a friendship of shared reputation and mutual esteem. Arm in arm they entered the study, and the hospitality was warm and thorough. After a long conversation, the full story emerged.

It turned out that Sùqiū had come to Zhōu's door at first light. His mother had admitted her and, upon questioning her, learned she was the young master's sister and wished at once to send word. Sùqiū stopped her and instead stayed with the mother. Being clever and understanding, she won the mother's affection. Since the son had no wife, the mother secretly set her hopes on Sūqiū and hinted at this. Sùqiū declined, saying she had not yet received her brother's permission. Zhōu, too, because of his close friendship with the young master, refused to enter into a match without a proper go-between, though he made frequent inquiries. When he learned that the lawsuit had already been taken care of through intermediaries, Sùqiū told the mother she wished to return. The mother sent Zhōu and an old woman to escort her back, instructing the old woman to serve as matchmaker.

The young master, having long harbored a private wish that Sùqiū should marry Zhōu after her extended stay in his household, had not spoken of it. When the old woman delivered her message, he was overjoyed and at once settled the betrothal with Zhōu face to face.

Earlier, when Sūqiū had returned by night, she had intended to let the young master obtain the gold before revealing herself. The young master would not allow it, saying: "My anger had no outlet before, so I sought the gold only to ruin them. Now that I see my sister again, what is ten thousand pieces of gold compared to that?" He immediately sent word to both families, and the matter was dropped at once. Then, reflecting that Zhōu's household was not particularly prosperous and the road too distant for a wedding procession, he moved his mother-in-law to live in the old residence of Xúnjiǔ. Zhōu for his part prepared silks, gifts, and musicians, and the marriage was duly celebrated.

One day the young master teased Sùqiū: "Now that you have a new husband, do you still remember the love of those nights on the pillow and mat?" Sùqiū smiled, then turned to her maid and asked: "Do you remember?" The young master did not understand and pressed her for an explanation. It turned out that for three years of marital intimacy, it had always been the maid who took her place. Each evening Sùqiū would paint the maid's eyebrows with a brush, send her off, and sit facing the candle herself. The husband had never been able to tell the difference. The young master marveled at this and begged to learn the technique, but she only smiled and would not speak of it.

The next year, during the great provincial examination, Zhōu was to travel together with the young master. Sùqiū thought it unnecessary, but the young master insisted and took him along. That year the young master passed at the provincial level, but Zhōu failed and returned home. He secretly entertained thoughts of withdrawing from the pursuit of office. The following year his mother died, and thereafter he no longer spoke of advancing in his career.

One day Sùqiū said to her sister-in-law: "When you asked about my art before, I would not reveal it, for fear of startling the world. Now a long parting is near at hand. Let me teach it to you in secret—it can also help you escape the calamities of war." The sister-in-law, startled, questioned her. Sùqiū replied: "In three years, this place will be devoid of human habitation. I am frail and cannot endure fright. I will go to the seacoast and hide there. My elder brother is a man of wealth and rank and cannot accompany me, so I bid you farewell." She then taught her sister-in-law the art in its entirety.

Several days later she also told the young master. He tried to detain her but could not, and tears fell. "Where are you going?" he asked. She would not say. At cockcrow she rose early, took with her a white-bearded servant, and rode off on two fine horses. The young master secretly sent men to escort and follow her, but when they reached the boundary of Jiāolái, a blinding fog and dust filled the sky. When it cleared, she had already vanished beyond all trace.

Three years later, the rebel bandits of Chuǎng invaded and reduced the village to ruins. Lady Hán cut silk and placed it inside the gate. When the bandits arrived, they saw clouds encircling a towering image of Weituó over ten feet high and fled in terror. Thus the household escaped harm.

Later, a merchant from the village traveled to the seaside and encountered an old man who greatly resembled the aged servant, yet his whiskers and hair were entirely black, so he could not recognize him at once. The old man stopped and smiled, saying: "Is your master still well? Bear him this message: Qiūgū is also very comfortable and happy." When asked where he lived, he said: "Far, far away!" and hurried off.

When the young master heard this, he sent people to search everywhere for them, but there was no trace to be found.

The Historian of the Strange said: "The brush has long lacked the physiognomy for high office. The original intention was clear, yet it was not held to with firmness. Is this like the examiners who paste over their eyes—judging fate rather than composition? One strike missed, and he died in oblivion. The bookworm's folly—how pitiable! Alas, the male who soared in glory fared worse than the female who lay low."

Jiǎ Fèngzhì

Jia Fengzhi was a native of Pingliang. His literary talent was the finest of his age, yet whenever he sat for the examinations, he failed. One day, on the road, he met a xiucai who introduced himself as Lang. His manner was untrammeled and free, and his conversation, though light, struck to the heart of things. Jia invited him home and produced his examination essays for criticism. When Lang had read them, he was not particularly impressed. "Sir," he said, "your writing is more than enough to take first place in the prefectural examination, but it falls short of making the final list in the provincial examination." Jia asked, "What can I do about that?" Lang replied, "In all matters under heaven, reaching upward on tiptoe makes things hard; stooping to meet them makes them easy. Surely there is no need for a humble man like myself to point this out!" He then indicated one or two men and one or two essays to serve as models—for the most part, men and writings that Jia despised and would not deign to mention. Jia laughed when he heard this. "When a scholar sets forth his ideas, what matters is that they endure. Even if his writing were arrayed among the eight delicacies, he should ensure the world does not find it excessive. To hunt for fame and rank in this manner—even if one rose to the rank of a grand minister, it would still be a base thing." Lang said, "Not so. However beautiful a writing may be, if it is base, it will not be transmitted. If you wish to clutch your scrolls and die, that is your affair. But if not, the officials behind the curtain all rose through just such material. I fear they cannot, on reading your essays, suddenly exchange their eyes, lungs, and bowels for a new set." Jia remained silent at last. Lang rose and laughed, "Such youthful pride!" and took his leave.

That autumn, Jia entered the examination hall and failed again. Crestfallen and frustrated, he thought often of Lang's words and took out the essays Lang had indicated, forcing himself to read them. Before he could finish a single essay, he grew drowsy and heavy-eyed, his heart in turmoil, unable to govern himself. Three years later, with the provincial examination drawing near, Lang suddenly appeared. They were overjoyed to see each other. Lang produced seven topics he had prepared and set Jia to compose essays on them. The next day, he asked to see the essays and read them; he found them unsatisfactory and told Jia to write them again. When Jia had done so, Lang found fault with them once more. Jia, in jest, gathered from his old failed examination papers all the redundant, overwrought, and unspeakable phrases, strung them together into an essay, and waited for Lang's next visit to show it to him. Lang was delighted. "Now you have it!" he said. He made Jia memorize it thoroughly and strictly charged him not to forget. Jia laughed and said, "To tell you honestly: these words do not come from my heart. They will be gone in an instant. Even if I were caned, I could not recall them." Lang sat at the desk and forced Jia to recite the essay aloud once through. Then he had Jia bare his back, drew a talisman on it with a brush, and departed, saying, "This alone is enough. You may put away all your other books." When Jia examined the talisman, he could not wash it off; it had sunk deep into his flesh.

When he reached the examination hall, not one of the seven topics was missing from the list. He tried to recall his own compositions but could remember nothing of them; only the essay he had strung together in jest remained vivid in his mind. Yet when he took up the pen, he felt ashamed to the last. He wanted to alter a few words, but after turning the matter over and over in his mind in confusion, he could not change a single character. The sun was already sinking in the west when he copied it out as it was. Lang had been waiting for a long time. "What kept you so late?" he asked. Jia told him the truth and asked to have the talisman wiped away. When they looked, it had already faded beyond recognition. When Jia tried again to recall what he had written in the examination hall, it seemed as remote as another life. He was greatly astonished.

Jia then asked Lang, "Why do not you seek success for yourself?" Lang smiled and replied, "It is precisely because I do not harbor such thoughts that I am able to avoid reading such writings." He then asked Jia to visit him the next day at his lodgings. Jia agreed. After Lang left, Jia took out his examination essays and read them himself. They were utterly contrary to his true feelings. Disheartened and dissatisfied, he did not visit Lang again but returned home in dejection.

Before long, the results were posted, and Jia had placed first in the classical examination. When he read over his old drafts, each reading brought a fresh sweat. When he had finished, even his heavy clothes were soaked through. He said to himself, "Once this essay is made known, how can I ever face the scholars of the world again?" Even as he writhed in shame, Lang suddenly appeared. "You sought to pass, and you passed. Why so gloomy?" Jia said, "I was just thinking: to store dog's dung in a golden basin and a jade bowl—I truly have no face to show my peers. I shall withdraw to the mountains and cut myself off from the world forever." Lang said, "That would be very noble, but I fear you cannot do it. If you truly could, I could introduce you to a certain person. You could attain immortality, and even a name that endures a thousand years would not be worth clinging to—how much less then the wealth and rank that come by chance!" Jia was pleased and asked Lang to stay the night with him. "Let me think it over," he said. By dawn, he told Lang, "My mind is made up!" Without telling his wife, he departed, drifting away like the wind.

Gradually he made his way deep into the mountains until he reached a grotto dwelling, within which lay a world apart. An old man sat in the hall. Lang had Jia bow to him and addressed him as "Master." The old man said, "Why have you come so early?" Lang explained, "This man's resolve is already firm. I hope you will accept him as a disciple." The old man said, "Since you have come, you must be prepared to cast this body aside before you can attain the Way." Jia assented in obedience. Lang escorted him to a courtyard, settled him in his quarters, and left him some food before departing. The room was spotlessly clean, but the door had no panels and the windows had no lattice. Inside there was only a single table and a single couch. Jia removed his shoes and lay down on the couch; the bright moonlight shone through. Feeling slightly hungry, he ate some of the food; it was sweet and easily filled him. He supposed Lang would return, but after sitting for a long time in silence, there was no sound at all. He only sensed that the room was filled with a delicate fragrance; his organs felt luminous and empty, and he could count every vein and channel in his body.

Suddenly he heard a harsh sound, like a cat scratching an itch. Peering through the window, he saw a tiger crouching beneath the eave. At first he was terrified, but then he remembered his Master's words and composed himself, sitting in meditation once more. The tiger seemed to know someone was there. It came near the couch, snuffling heavily, and sniffed all over his feet and thighs. After a while, there was a howling and struggling in the courtyard, as of a chicken being seized, and the tiger bounded out. He sat a while longer, and then a beautiful woman entered. The scent of orchids and musk assailed him. She silently climbed onto the couch and whispered by his ear, "I have come." With those words, the fragrance of her lip saliva spread around him. Jia did not stir in the slightest. She said in a low voice, "Are you asleep?" Her voice was very like his wife's, and his heart stirred slightly. But then he thought, "These are all illusions conjured by the Master to test me," and kept his eyes shut as before. The woman laughed, "The little rat has stirred!" In the past, when Jia and his wife and their maid shared a chamber, they had been so cautious in their intimacy that they feared the maid might hear. They had privately agreed on a code phrase: "When the little rat stirs, then we shall make love." Hearing these words now, he could not help but be greatly moved. He opened his eyes and stared—it was truly his wife. He asked, "How could you come here?" She replied, "Master Lang feared you might feel lonely and long to return home, so he sent an old woman to guide me here." As she spoke, she showed considerable resentment that he had left without a word when he went out. Jia comforted her for a long while before they could laugh and make love together.

When it was done, the night was already giving way to dawn. They heard the old man's stern rebukes drawing nearer to the courtyard. His wife rose in haste, having nowhere to hide, and vaulted over the low wall to escape. Shortly afterward, Lang entered with the old man. The old man caned Lang before Jia's eyes and ordered the guest to be expelled. Lang led Jia out over the low wall as well and said, "My hopes for you were too high, and I pushed you forward too hastily. I did not expect—"

The connection was not yet severed, and he had suffered repeated beatings. "I will leave for now, but we shall meet again soon," he said. He pointed out the way home, clasped his hands, and took his leave.

Jia looked down at his old village—it was right there in sight. He thought his wife, being weak of foot, would surely lag behind on the road. He hurried more than a li and soon arrived at his gate, only to find the house walls in ruins, the old scene entirely unrecognizable. Not a single old or young person in the village did he know. Only then did his heart begin to tremble with alarm. Suddenly he thought of Liu Chen and Ruan Zhao returning from Mount Tiantai—the situation was truly similar. He dared not enter the house and sat to rest at the house across from his.

After a long while, an old man came out leaning on a staff. Jia saluted him and asked, "Where is the Jia family's residence?" The old man pointed at the house and said, "This is it. You must wish to hear the strange tale? I know it all. It is said that upon hearing of his success in the examinations, this gentleman vanished. When he vanished, his son was only seven or eight years old. Later, when the son reached fourteen or fifteen, the mother suddenly fell into a deep sleep and did not wake. While the son was alive, he changed her clothes with the seasons; after he died, the two grandsons were so poor and destitute that the house was torn down, and only wooden frames and thatch were used to cover and shield her. A month ago, the lady suddenly woke up, and counting on her fingers, it had been over a hundred years. People far and near, hearing of this marvel, all came to visit and see her, though recently they have grown somewhat fewer."

Jia was suddenly enlightened and said, "Old sir, you do not know that Jia Fengzhi is myself." The old man was greatly alarmed and ran to inform the family. By this time the eldest grandson had already died; the second grandson, Xiang, was over fifty years old. Because Jia appeared young, they suspected fraud and imposture. Shortly after, the lady came out and recognized him. Tears flowed copiously from both, and she called him to go with her. Having no house, they temporarily entered the grandson's dwelling. Men and women, old and young, rushed in from all sides to fill the room—all his great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren, most of them crude and uncouth. The eldest grandson's wife, Madam Wu, bought wine and prepared simple food. She also made her youngest son Gao and his wife share a room with Jia and his wife, clearing the room to house her grandparents-in-law. When Jia entered the house, smoke, dust, urine from children, and mixed odors assailed him. After a few days, he was so vexed and aggrieved that he could barely endure it. The two grandsons' families took turns providing meals, and the cooking was especially poor. The village people, because Jia had newly returned, invited him to drink every day, yet his wife never got her fill.

Madam Wu, being the daughter of a scholar, was well-versed in feminine virtues and never ceased to serve them dutifully. Xiang's provisions gradually grew sparse, and sometimes he shouted at them in giving things. Jia, in anger, took his wife and left, setting up a school in the eastern village. He often said to his wife, "I deeply regret this return, but it is too late now. I have no choice but to resume my old studies. If I have no shame or disgrace in my heart, wealth and honor will not be difficult to attain."

After living there for over a year, Madam Wu still sent provisions from time to time, but Xiang and his son never appeared. That year, Jia passed the county examination. The county magistrate valued his writing highly and gave him generous gifts, so his family became somewhat more prosperous. Xiang gradually came closer and sought his favor. Jia summoned him in, calculated all the expenses he had incurred in the past, produced gold to repay him, and rebuked him, ordering him to leave forever. Jia then bought a new residence and moved Madam Wu to live with him. Of Madam Wu's two sons, the elder stayed to manage the old household; the younger, Gao, was quite bright and was made to study alongside Jia's students.

Since returning from the mountain, Jia's mind had become even clearer. Before long, he passed the provincial examinations and then the metropolitan examinations in consecutive years. Several years later, he was appointed as a Censor and was sent to inspect Zhejiang. His reputation was illustrious, and the singing and dancing in pavions and towers were celebrated as the height of splendor at the time.

Jia was upright and unyielding, not avoiding the powerful and eminent. Great ministers in the court sought to do him harm. Jia repeatedly submitted memorials requesting to retire in peace, but did not receive the emperor's approval, and before long disaster struck.

Previously, Xiang's six sons were all ruffians. Although Jia had spurned and disowned them, they all secretly exploited his residual influence to act tyrannically and arrogantly seized land and houses. The villagers all suffered from them. A certain Yi had just taken a new bride when Xiang's second son seized her to be his concubine. Yi was by nature cunning, and the villagers pooled money to support his lawsuit, which became known at the capital. Thereupon the authorities submitted memorial after memorial attacking Jia. Jia had no way to defend himself and was imprisoned for over a year. Xiang and his second son both died in prison. Jia received an imperial order to be exiled to the army in Liaoyang.

By this time Gao had long been a licentious scholar and was a man of great benevolence and virtue, with a fine reputation. The lady had given birth to a son, now sixteen years old, and so she entrusted him to Gao. Jia and his wife, taking one male servant and one old woman servant, departed.

Jia said, "More than ten years of wealth and honor were not as long as a single dream. Now I know that the arena of glory and splendor is all the realm of hell. My regret is that, compared to Liu Chen and Ruan Zhao, I have created one more layer of sin."

Several days later, they reached the seashore and saw in the distance a huge boat coming, with drums and music sounding richly and loudly, and all the officers on guard like heavenly gods. When it drew near, a man came out on the boat, smiling and inviting the Censor to cross over and rest a while. Jia was surprised and overjoyed, and leaped across. The guards did not dare to stop him. His wife urgently wished to follow, but the distance had already grown great, and in her fury she threw herself into the sea. She drifted a few steps when she saw someone lowering a silk rope into the water, pulling her up and rescuing her away. The guards ordered the boatman to pole the boat forward, pursuing and shouting, but they only heard drumbeats like thunder mingling with the roaring waves, and in an instant all was gone.

The servant recognized the man—it was Master Lang.

The Historian of the Strange says: "It is told that when Scholar Chen was in the examination hall, having finished his composition, he recited it several times and sighed, 'Who else would understand this!' Thereupon he abandoned it and wrote anew, which is why his examination essay was inferior to his other writings. Jia, in shame, fled away. Only because he had the bones of an immortal did he return to the mortal world, and then he degraded himself for the sake of food and drink. How deeply poverty and lowliness can affect a man!"

In Dongchang there was a man of the Bian family who made his living as a veterinary doctor. He had a daughter, given the pet name Yanzhi, who was gifted, beautiful, and intelligent. Her father treasured her and wished to match her with a distinguished family, but the noble houses despised his humble station and would not agree to an alliance. Thus she had reached the age of fifteen without being betrothed.

Opposite their house lived a woman surnamed Wang, married to a man surnamed Gong. She was frivolous and fond of joking, and had become Yanzhi's closest female friend. One day, when Wang saw Yanzhi to the gate, they saw a young man passing by in white robes and a skirted cap, of most distinguished bearing. The girl seemed stirred, her gaze following him in lingering turns. The young man lowered his head and hurried on his way. Even after he was far off, the girl still stared after him.

Wang, perceiving her feelings, teased her: "With your talents and beauty, to be matched with such a man would leave nothing to be desired."

The girl's cheeks flushed crimson, and she remained speechless, her eyes downcast.

Wang asked: "Do you know this young man?"

She answered: "No."

Wang said: "He is Scholar Qiu Sun of South Lane, the son of a former county-level graduate. I used to be his neighbor, so I know him. Among all the men in the world, none can match his gentleness. He wears white now because he is still in mourning for his wife. If you have feelings for him, I could send word to ask him to send a go-between."

The girl said nothing, and Wang left smiling.

Several days passed without any news. She began to suspect that Wang had not yet had time to visit, and also wondered whether a scion of an official family would deign to stoop so low. She wandered about in melancholy, her thoughts consumed by longing; gradually she lost her appetite and took to her bed, growing weaker by the day.

Wang happened to come to visit her and pressed her for the cause of her illness.

She replied: "I myself do not know. But ever since that day when we parted, I have felt listless and unwell. I am merely clinging to life, lingering from morning to evening."

Wang said softly: "My husband is away on business and has not yet returned, so there has been no one to carry a message to Scholar Qiu. Is your illness not on account of this?"

The girl's face remained flushed for a long while.

Wang joked: "If it is indeed on this account, and your illness has already reached such a pass, what need is there for scruples? Let him come one night for a tryst—surely he would not refuse?"

The girl sighed: "Matters have come to this, and I can no longer afford shame. But if he does not disdain my humble station, let him send a matchmaker, and my illness will be cured. As for a secret tryst—that is absolutely impossible!"

Wang nodded and left.

In her girlhood, Wang had been intimate with a neighbor's son named Jie. After her marriage, whenever she learned that her husband was away, she would seek out her old lover. That very night, Jie happened to come. She told him what the girl had said, laughing, and playfully asked him to convey greetings to Scholar Qiu.

Jie had long known of the girl's beauty, and hearing this, he was secretly delighted, grateful that an opportunity presented itself. He was about to consult his mistress but feared she might be jealous, so he pretended it was an idle question and asked in great detail about the layout of the girl's family compound.

The next night, he climbed over the wall and went straight to the girl's chamber, tapping at the window with his fingers.

From inside came the question: "Who is it?"

He answered: "Scholar Qiu."

The girl said: "The reason I have thought of you is for a lifetime, not for a single night. If you truly love me, you should quickly send a matchmaker. If you speak of a secret union, I dare not obey."

Jie gave a perfunctory promise but pressed to hold her delicate wrist as a token.

The girl could not bear to refuse too harshly and, struggling against her illness, opened the door. Jie rushed in at once and embraced her, seeking to lie with her.

The girl had no strength to resist and fell to the ground, her breath failing. Jie hastily pulled her up.

The girl said: "What sort of ruffian have you come here? You cannot be Scholar Qiu. If you truly were Scholar Qiu, he is gentle and would understand the cause of my illness and show me compassion. How could you be so violent? If you persist in this manner, I shall cry out—our reputations would both suffer, and neither of us would gain anything!"

Jie, fearing his deception would be exposed, dared not press further but asked for another meeting. The girl set the date of the formal wedding procession. Jie thought this too distant and pressed again. The girl, weary of his persistence, agreed to wait until her illness was cured.

Jie asked for a token, but the girl refused. Jie seized her foot, unbound her embroidered slipper, and left with it.

The girl called him back, saying: "I have already given myself to you—what more could I withhold? But I fear that 'painting a tiger may produce a dog,' bringing slander upon me. Now that this intimate object is in your hands, I suppose it cannot be returned. If you prove unfaithful, I have only death!"

After Jie left, he went to spend the night at Wang's house. Once in bed, he could not forget the slipper and furtively felt inside his sleeve—but it was gone. He quickly rose, lit a lamp, and searched through his clothes by its light. He questioned Wang, but she did not answer. He suspected she had hidden it, and she deliberately laughed to make him doubt. Jie could not keep it secret and told her the truth. When he had finished, he searched every corner of the doorway by lamplight but could not find it.

Frustrated and aggrieved, he returned to bed, secretly hoping that since it was the dead of night and no one was about, the lost slipper must still lie somewhere along the road. He rose early to search for it, but it was nowhere to be found.

Before this, in the lane there had been a man named Mao Da, a drifter with no fixed livelihood. He had once made advances to Wang and been rebuffed. Learning that Jie was intimate with her, he planned to catch them together and use it to blackmail her.

That night, passing by their door, he found it unlatched and slipped in. Just as he reached the window, he stepped on something soft like silk or cloth. Picking it up and examining it, he found it to be a woman's shoe wrapped in a kerchief. He crouched and listened, hearing Jie recount everything in great detail. Overjoyed, he withdrew.

Several nights later, he climbed the wall into the girl's family compound. Not knowing the layout, he mistakenly went to the father's room. The old man, peering through the window, saw a man and, judging from his voice and movements, knew he had come for the girl. Furious, he seized a knife and rushed out directly.

Mao Da, terrified, turned to flee. Just as he was about to climb the wall, Bian was already close behind him. With no escape, he turned and wrested the knife away. The old woman rose and cried out loudly. Mao could not get free and so killed him.

The girl, having somewhat recovered, rose when she heard the commotion. They lit a lamp together and found that the old man's skull had been split—he could no longer speak, and within moments he had died. Beneath the wall they found an embroidered slipper. The old woman examined it and recognized it as Yanzhi's. She pressed the girl, who wept and told the truth, but could not bear to implicate Wang, saying only that Scholar Qiu had come of his own accord.

At daybreak, the case was brought before the county magistrate, who arrested Scholar Qiu. Qiu was by nature reserved and diffident; at nineteen years of age, he was as bashful as a child in the presence of strangers. When seized, he was terrified beyond measure. Brought before the court, he did not know what to say—he only trembled. The magistrate, convinced all the more that his guilt was genuine, had him shackled and beaten. Unable to endure the pain, he falsely confessed.

He was then sent to the prefecture, where he was tortured just as in the county court. His heart was choked with grievance. Each time he wished to confront the girl face to face, and when they met, she heaped abuse upon him, so that he could only fall silent and could not defend himself. In the end, he was sentenced to death.

The case was reviewed and sent up and down the judicial chain; successive officials found no grounds for dissent. It was later referred to the Jinan Prefecture for reexamination.

At that time, Magistrate Wu Nandai was serving in Jinan. Upon first seeing Scholar Qiu, he suspected that this was not the sort of man who could commit murder. He secretly had someone question him gently and at leisure, so as to obtain his full account. The magistrate thereby became all the more convinced of Qiu's innocence.

After deliberating for several days, he finally held a hearing.

He first asked Yanzhi: "After your engagement was arranged, was there anyone who knew of it?"

She answered: "No one."

"When you met Scholar Qiu, was there anyone else present?"

She also answered: "No one."

He then summoned Qiu and spoke to him gently, offering comfort.

Qiu said: "I once passed by her gate and saw only her old neighbor, the woman Wang, come out with a young girl.

The translation will follow the original text paragraph by paragraph.

---

"I had been avoiding him, but since then we haven't exchanged a single word."

Lord Wu scolded the girl, saying, "Just now you said there was no one else nearby—how is it that there's a neighbor's wife here?" He was about to have her punished. The frightened girl said, "It's true that Mrs. Wang is involved, but she actually has nothing to do with him."

Lord Wu ended the cross-examination and ordered Mrs. Wang to be detained. Within a few days she was brought in, and she was forbidden from communicating with the girl. The trial proceeded immediately. Lord Wu asked Wang, "Who committed the murder?" Wang replied, "I don't know." Lord Wang deceived her, saying, "Yanzi has confessed—you know everything about how she killed Master Bian. How can you conceal it?" The woman cried out, "This is unjust! That licentious girl was thinking of men on her own. Although I spoke words of matchmaking, it was merely a joke. She herself led the adulterer into the courtyard—how would I know anything about it!"

Lord Wu questioned her carefully, and she finally recounted the words they had exchanged in jest. Lord Wu called the girl forward and angrily said, "You claimed she knew nothing—why does she now admit to playing matchmaker?" The girl wept and said, "I am worthless myself—I caused my father's brutal death, and I don't know how many years this lawsuit will drag on. To implicate another person as well—I truly cannot bear it."

Lord Wu asked Mrs. Wang, "After your jest, did you speak of this to anyone?" Wang replied, "No one." Lord Wu said angrily, "Husband and wife in bed—there is nothing they don't tell each other. How can you say no one?" Wang replied, "My husband has been away on business for a long time and has not yet returned." Lord Wu said, "Even so—anyone who makes sport of another always laughs at the other's foolishness to show off their own cleverness. If you didn't tell a single person, whom were you trying to deceive?"

He ordered her ten fingers placed in the cangue. The woman had no choice but to confess: "I spoke of it with Su." Lord Wu thereupon released E and summoned Su. When Su arrived, he declared, "I don't know anything about it." Lord Wu said, "A man who frequents prostitutes is surely no gentleman!" He had him rigorously shackled. Su confessed: "It is true that I seduced the girl. But after I lost my shoe, I dared not go again—I truly know nothing about the murder." Lord Wu said angrily, "A man who climbs walls—what won't he do?" He had him shackled again. Su could not endure the torture and so confessed to the crime.

The confession was reported to the higher authorities, and everyone praised Lord Wu's perspicacity. The case was as solid as a mountain of iron, and Su stretched his neck awaiting the autumn execution.

However, although Su was dissolute and lacking in principle, he was nevertheless a famous scholar of the eastern region. He had heard that the Educational Commissioner, Lord Shi Yushan, was renowned for his wisdom and virtue, and moreover possessed a talent for cherishing scholars and showing them compassion. He therefore submitted a petition pleading his innocence, written in pitiful language. Lord Shi then examined the confession and pondered it repeatedly. He struck the table and said, "This man has been wronged!"

He therefore requested the provincial commissioner and the judicial commissioner to transfer the case and reinvestigate. He asked Su, "Where did you leave the shoe?" Su replied, "I don't remember. But when I knocked on the woman's door, it was still in his sleeve."

He turned to question Mrs. Wang: "Besides Su Jie, how many adulterers have there been?" She replied, "None." Lord Shi said, "A woman of licentious speech—how could she confine herself to only one man?" She replied, "I and Su Jie had been intimate since childhood, so I could not refuse him. Later there were others who made advances, but I truly did not dare to comply."

Lord Shi then had her name the others to verify this. She said: "Mao Da of our neighborhood repeatedly made advances, and I repeatedly refused him." Lord Shi said, "Why did you suddenly become so chaste and pure?" He ordered her beaten. She knocked her head to the ground until it bled, vigorously protesting her innocence, and was then released.

He further questioned her: "Your husband is away—has no one come to your home on some pretext?" She said, "Yes. So-and-so and so-and-so—both came seeking loans or bringing gifts, and entered my home once or twice." Now, both of these men were idle loafers in the alley who had designs on the woman but had not yet acted on them.

Lord Shi recorded all their names and had them arrested. When they had all been assembled, Lord Shi went to the City God Temple and had them kneel before the altar. He then said: "In a dream, a divine being told me that the murderer is not among these four or five men. Before the divine presence, you must not speak falsely. If you confess voluntarily, you may still be pardoned. If you lie, you will be found out and shown no mercy!" They all declared in unison that they had not committed the murder.

Lord Shi placed the three instruments of torture on the ground and prepared to apply them to all of them. Their hair was bound and their bodies stripped, and they all cried out in anguish. Lord Shi ordered them released, saying, "Since you will not confess, I shall let the spirits point you out." He had felt and blankets placed over all the windows of the temple hall, leaving not the slightest gap. He bared the backs of all the prisoners and drove them into the darkness. He then gave each of them a basin of water and ordered them to wash themselves one by one. He bound them against the wall and commanded them to "face the wall and do not move. The murderer will have divine writing placed on his back."

After a short while, he called them out to examine them and, pointing at Mao, said, "This is truly the murderer!" The reason was that Lord Shi had beforehand had the walls smeared with ash and had washed the prisoners' hands with lampblack. The murderer, fearing the gods would write on his back, had pressed his back against the wall, and so it bore the ash. When exiting, he had shielded his back with his hands, and so they bore the lampblack.

Lord Shi had suspected it was Mao, and now he was all the more convinced. He applied severe torture, and Mao fully confessed the truth.

The judgment read:

"Su Jie: You have trod the path of Pen Chengkuo, who brought death upon yourself, and you have earned the reputation of a Dengtuzi, who was a lover of beauty. It was merely because of the innocence of childhood companionship that you came to long for the wild duck as if it were a domestic hen. It was because one word leaked that you developed the ambition of having obtained the wolf and now eyeing the rabbit. You climbed over the garden wall like Jiang Zhongzi, and like a bird you fell. You mashered as Liu Lang to the cave entrance, and actually succeeded in getting the door opened. You touched the girdle cloth and startled the dog—O rat, have you no skin? You plucked flowers and broke branches—what shall be said of a scholar without virtue? Fortunately, listening to the delicate cry of the sick swallow, you still cherished the jade; pitying the frailness of the weak willow, you were not as wild as the oriole. You released the little phoenix from the snare—this still showed the heart of a man of letters. But you seized the incense oath from beneath her stocking—was this not the deed of the most despicable rascal! The butterfly flew over the wall—there were ears behind the window. The lotus shed its petals—and falling to the ground, it left no trace. Deception bred deception, and who would believe the injustice beyond the injustice? Heaven sent calamity, and cruel torture brought him to the brink of death. The sins he had accumulated were full, and his severed head nearly could not be joined again. That he climbed walls and bored through crevices indeed sullied the scholar's cap. But the stiff plum substituting for the peach—truly it was hard to dispel his grievance. It is therefore fitting to slightly reduce the beatings and mitigate the suffering he has already endured. Let him be reduced to the status of a commoner, opening for him the path of self-renewal.

"As for Mao Da: cunning and unscrupulous, a ruffian of the marketplace. When the neighboring girl repelled him with her shuttle, his lustful heart did not die. When he observed the reckless youth entering the alley, his thievish cunning suddenly arose. He opened his door to welcome the wind, delighted to obtain the footprints of Zhang Sheng. He sought water but found wine, madly coveting the stolen fragrance of Han Yuan. He did not know that his soul was seized by Heaven and his spirit captured by the ghost. He recklessly rode the raft straight into the Palace of Boundless Cold. He boated directly across the fishing vessel, mistaking it for the road to Peach Blossom Spring. Thus he caused the flames of passion to flare and the sea of desire to surge. The blade advanced straight ahead—there was no thought of sparing the mouse. When the bandit was cornered, where could he flee? Like a desperate rabbit, he turned and bit. He climbed the wall and entered another's house—

## Yan Zhi

A woman was still unmarried, though she had already reached the age of betrothal. Being a fairy maid from the moon palace, she naturally deserved a husband of jade-like beauty; coming from the ranks of rainbow-robed dancers, why should she fear lacking gold for a home? Yet stirred by the *Guanju* bird, she yearned for a worthy mate, and ended up wandering through the dreams of the Spring Dame; resenting the fallen plums, she thought of a fine gentleman, and thus departed from the spirit of the lovely maiden. Because a single thread of fate had entangled her, a host of demons converged upon her. They vied for the woman's beauty, fearing to lose 'Yan Zhi'; the fierce birds stirred up chaos in flight, and 'Autumn Falcon' was likewise implicated. Her lotus feet were plucked away—hard to preserve the fragrance of a single petal; the iron threshold was struck—nearly shattering a priceless jade. Red beans were embedded in the dice: bones of longing became the very cause of calamity; the great tree was lost to the axe—the detachable beauty truly proved a flood of disaster! She guarded her virtue in seclusion, fortunate that her white jade remained unflawed; though she struggled in bonds, it was a joy that the brocade quilt could cover her. He praised her resistance at the door—she was yet a lover of pure chastity; he fulfilled her wish to cast fruit at him—also an elegant affair of romance. He looked up to the county magistrate to act as their go-between.

Once the case was closed, it was recited near and far. Only after Magistrate Wu's interrogation did the woman begin to understand E Sheng's grievance. Meeting him below the hall, she stood abashed, tears brimming in her eyes, as if she had words of pain and regret but could not speak them. The young man, moved by her lingering affection, loved her with extraordinary fervor; yet he also thought of her humble origins, and that she had daily mounted the public hall, exposed to the staring fingers of a thousand people—he feared that marrying her would make him a laughingstock. Day and night his thoughts circled, unable to decide for himself. Once the verdict was issued, his mind was finally at peace. The county magistrate acted as intermediary, sending musicians and drums for the wedding.

## The Historian of Strange Tales Says:

"How profound it is—the adjudication of lawsuits cannot be handled carelessly! Even if one knows that Li was wrongly accused, who would consider that Tao was also wronged? Yet though matters may be obscure, there must always be a thread of connection; without careful deliberation and thorough investigation, the truth cannot be found. Alas! All admire the philosopher's clarity in judging cases, yet none know the bitter toil of the skilled craftsman's heart. Those in authority in this world while away their days at chess, roll up their bedding and leave the yamen, and the hardships of the common people—they are not willing to trouble their hearts with even a single effort. When the drums are beaten and the yamen opens, they sit aloft in imposing dignity; those who clamor before them are simply silenced with shackles and fetters. No wonder so many wronged souls sink beneath the overturned bowl!"

## Ah Shan

Mr. Yu Shan was my teacher. When he first recognized me, I was still a boy. I secretly observed him encouraging scholars with the utmost earnestness, as if fearing he might not do enough; if anyone suffered a small injustice, he would protect them with every care, and would never abuse his authority in the schools to curry favor with the powerful. He was truly a guardian of the Sage, and not merely a master of a generation—in evaluating writings, he never wronged a scholar. And his love of talent was such that even a life seemed of less value, something the superficial examination officials of later ages could never match. There was once a famous scholar who entered the examination hall and wrote an essay on "Treasures Abound Therein," but mistakenly wrote "under water." Only after finishing the transcription did he realize it, and expected there was no chance he would not be rejected. He wrote a lyric:

"Treasures are in the mountains, but I mistakenly placed them by the water's edge. Crystal palaces now crown the mountain peaks—coral grows on the summits, pearls hang from the treetops. This time, the boatman has tumbled to his death in the cliff! I cry to Heaven: spare a little stem, so I may show it to my friends."

When the examiner read this, he composed a matching verse:

"Treasures are boasted of in the mountains, but suddenly they appear by the water's edge. The woodcutter speaks idly like the fisherman. Though the topic was off, the writing is excellent—how could I place him beneath others? I have seen those who fear danger when climbing heights; but have you ever seen a swimmer drown?"

This too is a glimpse of elegance, one instance of cherishing talent.

Xi Shan was a man of Gaomi, who made his living as a traveling merchant, often sojourning between Meng and Yi. One day, he was caught by rain on the road, and by the time he reached the inn where he usually lodged, the night was already far advanced. He knocked at every door, but no one answered. He paced back and forth beneath the eaves when suddenly two panels of a door swung open, and an old man came out and at once invited him in. Xi Shan was delighted and followed him. He tied his donkey and climbed to the guest hall, but there were no tables or couches anywhere in sight. The old man said, "I took pity on you having nowhere to go, so I offered you shelter. I am truly not one who sells food or drink. There are few hands in my household—only an old wife and a frail daughter, both fast asleep. Though I have some leftover food, I lack the means to cook it. I hope you will not mind eating it cold." Having spoken, he went inside. Shortly after, he brought in a low footrest, set it on the ground, and urged the guest to sit. He went in again and brought out a short-legged table—back and forth, bustling about with great exertion. Xi Shan rose and sat down, feeling uneasy, and pulled at him to rest a while. Before long, a young girl came out to serve wine. The old man turned and said, "Our A-Xian is up." Xi Shan looked at her: she was sixteen or seventeen, slender and delicate, with a graceful and charming air. Xi Shan had a younger brother who was not yet married, and he secretly took a fancy to her. He therefore asked the old man about his lineage and family. The old man replied, "My name is Gu Shixu. My sons and grandsons have all died young; only this daughter remains. I did not wish to disturb her sound sleep, but I suppose my old wife has been roused by now." Xi asked, "To whom is she betrothed?" The old man said, "She is not yet engaged." Xi Shan was secretly pleased. Soon after, a variety of dishes were laid out, seemingly the provisions he had stored. After the meal, he spoke with respectful earnestness: "A chance traveler, I have received your gracious kindness, and I shall never forget it as long as I live. It is only because of your great virtue that I dare to speak plainly: I have a younger brother, Third Lang, who is seventeen years old. He studies his books and is by no means dull-witted. I would like to seek an alliance—would you disdain his humble station?" The old man said gladly, "I too am but a sojourner here. If you would entrust her to us, I could borrow a cottage and move my family there, so as to set your mind at ease." Xi Shan agreed to everything, rose, and bowed in thanks. The old man saw to his arrangements with warm solicitude and then departed. When the cock had crowed, the old man was already up and called the guest to wash. After Xi Shan had packed, he offered payment for the meal. The old man firmly refused, saying, "For a guest who shared a single meal, there is no reason to accept money—let alone when we are to be joined by marriage!" After parting, Xi Shan traveled for over a month before returning. When he was still some distance from the village, he encountered an old woman leading a young girl, both dressed entirely in white. As they drew near, he suspected it was A-Xian. The girl also turned her gaze frequently toward him, then seized the old woman's sleeve and whispered something in her ear. The old woman stopped and said to Xi Shan, "Is your surname Xi?" Xi Shan nodded. The old woman said sorrowfully, "Alas, the old man was crushed beneath a collapsed wall. Now we are going to tend the grave. There is no one at home. Please wait a moment by the roadside; we shall return shortly." She then went into the woods and did not come back for some time. The road was already dark, so Xi Shan walked with them. When she spoke of their orphaned and helpless state, she could not help weeping bitterly; Xi Shan too felt a pang of grief. The old woman said, "The people in this region are most unkind; it is hard for a widow and orphan to get by. Since A-Xian is now to be your family's wife, passing through here again might cause delay. It would be better to return together at once." Xi Shan agreed. When they reached his home, the old woman lit the lamp and attended to the guest, then said to Xi Shan, "Knowing you would come, I have already sold all the stored grain; only twenty-odd bushels remain, too far to transport. Some four or five li to the north, the first house in the village, there is one named Tan Erquan—he is my buyer. Do not trouble yourself: first take your mount and carry one sack there. Knock on the door and tell him that only that the old woman of South Village has several bushels of grain to sell for traveling expenses, and ask him to send beasts of burden to fetch it." She at once handed the sack of grain to Xi Shan. Xi Shan rode his donkey there and knocked, and a big-bellied man came out. Xi Shan told him the reason, and the man emptied the sack and returned first. Soon two men arrived with five mules. The old woman led Xi Shan to the grain, which was stored in a cellar. Xi Shan measured and leveled the grain below, while the mother poured and the girl received; in a moment the sacks were full, and they were sent away. It took four trips before all the grain was gone. Then Xi Shan gave the silver to the old woman. She kept one man and two animals, prepared their baggage, and set out eastward. After traveling twenty li, dawn finally broke. They reached a market, where they hired a horse at the market head, and the servant from the Tan household then returned. When Xi Shan came home, he told his parents everything. They were overjoyed. They lodged the old woman in a separate residence and chose an auspicious day for Third Lang's wedding. The old woman prepared the dowry in full. A-Xian spoke little and rarely showed anger; when spoken to, she only smiled. She wove and spun day and night without rest. For this reason, everyone in the household, high and low, loved and delighted in her. She told Third Lang, "Tell your elder brother: when he travels the western road again, do not mention my mother and me." After three or four years, the Xi family grew still wealthier, and Third Lang entered the county school. One day, Xi Shan lodged with the old man's former neighbor and happened to mention the year he had had nowhere to go and had been taken in by the old man and woman. The host said, "You are mistaken. The house to the east is a separate residence of your elder brother's. Three years ago, those who lived there constantly saw strange apparitions, so it has been empty and abandoned for a long time. What old man and woman could have given you shelter?" Xi Shan was greatly astonished but did not press the matter. The host added, "This house stood empty for ten years; no one dared enter it. One day, the wall behind the house collapsed, and your elder brother went to look. He found a giant rat, as large as a cat, crushed beneath a stone, its tail still twitching outside. He hurried back and called others to go with him, but it had already vanished. They all suspected the creature had been a demon. More than ten days later, they ventured in again to test the matter, but all was still and silent. Not until another year had passed did anyone live there." Xi Shan found this even more extraordinary. When he returned home, he spoke privately, secretly suspecting that his new daughter-in-law was not human and worrying on Third Lang's behalf. But Third Lang loved her as devotedly as ever. As time passed, the household members began to whisper among themselves. The girl sensed it faintly. One night, she said to Third Lang, "I have been with you for several years and have never once failed in a wife's duty. Now you treat me as less than human. Please give me a letter of divorce and let me allow you to choose a good match." She began to weep. Third Lang said, "My humble heart has long been known to you. Since you entered our home, the family has grown richer by the day, and everyone attributes our good fortune to you. How could there be any strange talk?" The girl said, "I know your heart is true, but with so many tongues wagging, I fear I may not escape being cast aside like a fan in autumn." Third Lang comforted her again and again, and she was at last consoled. Xi Shan, however, could not let it go. Every day he sought out good mouser cats to observe her reaction. Though she showed no fear, she was visibly troubled and unhappy. One evening, she told the mother-in-law she felt slightly unwell and asked leave of Third Lang to go tend to her. By dawn, Third Lang went to inquire—but the room was already empty. He was frantic and sent people to search along every road, but there was no news. His heart was in turmoil; he could neither sleep nor eat. His father and brothers, however, thought it a blessing and consoled him, intending to arrange a new marriage. But Third Lang was deeply disconsolate. Another year passed, and all word of her had ceased.

Rui Yun

Her father and elder brother would reproach him, and in desperation, he spent a heavy sum to buy a concubine, yet his longing for Ah-Xian never waned. Several years later, the Xi family grew poorer by the day, and all began to recall Ah-Xian. A younger cousin, Xi Lan, traveled to Jiao on business and took a detour to stay the night at the home of his maternal cousin, Lu Sheng. At night he heard someone in the next dwelling weeping most piteously but had no chance to inquire. When he returned and heard it again, he asked his host, who replied: "Several years ago, a widow and her orphaned daughter rented lodgings here. Last month the old mother died, and the girl lives alone, without a single relative to turn to—that is why she weeps." He asked, "What is their surname?" The answer was: "They are surnamed Gu. They always kept their door shut and had no dealings with the neighborhood, so I know nothing of their family background." Lan started in surprise and said: "That must be my sister-in-law!" He went and knocked on her door. Someone emerged, weeping, and answered from behind the door: "Who is this guest? This household has no men." Lan peered through a crack and examined her from afar—it was indeed his sister-in-law. He said: "Sister-in-law, open the gate—I am Ashui from your husband's family." Upon hearing this, the girl unbolted the door and let him in, pouring out her loneliness and sorrow, her manner desolate and heavy-hearted. Lan said: "My third brother has thought of you with great pain. Even if husband and wife had their quarrels, why flee so far away?" He wished to hire a sedan-chair to take her back. The girl said mournfully: "Because no one would acknowledge me, I went into seclusion with my mother. Now if I return to depend on others, who would not look askance at me? If I am to go back, I must live apart from the eldest brother; otherwise, I shall take poison and seek death!" Lan returned and told Third Brother. Third Brother rode there by night. Husband and wife met, each shedding tears. The next day, they informed their landlord. The landlord, a student surnamed Xie, had long admired the girl's beauty and secretly schemed to acquire her as a concubine; for several years he had not collected the rent and had repeatedly dropped hints to the old mother, who firmly refused. When the mother died, he secretly rejoiced that he might now act as a go-between—but Third Brother suddenly arrived. Xie tallied up the rent to make things difficult. The Xi family was not wealthy by nature, and Third Brother, hearing how large the sum was, showed great anxiety. The girl said, "It is no matter." She led Third Brother to inspect the granary: there were some thirty bushels of grain stored, more than enough to pay the rent. Third Brother was overjoyed and told Xie. Xie refused the grain and insisted on silver. The girl sighed, "This is all the evil veil cast by my own body!" She told Third Brother everything. Third Brother was furious and wished to bring the matter before the magistrate. Lu stopped him, distributed grain among the neighbors, gathered funds to repay Xie, and sent the two of them home in a cart. Third Brother honestly told his parents and separated his household from his elder brother's. Ah-Xian produced her own private savings and daily built up the granaries, yet the household had not even a peck of grain to spare—all marveled at this. A year or so later, when they inspected, the granaries were overflowing. In a few years, the family was greatly enriched; meanwhile, Shan remained poor. The girl brought her father- and mother-in-law to live with her and support them, and regularly gave money and grain to her elder brother-in-law, until it became a habit. Third Brother said happily: "One may say they no longer bear a grudge for old wrongs!" The girl said: "They simply love you, their brother. And were it not for them, how would I have ever come to know Third Brother?" After this, nothing especially strange occurred.

Ruiyun was a renowned courtesan of Hangzhou, unmatched in beauty and talent. At the age of fourteen, her old mother, called Cai, was about to present her to guests. Ruiyun said to her, "This is the beginning of my life's journey as a courtesan—it cannot be treated carelessly. The price shall be set by you, Mother, but let me choose my guests myself." Cai agreed. She fixed the price at fifteen taels of silver, and Ruiyun received guests daily. Those who sought an audience had to bring gifts: those who brought generous gifts were received for a game of chess and rewarded with a painting; those who brought meager gifts were given only a cup of tea and dismissed. Ruiyun's fame had long been established, and from then on, wealthy merchants and noble lords crowded her gate daily.

He of Yuhang, a man of celebrated literary talent though of only moderate means, had long admired Ruiyun. He had never dared to dream of sharing her bed, yet he scraped together a humble gift, hoping merely to glimpse her beauty. He secretly feared that, having met so many men, she would pay no attention to a poor scholar; but when they met and spoke, she received him with unusual warmth. They sat talking for a long time, her eyes full of feeling. She composed a poem and gave it to him: "Why does the seeker of sweet dew / Knock at Blue Bridge's morning gate? / If your heart seeks the jade pestle, / Look no further—it is found in this mortal world." He received it with wild joy and wished to say more, when a little maid announced, "A guest has arrived," and he hastily took his leave.

After returning home, he recited and pondered the poem, his dreams haunted by her. A day or two later, unable to contain his feelings, he prepared another gift and returned. Ruiyun received him with great pleasure. She moved her seat closer to him and said softly, "Could you arrange for us to spend a night together?" He replied, "A man of straitened circumstances has only his devotion to offer the one who understands me. The gift I have brought already exhausts my slender means. To be near your lovely countenance is enough to fulfill my wish—dare I dream of anything more intimate?" Hearing this, Ruiyun grew sad and displeased, and they sat in silence. He lingered for a long time without leaving; Cai repeatedly called for Ruiyun to hasten him away, and at last he departed. His heart was heavy with sorrow. He thought of exhausting his entire fortune to buy one night of joy, but then—having spent everything only to be parted—how could such longing be endured? Once this thought arose, his ardent feelings cooled entirely, and so all communication between them ceased.

Ruiyun spent several months choosing a husband, yet found no one suitable. Cai grew angry and intended to force a match upon her, though she had not yet acted. One day, a scholar presented a gift. He sat and spoke briefly, then rose and, pressing one finger to the girl's forehead, said, "What a pity! What a pity!" and left. When Ruiyun saw him off and returned, they saw upon her forehead a finger mark, black as ink, which grew even darker when washed. After several days, the ink stain gradually spread; within a year, it covered her cheeks and bridge of her nose entirely. Those who saw her laughed, and visitors ceased to come. Cai stripped away her ornaments and ornaments and made her serve among the maidservants. Ruiyun, frail by nature, could not endure such labor, and she grew thinner and more wretched by the day.

He heard of this and went to see her. He found her in the kitchen, her hair disheveled, her face as hideous as a ghost's. When she raised her head and saw him, she turned to the wall to hide herself. He pitied her and spoke to Cai, offering to redeem her and take her as his wife. Cai consented. He sold his fields and emptied his wardrobe to raise the money, bought her, and brought her home. Upon entering the house, she clutched his sleeve and wept, not daring to consider herself his wife, offering only to serve as a concubine until a proper wife could be found. He said, "What matters most in life is to be understood by another: when you were at your height, you could still understand me—how could I forget you because you have fallen into misfortune?" He never took another wife. Those who heard of it mocked him, but his devotion only grew deeper.

More than a year later, he happened to visit Suzhou, where a man named He was lodging in the same house. He suddenly asked, "Ruiyun was a famous courtesan of Hangzhou—what has become of her?" He replied, "She has married." He asked, "To whom?" He answered, "Someone much like myself." He said, "If the man is like you, she may be said to have found the right person. But what price did she fetch?" He said, "Because she contracted a strange ailment, she was sold cheaply. Otherwise, how could someone like me purchase such a beauty from the pleasure quarters?" He then asked, "Is the man truly like you?" Wondering at the strangeness of his questions, He turned the question back on him. He laughed and said, "I shall not deceive you: I once had the honor of beholding her beauty and greatly lamented that one of such peerless loveliness should drift into misfortune. Therefore, I used a small art to dim her radiance and preserve her jade-like purity, keeping it for one who truly appreciates talent and would see her worth." He asked urgently, "If you could mark her, can you also cleanse her?" He laughed and said, "How could I not? But the person must seek it with a sincere heart!" He rose and bowed, saying, "Ruiyun's husband is none other than myself." He was delighted and said, "In this world, only a man of true talent can be truly devoted, not changing his heart because of beauty or ugliness. I ask to return with you and shall present you with a lovely bride."

They returned together. When they arrived, He was about to order wine, but He stopped him. "Let me perform my art first—it will gladden the one who prepares the feast." He had a washing basin filled with water, traced characters in the air with a finger, and said, "Wash with this and she shall be healed. But she must come out in person to thank the physician." He smilingly carried the basin away and stood waiting while Ruiyun washed her face. As the water touched her, her skin became radiant and beautiful, as lovely as in former years. The husband and wife, filled with gratitude, went out together to offer their thanks, but the guest had vanished—though they searched everywhere, he could not be found. Was he perhaps an immortal?

Zhong, a man from Jin, whose district has been forgotten. In a time of great disorder, he was captured by bandits. His two sons, Fu and Lu, were both young; his second wife, Shao, raised the two orphans, and the inherited property provided enough for food and clothing. But the years brought repeated harvests of want, and the powerful and strong oppressed and trampled them, until they could barely keep themselves alive. Zhong's uncle, Shanglian, sought profit in her remarriage and repeatedly urged her to remarry, but Shao remained steadfast in her resolve. Shanglian secretly made a contract with a powerful clan, intending to seize her by force; the deal had already been brokered, but others did not know of it. A villager by the name of Wei, crafty and cunning by nature, had long harbored a grudge against Zhong's family and sought in every way to harm them. Taking advantage of Shao's widowhood, he fabricated slanderous rumors to ruin her reputation. The powerful clan, hearing of this, detested the dishonorable scheme and abandoned the plan. After a long time, Shao gradually came to learn of both Shanglian's secret plot and the flying rumors from without; her heart knotted with injustice, she shed tears morning and evening, and her limbs grew increasingly numb and unfeeling, and she took to her bed. Fu was just sixteen, and with no one to do the sewing, he hastily arranged a marriage. His wife, the daughter of the scholar Jiang Zhihan, was widely regarded as virtuous and capable, and all matters were entrusted to her management. From this point, their circumstances gradually improved, and Lu was sent to study under a teacher. Wei, jealous of this, yet outwardly pretended friendship and frequently invited Fu to drink with him; Fu relied on him as a close confidant. Wei seized an opportunity and said to him: "Your ailing mother is bedridden and cannot manage the household's livelihood; your younger brother eats without doing anything in return: why should you and your wife toil like oxen and horses! Besides, your brother's marriage will drain a great deal of money. For your sake, I say it would be better to divide the household early—then the poverty will fall on your brother and the wealth on you." Fu returned home and discussed it with his wife; she scolded him sharply. But Wei day by day dripped subtle words into his ear, and Fu became confused and spoke his own mind directly to his mother. His mother was furious and reviled him. Fu grew still more resentful, and whenever he looked at the gold and grain, he treated them as belonging to someone else and neglected them. Wei seized the moment to lure him into gambling, and the stores in the granary gradually emptied; his wife knew of it but dared not speak. When at last the food ran out and his mother asked in shock, he told her the truth. His mother was enraged but could do nothing, and so the household was divided. Fortunately, the Jiang daughter was virtuous, and morning and evening she cooked for her mother-in-law and served her just as before. Once the division was made, Fu had no further restraint and indulged recklessly in debauchery and gambling. Within a few months, his fields and property had all been wagered away to pay gambling debts, and neither his mother nor his wife knew of it. When Fu's money was exhausted and he could think of no plan, he mortgaged his wife in exchange for funds, but found no taker. A townsman, Zhao Yanluo, originally a great bandit who had escaped the net, ruled the township with an iron fist and had no fear that Fu would renege on his word; he generously lent the money. Fu took it, and within days it was gone again. Hesitating, he thought of breaking the agreement. Zhao glared at him fiercely. Fu was terrified and tricked his wife into Zhao's hands. Wei, hearing of this, was secretly delighted and hastened to inform Jiang, meaning truly to ruin the Qiu family. Jiang was furious and brought a lawsuit. Fu, terrified, fled. When the Jiang daughter arrived at Zhao's house, she learned she had been sold by her husband; she wept bitterly and wished only to die. Zhao first tried to comfort her, but she would not listen; then he threatened her, and she cursed him only more; enraged, he beat her with a whip, but she would not submit. She pulled a hairpin from her head and stabbed her own throat; they saved her in time, but it had already pierced the esophagus, and blood flowed out. Zhao hastily bound her neck with silk, still hoping to break her will with patience. The next day, a summons from the magistrate arrived; Zhao walked off, showing no concern at all. The official, seeing that the woman's injuries were severe, ordered him flogged; the clerks looked at each other and none dared carry out the punishment. The official had long heard of his tyrannical violence, and now believed it all the more; in a great rage, he summoned Zhao's family and had him killed on the spot. Jiang then carried his daughter home. Ever since Jiang's lawsuit, Shao had come to know Fu's true character; she wailed once and nearly died, and fell into a deep decline. Lu was fifteen at the time, alone and helpless. Before this, Zhong had an elder daughter, Daniang, by his first wife, married to a distant district. She was fierce and forceful by nature; whenever she returned to visit her parents, if the gifts offered did not satisfy her wishes, she would defy them, and often left in anger; Zhong therefore detested her. Moreover, because of the distance, he had not sent word to her for several years. When Shao lay dying, Wei wished to summon her to come and stir up a quarrel. It happened that there was a traveling merchant from the same village as Daniang, and Wei entrusted him to deliver a message to Daniang, enticing her with the prospect of profit in the family's property. Within days, Daniang arrived with her younger son. Entering the door, she saw her young brother nursing their sick mother; the scene was so desolate that she could not help but feel sorrow. She asked her brother about Fu, and Lu told her everything. Daniang, hearing this, was choked with fury: "There is no man in this family, and so others trample us to this extent! Our family's land and property—how could those thieves swindle it away!" She went to the kitchen, lit the fire, and cooked porridge, serving her mother first, then calling her brother and son to eat together. When they had finished, she went out in fury and went to the county office to file a lawsuit against the gamblers. The group, terrified, gathered money to bribe Daniang. Daniang took the money but still pressed the lawsuit. The county magistrate summoned the various parties and had each flogged, but the land and property were entirely left unaddressed. Daniang, still furious, led her son to the prefecture. The prefect had the greatest hatred of gamblers. Daniang laid out in full their orphaned state and the evil schemes by which they had been cheated, her words passionate and stirring. The prefect was moved and ruled that the county magistrate should recover the land and return it to its owner; and that Fu should be punished as a warning to the dissolute. Upon returning, the county magistrate, following the order, pressed and beat the parties involved, and the former property was all restored. Daniang had long been a widow; she sent her younger son home, instructing him to follow his elder cousin in pursuing his livelihood and not to return. Daniang then remained at her mother's home, caring for her mother and teaching her younger brother, and all within and without was well ordered. Their mother was greatly comforted, her illness gradually improved, and all household matters were entrusted to Daniang. When the local powers and bullies dared to oppress them, she would take a blade and go to their door, arguing with such forceful eloquence that none failed to submit. After more than a year, the family's land and property grew day by day. She would buy medicine and delicacies from the market to send to the Jiang daughter. Seeing that Lu was growing up, she repeatedly urged matchmakers to find him a wife. Wei told others: "The Qiu family's property all belongs to Daniang—I fear it will never be returned." People believed him, and so none were willing to discuss a marriage. There was a Master Fan Ziwen, whose famous garden was the finest in all the province. Famous flowers lined the paths in the garden, leading straight to the inner chambers. If someone unknowingly wandered in, and happened upon the young lord's private banquet, he would seize them in anger as a thief and beat them nearly to death. It happened that on the day of Qingming, Lu was returning from school, and Wei led him out on a ramble, and they came to the garden. Wei had an old acquaintance among the gardeners and had them let them in, and they wandered through the pavilions and terraces. Soon they reached a place where a stream rushed and surged, with a painted bridge and red railings leading to a lacquered gate; looking into the distance within the gate, flowers bloomed like brocade—this was the young lord's inner study. Wei deceived him, saying: "Please go in first; I need to relieve myself." Lu believed him, crossed the bridge, and entered the gate, coming to a courtyard where he heard the laughter of women. Just as he was pausing, a maid emerged, saw him, and immediately turned back. Lu was just beginning to feel alarm when—

He ran. Before long, the young master came out, scolded his servants, and had them bind him with ropes and chase him off. Lu was in dire straits and threw himself into the stream. The young master turned his anger into laughter and ordered his servants to pull him out. Seeing that Lu's appearance and dress were refined and elegant, he had him change his clothes and shoes, led him into a pavilion, and asked his surname. With a gentle countenance and warm speech, the young master showed great intimacy. He soon hurried inside, then came out again, smiling as he took Lu's hand. They crossed a bridge and gradually reached the place where Lu had been before. Lu did not understand his intentions and hesitated, not daring to enter. The young master forcefully pulled him in. Behind a flower trellis, he glimpsed beautiful women secretly watching. Once seated, a bevy of serving girls came forward to pour wine. Lu declined, saying, "A foolish youth, I ignorantly trespassed upon your women's quarters. Having been pardoned and forgiven, this is already more than I dared hope. I only ask that you release me to return home early—the favor you have shown me is not small." The young master paid him no heed. Before long, a profusion of roasted dishes was laid out. Lu rose again, pleading that he was drunk and full. The young master pressed him back into his seat, laughing, "I have a musical beat name—if you can match it with a couplet, I will let you go." Lu respectfully asked to be instructed. The young master said, "The beat name is 'Entirely Unlike.'" Lu pondered silently for a long time and replied, "Silver becomes 'Nothing to Be Done About It.'" The young master laughed loudly and said, "You are truly a Shi Chong!" Lu did not understand at all. It turned out that the young master had a daughter named Huie, beautiful and well-read, who chose a fine match every day. One night she dreamed a man told her, "Shi Chong is your husband." She asked, "Where is he?" He said, "Tomorrow he will fall into the water." She told her parents early in the morning, and they all thought it strange. Lu happened to match the dream's omen, so he was invited into the inner quarters, where the wife and daughter's companions could observe him together. The young master, hearing the couplet and rejoicing, said, "The beat name was devised by my little daughter. She pondered it repeatedly but found no matching couplet. Now that you have completed it, there must be a heavenly connection. I wish to offer my daughter to serve as your wife. My humble home lacks not for residences, so there is no need for a formal wedding procession either." Lu declined in alarm and humility, pleading that his mother's illness prevented him from becoming a live-in son-in-law. The young master provisionally told him to go home and discuss it, then sent a groom to carry his wet clothes and escorted him on his horse. When Lu returned and told his mother, she was alarmed and thought it inauspicious. Only then did they learn of the Wei family's treachery. But since disaster had brought fortune, she harbored no enmity and merely warned her son to keep his distance. Several days later, the young master again sent someone to convey his intentions to the mother, but she ultimately dared not agree. Daying accepted on his behalf and at once engaged two matchmakers to present the betrothal gifts. Before long, Lu was married into the young master's family. After more than a year he entered the county school, and his talent and fame became widely known. His wife's younger brother grew up, and his respect for Lu slackened. Lu, in anger, took his wife and returned home. His mother was already able to walk with a cane. For years, relying on Daying's management, the house and property remained largely intact. When the new bride returned, her maids and servants were like clouds, and she carried herself with the grace of a great family. Wei, seeing himself further rejected, grew even more jealous. Resentful that there was no flaw he could exploit, he brought in an escaped bondservant from the Banner and falsely accused Lu of depositing funds with him. At the founding of the dynasty, the laws were most severe. Lu, following the decree, was exiled beyond the frontier. The young master Fan exerted influence and bribes high and low, and only Huie was exempted from the journey; all their lands and property were confiscated into government hands. Fortunately, Daying held the property division document and strenuously filed a suit. Several hundred acres of newly added fertile land were all registered under Fu's name, and mother and daughter were at last able to live in peace. Lu, thinking he would never return, wrote a letter of divorce and gave it to his wife's family, then departed alone. After traveling several days, he reached the north of the capital and ate at an inn. Outside the door, a beggar paced anxiously, his appearance exactly like his brother. Lu approached and questioned him—it was indeed his brother. Lu then recounted his own story, and the brothers were overcome with grief. Lu removed his outer garment and divided several taels of silver, telling him to return home. Fu tearfully accepted it and departed. Lu arrived beyond the frontier and placed himself as a bondservant under a general's tent. Because Lu was frail and bookish, he was put in charge of accounts and lodged with the other servants. When the servants inquired about his family history, Lu told them all. One of them exclaimed in shock, "That is my son!" It turned out that Chou Zhong had originally tended horses for the Kou family. Later, when the Kou family submitted to the dynasty, they sold Chou Zhong into the Banner, and he was now stationed beyond the frontier with his master. Chou Zhong gave a full account, and they at last knew they were truly father and son. They embraced and wept bitterly, and the whole room was filled with grief. Then Chou Zhong said angrily, "What sort of scoundrel escaped to the east and thus cheated my son!" He tearfully reported this to the general. The general at once appointed Lu as a clerk, sent a letter to the prince, and had Chou Zhong brought to the capital. Chou Zhong waited for the imperial carriage to emerge and first submitted his grievance. The prince intervened on his behalf, and his name was cleared. He ordered local officials to redeem the property and return it to the Chou family. When Chou Zhong returned, father and son were each overjoyed. Lu inquired in detail about his family, planning to redeem himself from servitude. He learned that Chou Zhong had entered the Banner and had twice changed wives without having any children—he was currently a widower. Lu then prepared his baggage and returned. Earlier, when Fu had parted from his younger brother and returned home, he crawled forward and threw himself at their feet. Daying had their mother seated in the hall, and she took up a cane and asked him, "If you are willing to receive a beating, you may stay provisionally. Otherwise, since your land and property are all gone, there is no place for you to eat either—please leave again." Fu wept and prostrated himself on the ground, willing to accept a caning. Daying cast aside the cane and said, "A man who sells his wife is not worth punishing. But the old case is not yet settled—if you offend again, we will report you to the authorities." She then sent someone to inform Madame Jiang. The Jiang woman cursed, "What am I to the Chou family, that you come to tell me?" Daying repeatedly told Fu and mocked him for it, so Fu was ashamed and dared not draw breath. After living there for half a year, although Daying provided food and provisions abundantly, he was treated like a menial servant. Fu labored without complaint, and when entrusted with money, he was never careless. Daying, seeing that he meant no harm, spoke to their mother and asked for Madame Jiang to return. The mother thought she could not be won back. Daying said, "Not so. If she were willing to serve two masters, why would she willingly suffer such torment? She simply cannot help but harbor this resentment." She then led her younger brother to go in person, carrying thorns on their backs to ask forgiveness. The parents-in-law reproached them sharply. Daying ordered them to kneon their knees for a long time, then asked to see Madame Jiang. She asked again and again, but Madame Jiang stubbornly hid and would not come out; Daying searched for her and brought her out. The woman then pointed at Fu and spat curses at him, and Fu was so ashamed and sweat-soaked that he had no place to hide. Only then did Madame Jiang's mother pull her to her feet. Daying asked when she would return. The woman said, "I have received great kindness from my elder sister in the past, and now that I receive your command, how could I have any objection? But I fear you cannot guarantee that he will not sell me again! Moreover, the bond of gratitude and duty is already severed—what face do I have to share a life with a black-hearted, worthless man? Please prepare a separate room for me. I will go and serve your old mother, which is better than shaving my head and becoming a nun." Daying conveyed her repentance on her behalf and made an agreement for the next day before departing. The next morning, she brought her back in a carriage. The mother came to the gate, faced her, and bowed. The woman threw herself to the ground and wept loudly. Daying persuaded her to stop, set out wine to celebrate, and had Fu sit beside the table. She then raised her cup and said, "What I have fought for so bitterly was not for my own benefit. Now my younger brother has repented, and the faithful wife has returned. I ask that the household ledgers be handed over to her. I came as one person, and as one person I shall leave."

The husband and wife both rose from their seats with altered countenance, bowed in obeisance round her, and wept piteously, whereupon the elder sister-in-law desisted. Before long, an order came down clearing them of the false charges, and in a few days their fields and houses were all restored to the original owner. Wei was greatly astonished and did not understand the reason; he regretted that he had no further scheme to play. It happened that their western neighbor suffered a fire. Wei pretended to go help fight the fire, but secretly set fire to the thatched house of the Lu residence with a reed torch, and a fierce wind sprang up, spreading the flames until nearly everything was consumed. Only two or three rooms of the Fu residence remained, and the whole family huddled together in them. Shortly after, Lu arrived, and they met with mingled grief and joy. Earlier, young Master Fan had obtained the divorce papers and went to discuss them with Hui-niang. Hui-niang wept bitterly, tore the papers to pieces, and threw them on the ground. Her father followed her wishes and did not force the matter further. When Lu returned and heard that she had not remarried, he was overjoyed, just as Yue had predicted. Young Master Fan, knowing of the fire disaster, wanted to keep her, but Lu refused and took his leave and departed. Fortunately, the elder sister-in-law had saved some gold, which she brought out to repair the damaged walls. Fu carried a spade to oversee the rebuilding, and while digging he discovered a hidden cache of money. At night, he and his brother opened it together: a stone pool over a zhang wide, filled entirely with Buddha images of solid gold. From then on they gathered workmen and built on a grand scale, with houses and halls rising in clusters, splendid and imposing as those of hereditary nobleship. Lu, moved by the general's righteousness, prepared a thousand taels of gold to redeem his father. Fu volunteered to go, and so he sent a strong servant to assist him on the journey. Lu then brought Hui-niang home. Before long, father and elder brother returned together, and the whole household rejoiced. The elder sister-in-law had been living at her mother's home and forbade her son from visiting her, fearing that people might gossip about impropriety. Once her father had returned, she firmly declared her wish to leave. The brothers could not bear this. Her father then divided the property into three parts: the sons received two shares, and the daughter received one. The elder sister-in-law firmly declined. The brothers all wept and said, "If not for our elder sister, how would we have what we have today!" The elder sister-in-law then accepted. She sent for her son and moved the whole household to live together. Someone asked the elder sister-in-law, "Why are you so devoted to your half-brothers?" She replied, "To know one's mother but not one's father—only beasts act so. How could a human being imitate them?" Fu and Lu, upon hearing this, both shed tears. She ordered workmen to build her a residence, equal to those of her own sons.

Wei reckoned that for over ten years he had brought them misfortune only to bring them greater good, and he was deeply ashamed and remorseful. Moreover, looking up at their wealth, he wished to curry favor with them. He therefore presented a congratulatory gift to Zhong-jie, bringing lavish goods and going to their gate. Fu wanted to refuse it; Zhong, unwilling to offend him, accepted the chicken and wine. The chicken's feet had been tied with cloth strips; it escaped into the kitchen stove. The stove fire ignited the cloth, and the chicken flew to roost on a pile of kindling, but the servant boys and maids saw it and paid no heed. Soon the kindling caught fire and the blaze consumed the whole house. The family was in a panic. Fortunately, with many hands, they extinguished it at once, but every object in the kitchen was destroyed. Both brothers said the gift was inauspicious. Later, on their father's birthday, Wei again sent a sheep as a present. Unable to refuse it, they tied the sheep to a tree in the courtyard. That night, a servant boy, beaten by another servant, ran to the tree in anger, untied the sheep's rope, and hanged himself with it. The brothers sighed and said, "Better his curse than his blessing!" From then on, though Wei was ever attentive, they dared not accept so much as a thread from him; they merely sent generous gifts in return. In his old age, Wei became poor and was reduced to begging, but every week they gave him cloth and grain in gratitude.

The Historian of Strange Happenings said: "Alas! The workings of Creation are not determined by man! To bring enmity and yet bring greater fortune—those who scheme and scheme are truly without recourse. But to receive love and respect and yet thereby suffer misfortune—is that not even stranger? This shows that the waters of the Robber's Spring, even a single handful, will stain one."

**The Tomb of Cao Cao**

Outside Xu City, the river waters rush and surge, and near the cliff the water is deep and dark. In midsummer, a man went in to bathe and was suddenly struck as if by swords and axes; his corpse broke apart and floated to the surface. Later another man met the same fate. They were filled with mutual alarm and wonder. The county magistrate, hearing of this, sent many men to dam the upper stream and drain the water. They saw a deep cave beneath the cliff, in which was placed a turning wheel, and on the wheel were arranged sharp blades like frost. They removed the wheel and entered, finding a small stele inscribed in Han dynasty seal script. Looking closely, they found it was the tomb of Cao Mengde. They broke open the coffin and scattered the bones, and took all the gold and treasures that had been buried with him.

The Historian of Strange Happenings said: "A later worthy wrote in verse: 'Though you dig up all seventy-two decoy tombs, surely one tomb holds your corpse.' Who knew it would be found outside the seventy-two tombs? How treacherous was Man! Yet after a thousand years his withered bones could not be preserved—of what use, after all, are cunning and deceit? Alas, Man's wisdom was precisely Man's folly!"

Anqing Dai Sheng was of dissolute character and lacked all restraint. One day, returning drunk from elsewhere, he met on the road his former cousin Ji Sheng on the way back. Blinded by intoxication, he had also forgotten that Ji was dead, and asked, "Where have you been all this time?" Ji replied, "I have become a different being—have you forgotten?" Only then did Dai realize, but being drunk, he felt no fear. He asked, "What do you do in the underworld?" Ji answered, "I serve as a recording clerk beneath the Hall of the Wheel-Turning King." Dai said, "Then you must know the fortunes and misfortunes of the mortal world?" Ji said, "That is my duty—how could I not know? But the matters are too numerous; unless they are of great consequence, I cannot remember them all. Three days ago, while casually examining the registers, I chanced upon your name." Dai pressed him eagerly on what was written. Ji said, "I dare not deceive you—your name is listed in the Prison of Darkness." Dai was greatly terrified, and the wine left him. He begged piteously for deliverance. Ji said, "This is beyond my power. Only goodness can undo it. But your record of evil is full—only great goodness can redeem it. What great power has a poor scholar? If you were to perform one good deed a day, it would take more than a year to balance the account, and by then it would already be too late. But if from this day forward you reform your conduct, then even in hell there may yet be a time of release." Dai wept at these words and prostrated himself, pleading piteously. But when he raised his head, Ji had already vanished. He returned home, heavy of heart. From then on he cleansed his heart and reformed his conduct, daring not to stray.

Before this, Dai had carried on a secret affair with his neighbor's wife. The neighbor had learned of it but had not yet acted, intending to catch them in the act. But Dai, having reformed his ways, broke off with the woman entirely. The neighbor, waiting for an opportunity, found none and nursed a grudge. One day, he encountered Dai in the fields, spoke with him in a friendly manner, lured him to look into a dry well, and pushed him in. The well was several zhang deep, and he calculated Dai must surely die. But that night Dai revived, sat in the well, and cried out loudly—yet no one heard him. The neighbor, fearing he might come back to life, went to listen after a night had passed. Hearing his voice, he hastily threw stones into the well. Dai moved to a hollow within the wall and dared not make another sound. Knowing he was still alive, the neighbor filled the well with earth, nearly to the top. The hollow was pitch black—truly no different from hell. He had no food and calculated there was no hope of survival. Crawling gradually deeper, he found that three steps beyond him was water on all sides, with nowhere further to go, so he returned and sat where he had been. At first he felt hunger, but after a long while he forgot even that. He reflected that in the deep springs below there was no good he could do, so he merely recited the Buddha's name at length. Then he saw will-o'-the-wisps drifting about, glowing throughout the hollow, and he prayed to them: "I have heard that all green phosphorescent lights are the ghosts of the wronged. Though I still live for the time being, I too can hardly return. If you would speak with me, it would ease my loneliness." He saw the wisps gradually float across the water toward him; within each wisp was a person, about half the height of a man. He asked where they came from. They answered: "This is an old coal mine. The owner was digging coal and disturbed an ancient tomb. Lord Longfei, in a rage, released the waters of the sea upon the ground, drowning forty-three of us. We are all his ghosts." Dai asked, "Who is this lord?" They said, "We do not know. But the lord is a man of letters, now serving as an attendant to the City God. He too pitied us for our innocence, and every few days he bestows watery gruel upon us. But our bones are steeped in cold water, and there is no day of deliveration for us. If you should ever return to the mortal world, please gather our remaining bones and bury them in a charity graveyard—you would bring great benefit to those beneath the springs." Dai said, "If there is even the smallest chance, how could this be difficult? But I am buried deep in the ninth earth—how can I hope ever to see the sun and sky again!" He then taught the ghosts to recite the Buddha's name, using clay blocks as beads to keep count. He knew not whether it was day or night—when tired he slept, when awake he sat.

Suddenly he saw a lantern in the deep darkness. The ghosts rejoiced and said, "Lord Longfei is bestowing food!" They invited Dai to go with them. Dai feared the water, but they insisted on supporting and pulling him, and he floated as if walking on air. After winding for about half a li, they arrived at a place. The ghosts released him and told him to walk on his own. The path rose higher, as if ascending a flight of several ren. At the top of the flight, he saw corridors and halls; in the main hall a bright candle burned on the table, thick as an arm. Having long been without firelight, Dai rushed forward in great delight. Seated above was an old man in a scholar's robes and cap. Dai stopped and dared not approach. The old man had already seen him and asked in surprise, "How has a living man come here?" Dai came forward, prostrated himself, and told his story. The old man said, "You are my grandson by blood." He bade him rise and gave him a seat. He said, "I am Dai Qian, styled Longfei. In former days, because of my unworthy grandson Tang, who associated with villains and dug a well near my tomb, disturbing my rest in the dark chamber at night, I flooded the place with seawater. How have his descendants fared since?" The Dai clan near him had five branches, of which Tang's was the eldest. Originally, a powerful family in the county had bribed Tang to dig coal beside his ancestral tomb. The younger brothers feared his strength and dared to do nothing. Before long, underground water burst forth suddenly, and all the coal miners died in the well. The families of the dead brought great lawsuits, and both Tang and the powerful family were impoverished by it; Tang's descendants were reduced to having not even room to plant an awl. Dai was a descendant of Tang's younger brother. He had heard his elders recount the matter and told the old man. The old man said: "How could the descendants of such unworthy men prosper! Since you are here, you must not neglect your studies." He then gave him food and wine and placed essays on the table before him—all examination essays of the Cheng and Hong eras—and forced him to study them. He also assigned topics and set lessons, as a teacher instructing a pupil. The candle in the hall burned constantly bright, never trimmed and never extinguished. When tired, Dai slept, unable to distinguish morning from evening. When the old man went out, he left a boy to attend him. In all, it seemed several years passed, but fortunately he suffered no hardship. Only, he had no other books to read—merely a hundred examination essays, each of which he had read over four thousand times.

One day the old man said to him: "Your karmic retribution is complete; you should return to the mortal world. My tomb is adjacent to the coal mine, where the yin wind pierces the bones. When you have achieved your ambitions, you must move me to the eastern plain." Dai respectfully promised. The old man then summoned all the ghosts and had them escort him back to his former place. The ghosts bowed in a circle and repeated their entreaties. Dai still had no idea how he might escape.

Before this, when Dai had gone missing from home, a thorough search had been made. His mother reported the matter to the authorities, and many were imprisoned and interrogated, but little trace was found. After three or four years, the magistrate left office, and the investigation relaxed. Dai's wife could not remain in the house and was sent away in marriage. It happened that people in the village were reopening the old well. Entering the hollow, they found Dai and touched him—he was still alive. Greatly astonished, they reported it to his family. He was carried home, and only after a day could he tell the whole story. Since Dai had fallen into the well, the neighbor had beaten his wife to death. Her father brought suit, and after more than a year of hearings and trials, he returned with barely his life. Hearing that Dai had come back to life, the neighbor was greatly terrified and fled. The clan members discussed punishing him, but Dai refused, saying that what had happened was truly of his own making—a punishment from the underworld—and what had the neighbor to do with it? The neighbor, perceiving that Dai bore no ill will, at last returned hesitantly. The well water having dried up,

Dai bought someone to enter the cave and collect the bones. He had implements prepared for each, purchased coffins, and set them in the ground, burying them among the clustered graves. He then checked the clan genealogy and found that the man's name was Qian, courtesy name Longfei. He first laid out offerings and sacrificed at his grave. The education commissioner, hearing of this strange affair, also praised his literary talent. That year he entered the provincial examination with distinction and subsequently triumphed at the local examination. Upon his return, he arranged for a burial site on the eastern plain and reburied Longfei with full honors. He visited the grave in spring and autumn, year after year without fail.

The Historian of the Strange comments: "In my village there were men who dug coal. The tunnel collapsed and filled with water, and more than ten men drowned in it. They drained the water to recover the bodies, and it was over two months before it dried out, yet all ten or more men were not dead. When the water first surged in, they had all swum to higher ground and so escaped drowning. They were lowered ropes and hauled up, and only upon seeing the wind did they finally lose consciousness. After a full day and night they gradually revived. This shows that a man underground is like a snake or a bird in hibernation—he cannot die quickly in such a state. But there had never been a case lasting several years. If he had not been a man of utmost goodness, who could have remained alive for three years in the hells!"

Shanhu

An Dasheng, of Chongqing. His father, a provincial graduate, died young. His younger brother, Ercheng, was still a child. Dasheng married a woman of the Chen clan, given name Shanhu, of a gentle and virtuous nature. But Dasheng's mother, Shen, was harsh and unreasonable, treating her daughter-in-law with cruelty. Shanhu bore it without a trace of resentment. Each morning at dawn, she would dress neatly and go to pay her respects. Once when Dasheng was ill, his mother accused Shanhu of enticing him with lewdness and berated her. Shanhu withdrew and went to her in-laws again, this time with her face unadorned. The mother grew even more enraged and struck her own forehead and beat herself. Dasheng, being a filial son, whipped his wife, and only then did his mother's anger abate somewhat. From then on, she grew even more hateful toward her daughter-in-law. Though Shanhu served her with the utmost care and deference, the mother never spoke a single word to her. Dasheng, knowing his mother's anger, also lodged elsewhere, making a show of having severed ties with his wife. After some time, the mother remained displeased, railing against whatever was at hand, her meaning clearly directed at Shanhu. Dasheng said, "A wife is taken to serve one's parents. Since things are this way, what use is a wife?" So he divorced Shanhu and sent an old woman to escort her back home. Just as they left the village gate, Shanhu wept and said, "A woman who cannot fulfill the role of a wife—how can I return to face my parents? Better to die!" She drew a pair of scissors from her sleeve and stabbed herself in the throat. They saved her in time, but blood spilled and stained her collar. She was helped back to the home of Dasheng's aunt by marriage, a woman of the Wang clan. Widow Wang, living alone with no husband, took her in. The old woman returned and Dasheng told her to keep the matter secret, though he secretly feared his mother would learn of it. Several days later, he learned that Shanhu's wound was gradually healing. He went to Widow Wang's house and told her not to keep Shanhu any longer. Wang summoned Shanhu inside, but Shanhu would not enter. Wang, in a fierce rage, drove Shanhu out. Presently, Wang led Shanhu out and, seeing Dasheng, asked, "What crime has Shanhu committed?" Dasheng reproached her for being unable to serve his mother. Shanhu remained silent, her gaze downcast, only bowing her head and sobbing. Her tears were all red, and her white blouse was completely stained. Dasheng, moved with pity, could not finish his rebuke and withdrew. Several days later, the mother had learned of it. She went to Widow Wang in a fury, hurling insults and reproaches. Wang, proud and yielding nothing in return, instead enumerated the mother's faults, saying, "The wife has already been divorced. To whom of the An family does she still belong? I have taken in the Chen clan's daughter on my own account—I have not kept the An family's daughter-in-law. Why do you meddle so forcefully in another family's affairs?" The mother was furious but at a loss for words. Seeing Wang's fierce and unyielding bearing, she left in shame, weeping and crestfallen. Shanhu felt uneasy in her mind and thought of going elsewhere. Earlier, Dasheng had a maternal aunt, Madam Yu, who was Madam Shen's elder sister. She was over sixty years old. Her son had died, leaving only a young grandson and a daughter-in-law. She had always treated Shanhu kindly. So Shanhu bade Widow Wang farewell and went to seek out Madam Yu. Madam Yu learned the whole story and railed against her younger sister's violence and folly, wanting at once to send Shanhu back. Shanhu strongly protested that this could not be done, and also asked that the matter not be spoken of. So she lived with Madam Yu, their relationship like that of mother-in-law and daughter-in-law. Shanhu had two brothers who, hearing of her plight, took pity on her and wished to take her back and marry her out again. Shanhu firmly refused, only following Madam Yu in spinning and weaving to support herself. After Dasheng had divorced his wife, his mother tried in many ways to find a new match for him, but his mother's harsh reputation had spread far and wide, and no family near or far was willing to marry into the An household. Three or four years passed. Ercheng gradually grew up, and so a marriage was first arranged for him. Ercheng's wife, Zang Gu, was arrogant, fierce, and overbearing—even worse than the mother. When the mother showed anger in her countenance, Zang Gu would answer with fury in her voice. Ercheng was weak and dared not take either side. As a result, the mother's authority suddenly diminished. No one dared defy Zang Gu; on the contrary, the mother had to look at her expression and smile to curry her favor, and even then could not win Zang Gu's goodwill. Zang Gu treated the mother like a servant. Dasheng dared not speak up, only performing the mother's tasks himself—washing dishes, sweeping, and cleaning, he did it all. Mother and son would often, in places where no be found no one, weep together face to face. Before long, the mother fell ill from pent-up grief, lying bedridden. Turning over and attending to her needs all required Dasheng. He could not sleep day or night, and his eyes were both red from exhaustion. He called his brother to take his turn, but as soon as Ercheng entered the door, Zang Gu would summon him away. Dasheng then ran to tell Madam Yu, hoping she would come to visit. He entered, weeping and making his complaint. Before he had finished speaking, Shanhu emerged from behind the curtain. Dasheng was greatly ashamed and fell silent, wanting to leave. Shanhu blocked the doorway with both hands. Dasheng, in his distress, ducked under her arm and fled back home, not daring to tell his mother. Before long, Madam Yu arrived, and the mother was glad and kept her. From then on, there was not a day when someone did not come from Madam Yu's house, and when they came, they always brought delicacies for Madam Yu. Madam Yu sent word to her daughter-in-law: "There is no hunger here; do not do this again." But the gifts from home never ceased. Madam Yu would not taste even a morsel, but kept everything sealed and gave it to the sick woman to eat. The mother's illness also gradually improved. Madam Yu's young grandson also came on the mother's orders with fine food to inquire after her health. Madam Shen sighed, "What a virtuous wife! What merit has my elder sister accumulated!" Madam Yu said, "Sister, what kind of person do you think your divorced daughter-in-law is?" She said, "Ah! Truly, she is not as bad as that man's wife! But how can she compare to my daughter-in-law's virtue?" Madam Yu said, "When the wife was here, you knew no toil. When you were angry, the wife knew no resentment. How is she not as good?" Madam Shen then wept and told her of her regret, asking, "Has Shanhu been remarried?" The reply was, "I do not know. I will inquire." Several days later, the mother had fully recovered. Madam Yu wished to take her leave. Madam Shen wept and said, "I fear that once my sister leaves, I will die again!" Madam Yu then plotted with Dasheng to separate Ercheng's household. Ercheng told Zang Gu. Zang Gu was displeased and spoke abusively of her husband-in-law, as well as of Madam Yu. Dasheng was willing to give all the good farmland to Ercheng, and only then was Zang Gu pleased. After the division of property was drawn up, Madam Yu finally left. The next day, she came with a carriage to fetch Madam Shen. When Madam Shen arrived at her house, she first asked to see her niece-in-law, praising her virtue to the utmost. Madam Yu said, "The girl has a hundred virtues—how can she have not a single flaw? I am certainly able to tolerate them. If you had a wife like my daughter-in-law, I fear you would not be able to enjoy her either." Madam Shen said, "Alas, how wronged I am! Do you think I am made of wood, stone, deer, or boar? I have a mouth and nose—how could there be someone who cannot tell fragrance from stench?" Madam Yu said, "The one who was divorced, like Shanhu—do you know what she says about you?" She said, "She curses me." Madam Yu said, "If you truly examine yourself and find nothing to be cursed for, then why would she curse you?" She said, "Flaws are common to all people. It is precisely because she cannot be virtuous that I know she curses me." Madam Yu said, "When she should have resented but did not resent, then her virtue can be known. When she should have left but did not leave, then her devotion can be known. The offerings and service you have received were not from my daughter-in-law, but from your daughter-in-law." Madam Shen said in astonishment, "How so?" She said, "Shanhu has been staying here for a long time. All that has been supplied came from what she earned by weaving at night." Hearing this, Madam Shen wept streams of tears and said, "How can I face my daughter-in-law?" Madam Yu then called for Shanhu. Shanhu came out, tears in her eyes, and prostrated herself on the ground. The mother, ashamed and in pain, beat herself, and only stopped when Madam Yu forcefully persuaded her. Then mother-in-law and daughter-in-law were as before. After more than ten days, they returned home together. The family had only a few acres of poor farmland, insufficient to support themselves. They relied solely on

Big Brother made his living by writing, and his wife by needlework. The two of them had more than enough to live on, yet the elder brother never asked for help, and the younger brother never offered it. Zanggu despised the elder brother's wife for having left the household; the wife, for her part, detested Zanggu's fierce temper and refused to acknowledge her at all. The two brothers lived in separate courtyards. Zanggu frequently tormented the household, and everyone covered their ears. When she had no one else to abuse, she turned on her husband and the maidservants. One day a maidservant hanged herself. The maid's father brought charges against Zanggu. Second Brother stood in for his wife at the trial, was severely beaten, and Zanggu was still sentenced to imprisonment. The elder brother pulled strings on every level to get her released, but in the end could not prevent it. Zanggu's ten fingers were clamped in the cangue until the flesh fell away completely. The magistrate was greedy and brutal, with insatiable demands for bribes. Second Brother mortgaged his land and borrowed money, paid the full sum as demanded, and only then was Zanggu released and allowed to return home. But the creditors pressed him for repayment with increasing urgency. Having no choice, he sold all his good farmland to Old Man Ren in the village. Since half the land had been ceded to him by Big Brother, Old Man Ren insisted that the elder brother sign the deed. The elder brother went to the old man's house, when Ren suddenly spoke: "I am An Xiaolian! Who is this Ren fellow, that he dares to buy my property?" Then he turned to the elder brother and said: "In the underworld, I was moved by the filial devotion of you and your wife, so I was allowed to return briefly for one meeting." The elder brother wept and said: "If you have any spirit left, please save my second brother!" The old man said: "That unfilial son and that fierce wife—they are not worth pitying! Go home quickly and raise the money to redeem my blood-earned property." The elder brother said: "Mother and I can barely keep ourselves alive. Where would we get so much money?" The old man said: "Under the crape myrtle tree there is buried gold. You can take it and use it." The elder brother was about to ask more, but the old man had already fallen silent; a short while later he woke, knowing nothing of what had happened. The elder brother went home and told his mother, but she did not quite believe him. Zanggu had already led several people to dig up the cache. They dug four or five feet down and found only bricks and stones—no trace of any gold. Disappointed, they left. When the elder brother heard they had been digging, he warned his mother and his wife not to go look. Later, when he learned they had found nothing, his mother secretly went to take a peek and saw bricks and stones mixed in the soil, then turned back. Coral arrived next and saw that the soil was full of silver ingots. She called the elder brother to verify it, and it was indeed so. The elder brother, thinking it was a legacy from their ancestors, could not bear to keep it for himself and called Second Brother to divide it equally. The amount happened to be exactly enough for two shares, and each took his away in a sack. Second Brother and Zanggu examined their share together and opened the sack—it was full of rubble and stones. They were horrified. They suspected that Second Brother had been tricked by his elder brother, so they sent Second Brother to spy on him. The elder brother was laying the gold out on the table, celebrating with their mother. Second Brother told his elder brother the truth. The elder brother was also shocked, but his heart went out to him, and he gave all the gold to him as well. Second Brother was overjoyed, went to pay off his debts, and was deeply grateful to his brother. Zanggu said: "This only proves further that your brother is a fraud. If he didn't feel guilty in his heart, who would give away what he had already divided?" Second Brother was half convinced. The next day, a servant arrived from the creditor, saying that all the gold paid had been counterfeit and that they would be taken to the magistrate. Both husband and wife turned pale. Zanggu said: "See! I always said your brother was not as good as he seemed—he was trying to get you killed!" Second Brother, terrified, went to beg the creditor, but the creditor's anger would not abate. Second Brother then mortgaged his land to the creditor, allowing him to sell it himself, and only then recovered the real gold. Examining it closely, they saw that of the two ingots, only a sliver of genuine gold about the thickness of a leek leaf wrapped the outside—the inside was all copper. Zanggu then plotted with Second Brother: they would keep the broken ingots and return the rest to the elder brother to see what would happen. She also coached him on what to say: "I have repeatedly received your generous concessions, and I truly cannot bear to accept more. I will keep just two ingots to show the spirit of your generosity. The remaining property is still equal to yours. I have no need for more land—I have already given it up. Whether you redeem it or not is up to you." The elder brother, not understanding her intent, firmly insisted on giving it back. Second Brother refused most resolutely, and the elder brother accepted. He weighed it and found it was five taels short. He told Coral to pawn her jewelry to make up the full amount and delivered it to the creditor. The creditor suspected it might be the old counterfeit gold and tested it with scissors—the grain and color were perfect, with no discrepancy at all. He accepted the gold and exchanged the deed with the elder brother. After Second Brother returned the gold, he expected something would go wrong; when he heard that the old property had been redeemed, he was greatly astonished. Zanggu suspected that during the excavation, the elder brother had hidden the real gold first. Furious, she went to his house and berated him harshly. The elder brother then understood the reason for the returned gold. Coral stepped forward and laughed: "The property is still there—why be angry?" She had the elder brother produce the deed and hand it over. That night Second Brother dreamed that his father reproached him: "You are unfilial and undutiful to your brother. Your time in the underworld is near. Not an inch of land belongs to you—what will you gain by seizing and keeping it?" He woke and told Zanggu, wanting to return the land to his elder brother. Zanggu mocked him for being a fool. At this time Second Brother had two sons, the elder seven years old and the younger three. Before long, the elder boy fell ill with smallpox and died. Zanggu began to fear and had Second Brother return the deed to his elder brother. He asked repeatedly, but the elder brother would not accept it. Not long after, the younger boy died as well. Zanggu was even more frightened and placed the deed in her sister-in-law's hands herself. Spring was nearly over, and the fields lay waste and uncultivated. The elder brother had no choice but to farm them. From then on, Zanggu reformed her ways, attending on her mother-in-law morning and evening like a devoted son, and treating her sister-in-law with great respect. Less than half a year later, their mother fell ill and died. Zanggu wept so bitterly that she could not swallow a sip of water. She said to others: "My mother-in-law died too soon—I was not allowed to serve her. Heaven will not permit me to redeem myself!" She bore ten children, none of whom survived, and so took her elder brother's son as her own. Both husband and wife lived to a ripe old age. The elder brother had three sons, all of whom passed the imperial examinations. People said this was the reward for filial devotion and brotherly love.

The Historian of the Strange says: "Without suffering the evil of tyranny, one cannot know the loyalty of those who give their all—the family and the state share this truth. The fierce wife was transformed, and then the mother died—for in a household filled with filial devotion, there was no virtue left to sustain her. Zanggu blamed herself, saying Heaven would not permit her to redeem herself—what but an enlightened soul could speak such words? Yet though she should have died young, she lived to old age—Heaven had already forgiven her. 'Born in sorrow and adversity'—there is truth in this!"

Five Penetrations

In the south there were the Five Tong, just as in the north there were fox spirits. But in the north, when foxes caused trouble, people still tried every means to drive them away; as for the Five Tong of Jiangsu and Zhejiang, whenever a household had a beautiful wife, she would be violated and possessed. Fathers, brothers—none dared to make a sound. The harm they caused was especially severe.

There was a man named Zhao Hong, a pawnbroker of Wu. His wife, Madam Yan, was rather elegant and refined. One night, a man walked in with an imposing air from outside, sword in hand, looking about in every direction. The maids and old servants all fled. Madam Yan tried to get out, but the man blocked her way, saying, "Do not be afraid. I am the Fourth Lord of the Five Tong spirits. I love you and will not bring you harm." He then lifted her by the waist, as easily as lifting an infant, and placed her on the bed. Her sash and skirts came undone of their own accord, and he had his way with her. But he was so large and rough that she could scarcely endure it. In her dazed state, she moaned and writhed as if she were about to die. Even the Fourth Lord showed some pity and did not fully exert himself. When he got off the bed, he said, "I will return in five days," and left.

Zhao Hong had set up his pawnshop outside the gate. That night the maids ran to tell him. Knowing it was one of the Five Tong, he dared not inquire further. By daybreak, he saw that his wife was too exhausted to rise. He was deeply ashamed and warned the household not to spread word of it. After three or four days the wife began to recover, but she lived in dread of his return. The maids and old servants no longer dared to sleep in the inner chambers; they all took refuge in the outer rooms. Only the wife sat alone with a candle, nursing her sorrow, waiting for him.

Before long, the Fourth Lord entered, accompanied by two others—both young and refined. A boy spread out food and wine, and they drank with the wife. She sat shrinking and bowed her head; though they pressed her, she would not drink. Her heart trembled with fear, dreading that they would take turns violating her, in which case her life would surely be finished. The three urged each other to drink, calling one "Eldest Brother" and another "Third Brother." They drank until the middle of the night, when the two guests at the upper seats rose together and said, "Today the Fourth Lord invited us to meet a beauty. We should invite the Second Lord and the Fifth Lord to feast in celebration." They then took their leave.

The Fourth Lord drew the wife behind the bed curtains. She pleaded to be spared, but he forced himself upon her. Blood flowed freely; she fainted and knew nothing more. Only then did the Fourth Lord leave. The wife lay gasping on the bed, overwhelmed by shame and fury. She thought of killing herself, but whenever she tried to hang herself, the cord broke of its own accord—it happened every time. She could in no way find death. Fortunately, the Fourth Lord did not come often; he would visit only once she had recovered. Over the course of two or three months, the whole family was brought to the brink of ruin.

There was a man of Kuaiji named Wan Sheng, Zhao Hong's cousin on his mother's side—fierce and a fine archer. One day he visited Zhao Hong. It was already evening, and since the guest quarters were occupied by family members, Zhao Hong led him to lodge in the inner courtyard. Wan Sheng could not sleep. Hearing footsteps in the courtyard, he crouched by the window and peered out, seeing a man enter the wife's chamber. Suspecting something, he seized a knife and crept closer to watch. He saw the man sitting shoulder to shoulder with Madam Yan, with food already spread on the table. Fury surged within him, and he rushed in. The man started up in alarm, frantically searching for his sword, but Wan Sheng's blade had already struck his skull. The man's head split open and he fell. On closer inspection, it was a small horse, large as a donkey. Astonished, Wan Sheng questioned the wife, who told him everything, adding, "The other spirits will surely come. What shall we do?" Wan Sheng waved his hand and silenced her. He extinguished the candle, took up his bow and arrows, and hid in the darkness.

Before long, four or five figures descended flying through the air. Wan Sheng hastily loosed an arrow, and the first one fell dead. The remaining three roared with rage, drew their swords, and searched for the archer. Wan Sheng gripped his blade and leaned against the door, not stirring at all. One of them entered, and he struck the man's neck—another dead. He remained leaning behind the door. After a long while, all was silent. He then went out, knocked on the door, and called to Zhao Hong.

Zhao Hong was greatly alarmed. Together they lit candles and examined the scene: a horse and two pigs lay dead in the chamber. The whole household rejoiced. Still, they feared the two remaining creatures might seek revenge, so they kept Wan Sheng in the house. They roasted the pigs and cooked the horse and served them. The flavor was extraordinary, unlike any ordinary food. From then on, Wan Sheng's name spread far and wide.

After more than a month, the strange disturbances ceased entirely, and Wan Sheng prepared to take his leave. A certain timber merchant earnestly pressed him to stay. It turned out that the merchant had an unmarried daughter when, one day, a Five Tong spirit descended in broad daylight—a handsome man of over twenty, who said he intended to betroth the girl as his wife. He left a hundred taels of gold and set a date before departing. The appointed time was fast approaching, and the whole household was in a panic. Having heard of Wan Sheng's name, they urgently invited him to their home. Fearing Wan Sheng might refuse, they concealed the truth and did not tell him the reason. After a lavish banquet, they brought out the daughter dressed in her finery to greet the guest. She was sixteen or seventeen, a truly lovely girl. Wan Sheng was bewildered and could not understand why. He rose from his seat and bowed. The merchant pressed him back into his seat and told him the truth. Wan Sheng was at first startled, but being a man proud and confident by nature, he did not decline.

On the appointed day, the merchant still hung decorations over the gate and had Wan Sheng sit in the inner chamber. The sun was already slanting and the groom had not yet arrived. Wan Sheng secretly thought the bridegroom must already be among those he had killed. Before long, something suddenly dropped from the eaves like a falling bird—a richly dressed young man who, upon seeing Wan Sheng, turned and fled. Wan Sheng gave chase. He saw only a dark vapor trying to fly away. Leaping up, he swung his blade and severed one of its legs. The creature howled loudly and fled. Wan Sheng looked down and saw a huge claw, large as a hand—he could not tell what creature it was. Following the blood trail, it led into the river. The merchant was overjoyed.

Learning that Wan Sheng was unmarried, that very evening he had the wedding bed prepared and joined Wan Sheng and his daughter in matrimony. From then on, all families long plagued by the Five Tong spirits begged Wan Sheng to spend a night in their homes. After more than a year, he took his wife and departed. From that time on, only one Tong spirit remained in Wu, and it no longer dared to cause harm openly.

The Historian of Strange Tales remarks: "The Five Tong and the Frog spirit have deluded the people for so long that they were allowed to indulge in licentiousness without anyone daring to utter a single word of protest. Wan Sheng is truly a man after the heart of all under heaven!"

Furthermore—

# Shen Shi

Jin Sheng, styled Wangsun, was a native of Suzhou. He had been engaged as a tutor in Huai and lodged in the garden of a gentleman. The garden contained few buildings, but its flowers and trees grew in wild profusion. When night had grown deep and the servants had all dispersed, he wandered alone with his shadow, his spirits in sore distress.

One night, when the third watch was nearly spent, someone suddenly rapped on his door with a finger. He hastily asked who it was, and the reply came begging for a fire—the voice resembled that of a houseboy. He opened the door to admit the visitor, and found a lovely girl of sixteen, with a maid following behind. Suspecting she might be a demon or sprite, he questioned her exhaustively. The girl said, "I took you for a man of refinement, pitied your lonely desolation, and braved the heavy dew to share this fine evening with you. Had I told you the truth, I dared not have come, and you would not have admitted me either."

He then suspected she might be a neighbor's eloping daughter and, fearing a compromise of his moral conduct, respectfully declined. But the girl cast him a sidelong glance from her luminous eyes, and he felt his very soul dissolve, suddenly losing all self-command. The maid, perceiving this, said, "Sister Xia, I shall take my leave." The girl nodded. Then she scolded: "Go then, if you must—but what business have you blurting out 'Cloud' and 'Xia'!" Once the maid had gone, the girl laughed and said, "Finding no one in the house just now, I came with my maid. But she is so witless that she let my private name reach your ears." He said, "Since you are so cautious, I fear some calamity may be lurking." The girl said, "In time you will know for yourself. I guarantee I shall not compromise your conduct. Have no fear."

She ascended the bed and slowly loosened her attire. He saw on her arm a bracelet of gold strung with fire-red gems and clasping two luminous pearls. When the candle was extinguished, they illuminated the entire room. He grew more alarmed than ever, yet could never fathom whence she came. The moment their tryst was done, the maid came tapping at the window. The girl rose, used the bracelet to light her way, and departed among the thickets of trees.

From then on, she came every night without fail. Once, as she left, he followed her at a distance. She seemed aware of this and abruptly extinguished her light. The trees were dense and lush; in the darkness he could not see his own palm and turned back.

One day, Jin Sheng traveled north of the River. His hat-string had broken, and the wind threatened to blow his hat away, so he kept pressing it down with his hand as he rode. When he reached the River and sat in a small boat, a gust of wind snatched his hat, which drifted away on the waves. He was much chagrined. After crossing, he saw his great wind carry the hat, spinning it in the air, then gradually descending. He reached up to catch it—and found the hat-string already mended. He marveled at this.

Returning to his lodgings, he related the incident to the girl at length. She said nothing, but smiled faintly. He suspected she had done it and said, "If you are truly a divine being, tell me plainly, to dispel my confusion." She said, "In the midst of my solitude, I found a lovesome fool to relieve my boredom—I thought that not unpleasing. Even if I could do such a thing, it was done out of affection. Must you press me so hard? Do you wish to sever our ties?" He dared say no more.

Before this, Jin Sheng had raised his niece. After her marriage, she had been bewitched by the Five Penetrations, and he worried about it but told no one. Having grown intimate with the girl, he eventually confided everything without reservation. She said, "Such creatures—my father can drive them off. But how would I dare reveal a lover's private affair to my stern father?" He begged her urgently for a plan. She pondered and said, "These creatures are easily expelled, but someone must go in person. They are all slaves of my household. If so much as one of them touches your niece's skin, that shame could not be washed away even with the waters of the West River." He begged without cease. She said, "Then I shall contrive it."

The next evening she came and said, "I have sent my maid south on your behalf. She is weak, and I fear she may not be able to simply slay the creature." The following night, just as he was going to bed, the maid came knocking at the door. He hastily rose and admitted her. The girl asked, "How did it go?" The maid replied, "I lacked the strength to seize it, but I have castrated it instead." The girl laughed and asked her to describe what happened. She said, "At first I thought it was your house, sir. When I arrived, I realized it was not. When I reached the son-in-law's house, the lamps were lit. I entered and saw the young lady seated beneath the lamp, dozing with her head on the table. I gathered her soul and covered it in a jar. Soon the creature arrived, entered the room, and hastily retreated, saying, 'How can there be a living person here?' It looked carefully, found nothing else, and entered again. I feigned unconsciousness. It lifted the quilt and entered, then cried out in alarm, 'Why is there a martial aura here?' I had not wished to soil my hands with its filmy substance, but fearing delay might bring a change, I swiftly seized and gelded it. The creature howled in terror and fled. Then I opened the jar; the young lady seemed to wake, and I departed."

Jin Sheng was overjoyed and thanked her. The girl left with the maid. More than half a month passed, and she came no more; he had nearly given it up as hopeless.

At year's end, he was closing his school and preparing to return home when the girl suddenly appeared. He joyfully went to meet her and said, "You have so long cast me aside—I thought I must have given offense. Have you not forsaken me entirely after all?" She said, "A whole year's intimacy, and not a single word at parting—that would have been a failing. Hearing you were folding your school, I stole away to bid you farewell." He asked her to return home with him. She sighed and said, "It is hard to speak of. Now that we part, I cannot bear to conceal the truth: I am the daughter of the Great King of Golden Dragon. Because you and I were destined by a bond from a former life, I came to you. I should not have sent my maid to the south of the River, for word has spread along the rivers and lakes that I castrated the Five Penetrations on your account. My father heard of it and considered it a great disgrace. In his fury he wished to put me to death. Fortunately, the maid took all the blame upon herself, and his anger was somewhat abated—but she was beaten a hundred times over. Now I am attended by a governess at every step. I can only steal moments to come; I cannot pour out my whole heart. What can be done?" With that, she prepared to leave. He grasped her hand and wept.

She said, "Do not be so. In thirty years we may meet again." He said, "I am already thirty. In thirty more years, I shall be a white-haired old man—what face would I have to show you?" She said, "Not so. In the Dragon Palace, no one grows white-haired. Moreover, the length of a human life does not depend on one's appearance. If one merely seeks to preserve one's looks, that is in fact quite easy." She then wrote a prescription on the head of a scroll and departed.

After Jin Sheng returned to his village, his niece first spoke of the marvel. She said, "That night it was like a dream. I felt someone seize me and stuff me into a jar. When I woke, the bed and mattress were soaked with blood, and the monster was gone forever." He said, "I merely prayed to the River God." The doubts of all were then resolved.

Later, when Jin Sheng was over sixty, his appearance was still that of a man of thirty. One day, crossing the River, he saw floating on the current upstream a lotus leaf as large as a mat, with a beautiful woman seated upon it. Coming closer, he recognized the divine lady. He leapt toward her, but the person and the lotus leaf both shrank together, gradually becoming the size of a coin, then vanishing.

This story and that of Zhao Hong both date from the late Ming; it is not known which came first. If it took place after Wan Sheng used his martial prowess, then only half a Penetration remained in the region below the Wu, and it is no wonder they were no longer able to cause harm.

Beside the Jing River, there was a scholar's son named Shen, whose family was so impoverished that they often went a whole day without lighting a fire for cooking. The couple sat facing each other, at their wits' end. The wife said, "If there's no other way, why don't you become a thief!" Shen replied, "A scholar's son who cannot uphold his family's honor, but instead disgraces the household and shames his ancestors—better to die like Yi than to live like Zhi!" The wife said angrily, "You wish to live but hate disgrace? In this world, those who eat without farming have only two paths: since you cannot bring yourself to steal, I would rather become a prostitute!" Shen grew angry, and the couple exchanged bitter words. The wife fell asleep nursing her resentment. Shen thought to himself: A man who cannot even provide two meals for his household, to the point where his wife wishes to become a prostitute—indeed, better to die! He rose quietly and hanged himself from a tree in the courtyard with a rope.

Then he saw his father approaching. Startled, his father said, "Foolish boy, how could you come to this!" He cut the rope and instructed him: "You may steal, but you must hide deep among the thick grain. This one venture will make you wealthy—you will not need to do it again." The wife, hearing the thud of something falling, woke with a start. She called to her husband but received no answer. Lighting a torch, she searched for him and found the rope severed on the tree, with Shen lying dead beneath it. She was greatly alarmed. She rubbed and pressed him, and after some time he revived, whereupon she helped him back to bed. The wife's anger had somewhat subsided.

When dawn came, she told the neighbors her husband was ill and begged for a little thin gruel for Shen. After he had drunk it, he went out. By noon, he returned carrying a bag of rice. The wife asked where it had come from. He said, "My father's friends were all from distinguished families, and I was too proud to beg from them. But the ancients said: 'One who has hit rock bottom may do anything.' Now that I am about to become a thief, what pride do I have left? Cook quickly—I will follow your advice and go out to rob." Suspecting that he had not forgotten her earlier angry words, the wife swallowed her feelings and said nothing. She rinsed the rice and made a thick porridge. When Shen had eaten his fill, he hastily sought out a stout piece of wood, chopped it into a club, and took it, ready to go out. The wife, seeing that he seemed truly intent, grabbed him and tried to stop him. Shen said, "You urged me to do this. If I fail and implicate you, you must have no regrets!" He tore free from her grasp and left.

At dusk he reached a neighboring village and hid about a quarter mile from it. Suddenly a torrential rain began, drenching him from head to foot. In the distance he saw a dense grove of trees and made for shelter. A flash of lightning revealed that he was already near the village wall. He spotted what seemed to be a passerby in the distance and feared being seen. Seeing thick grain growing densely beside the wall, he rushed in and crouched down among it. Before long, a man of imposing stature also came and threw himself into the grain. Shen was terrified and dared not move. Fortunately, the man passed by at an angle and went on. Shen watched him furtively and saw him enter through the wall. He guessed silently that inside the wall was the mansion of the wealthy Kang family, and this man must certainly be a burglar. He waited for the man to come out with his loot, thinking he would have a share. Then he reflected: That fellow is strong and vigorous—if he took the goods and refused to share, he would surely resort to force. Knowing he was no match in strength, Shen decided it would be better to strike him down while off guard. Having settled on this plan, he waited patiently. Not until the first crow of the rooster did the man finally climb back over the wall. His feet had not yet touched the ground when Shen sprang up suddenly and struck him in the lower back with his club. The man toppled over with a crash—and it was an enormous turtle, its beak gaping like a basin. Shen was greatly shocked. He struck it several more times and killed it.

Now, old Master Kang had a daughter, extraordinarily beautiful and clever, whom her parents doted on. One night, a man entered her chamber and forced himself upon her. She tried to scream, but his tongue entered her mouth, and she lost consciousness, knowing nothing more until he left. Too ashamed to tell anyone, she merely gathered many maids around her and kept the doors tightly shut. Yet at night, after she had gone to bed, she could not tell how the doors came open. The man entered, and all the maids fell into a stupor while he violated them one by one. They told each other in alarm and informed the old master. He ordered his family to take up arms and surround the daughter's chamber, sitting with candles burning. Around midnight, those inside and outside all fell into a sudden sleep, as if waking from a dream. They found the young lady lying naked on the floor, in a dazed and witless state, and she did not regain full consciousness for a long time. The old master was furious but could do nothing. After several months, the daughter became emaciated and was nearly at death's door. She often said to anyone who would listen: "Whoever can drive this creature away shall have three hundred pieces of gold." Shen had heard all of this in the past.

That night, having caught the turtle, he realized that the thing which had been tormenting the Kang family's daughter must have been this creature. He went to the Kang mansion and knocked on the door, asking for the reward. The old master was overjoyed and invited him to sit in the place of honor. He had the turtle carried into the courtyard and cut it into pieces. He asked Shen to stay the night, and indeed the haunting ceased entirely. He then gave Shen the promised sum, and Shen carried the gold home.

His wife, having been anxiously waiting and worrying all night at his absence, was overjoyed to see him enter and asked him eagerly what had happened. Shen said nothing but placed the gold on the bed. When she opened it and looked, she was nearly frightened out of her senses. "Have you really become a thief!" she cried. Shen said, "You drove me to this, and now you say such things!" The wife wept and said, "I was only joking before. Now you have committed a capital crime—I cannot bear to be implicated by a thief! Let me die first!" She ran off. Shen chased after her, laughing, and pulled her back. He told her the whole truth, and the wife was then overjoyed. From then on they planned their livelihood and became a prosperous family of means.

The Historian of Strangeness says: "A man should not fear poverty—he should fear only a lack of moral conduct. He whose conduct is upright will not starve to death; even if no human pities him, the spirits will protect him. But the poor of this world forget righteousness where profit is found and forget shame where food is found. If people would not trust them with a single coin, how could they expect the spirits and gods to look upon them with favor!"

In the county there was a poor man, Yi by name. As the year drew to its end and the twelfth month was nearly over, he had not a whole garment on his body. He thought to himself, "How shall I get through the winter?" He dared not speak of it to his wife, but secretly took a white club and went out to lie in ambush among the graves, hoping that some lone traveler might pass by so he could rob him of all he had. He waited with the keenest expectation, but not a soul appeared; the wind cut through the pines and pierced his bones, and he could no longer endure it. He was on the verge of giving up when suddenly he saw a man come along, bent with age. His heart leapt with joy, and he rushed out with his club. It was an old man who had been carrying a sack by the side of the road. He cried out piteously, "I truly have nothing of value. My family has no food, and I have just begged five pecks of rice from my son-in-law's house." Yi snatched the rice and then tried to strip the old man's padded jacket, but the old man begged him piteously. Yi took pity on his age and let him go, carrying the rice home. When his wife questioned him about where it came from, he lied and said it was from gambling debts. Privately, he thought this scheme was excellent. The next night he went again. Before long, he saw a man carrying a club who also came and took refuge in the graveyard, crouching there and gazing about, clearly a man of the same trade. Yi then cautiously emerged from behind the tomb. The man started and asked, "Who are you?" "A traveler," he replied. "Why aren't you traveling?" "I was waiting for you." The man burst out laughing. Each understood the other's meaning, and together they spoke of the hardships of hunger and cold. The night grew deep, but they caught nothing. Yi was about to go home when the man said, "Though you follow this path, you are still a novice. In the village ahead, a family is marrying off their daughter and has been preparing all through the night; the whole household must surely be exhausted. Come with me, and we shall share what we get." Yi was delighted and followed him. They came to a gate, and through the wall they heard the sound of cakes being fried, so they knew the family was not yet asleep. They crouched and waited. Before long, a man opened the gate, took a staff, and went out to draw water. The two men seized the moment and slipped inside. They saw lamplight in the northern room; all the other rooms were dark. They heard an old woman say, "Eldest daughter, go and take a look in the eastern room—your dowry is all in the chest; have you forgotten to lock it?" They heard the young girl reply in a languid, spoiled voice. The two men were secretly delighted and crept toward the eastern room. In the dark they groped about until they found the sleeping chest. They lifted the lid and felt inside—it was so deep they could not reach the bottom. The man said to Yi, "Get in!" Yi got in and found a bundle, which he passed out. The man asked, "Is that all?" "That's all," he said. Then the man deceived him, saying, "Look again." He closed the chest and locked it, then left. Yi was inside, in desperate straits with no way out. Before long, the lamp was brought in, shining first on the chest. They heard the old woman say, "Who has already locked it?" Then the mother and daughter went to their bed and put out the light. Yi was frantic, so he made the sound of a mouse gnawing. The girl said, "There's a mouse in the chest!" The old woman said, "Don't let it ruin your clothes. I am utterly exhausted—you had better look yourself." The girl got up, loosened her robe, and opened the lid. Yi burst out; the girl screamed and fell. Yi unbarred the gate and fled. Though he had gained nothing, he was secretly glad to have escaped. The family whose daughter was being married had been robbed, and the news spread in all directions. Some suspected Yi. Fearing exposure, he fled a hundred li to the east, where he was hired as a servant by the keeper of an inn. After more than a year, the rumors gradually subsided, and he was able to fetch his wife to live with him. He no longer followed the trade of the white club. This is his own account; because it resembles the case of the Shens, it is appended here.

Hengniang

Hong Daye was a man of the capital. His wife, Madam Zhu, was rather pleasing in appearance, and the two were deeply devoted to each other. Later, Hong took a maid named Baodai as a concubine. Her looks fell far short of Madam Zhu's, yet Hong doted on her. Madam Zhu was aggrieved and they frequently quarreled over this. Hong did not dare openly sleep in the concubine's quarters, but he grew ever fonder of Baodai and increasingly distant from Madam Zhu. Eventually he moved their residence, and they became neighbors with a silk merchant surnamed Di. Di's wife, Hengniang, came first to pay a visit to Madam Zhu. Hengniang was about thirty years of age, of merely middling looks, but her speech was light and charming. Madam Zhu took a liking to her. The next day, returning the visit, she saw that Hengniang's household also had a secondary wife, a woman of about twenty, exceedingly pretty. For nearly half a year as neighbors, Madam Zhu never once heard a cross word from Hengniang's household; yet Di was devoted solely to Hengniang, while the secondary wife was little more than a figurehead.

One day Madam Zhu saw Hengniang and asked her, "I used to think that when a husband loves a concubine, it is precisely because she is a concubine, and I always wished to call a wife by the name of concubine. Now I see this is not so. What art do you possess? If you can teach it, I would gladly become your disciple, facing north as a student should."

Hengniang said, "Ha! You distance yourself and then blame the man? Nagging him morning and evening is like driving sparrows into a thicket—it only widens the rift! Go home and indulge him even more. Let the man come on his own, but do not admit him. After a month, I will devise another plan for you."

Madam Zhu followed her advice. She dressed Baodai even more finely and let her sleep with her husband. When Hong ate or drank, Baodai shared it with him. When Hong occasionally visited Madam Zhu, she rebuffed him all the more firmly. As a result, both husband and concubine praised Madam Zhu's virtue. After more than a month had passed, Madam Zhu went to see Hengniang again.

Hengniang was delighted and said, "I have it! Go home and ruin your toilette. Wear no fine clothes, apply no rouge or powder. Let your face be smudged and your shoes be tattered, and mingle with the servants in their work. After a month, you may come again."

Madam Zhu did as she was told: she wore patched and muddied clothes, deliberately making herself unkempt, and apart from spinning and weaving, concerned herself with nothing else. Hong took pity on her and had Baodai share her labor, but Madam Zhu refused and drove her away with a scolding. After a month of this, she went again to see Hengniang.

Hengniang said, "You are truly teachable! The day after tomorrow is the Shangsi Festival. I would like to invite you to stroll in the spring garden. You must cast off all your shabby clothes. Let your robe, trousers, socks, and shoes be entirely new, and come early to my house."

Madam Zhu said, "I will." On the appointed day, she stood before the mirror and carefully applied powder and yellow pigment, following Hengniang's instructions in every detail. When her toilette was complete, she went to Hengniang, who was pleased and said, "Good!" She then arranged a phoenix coiffure for her, gleaming enough to reflect a shadow. The sleeves of her robe were not in the current fashion, so she took them apart and remade them. Finding her shoes poorly styled, she brought out a pair of finished shoes from a chest and completed them together. When all was done, she told Madam Zhu to put them on. ... At parting, she poured wine for her and instructed her, "When you return and see your husband, go early to bed and shut the door. If he comes knocking, do not heed him. If he calls three times, admit him once. If he seeks your tongue with his mouth or your feet with his hands, be sparing with all of it. After half a month, come again."

Madam Zhu returned home and appeared before Hong in her stunning attire. Hong gazed at her from head to foot, laughing and merry in a way quite unlike his usual manner. Madam Zhu spoke only briefly of her outing, then rested her chin on her hand in a languid pose. Before the sun had even set, she rose and went to her chamber, shutting the door and going to sleep. Before long, Hong indeed came knocking. Madam Zhu lay firmly abed and would not rise, and Hong left. The same thing happened the next evening. The following day, Hong reproached her. Madam Zhu said, "I am accustomed to sleeping alone and cannot bear further disturbance." As the sun set, Hong entered her chamber and sat watching her. He snuffed the candle and climbed into bed, behaving as though with a bride, and their lovemaking was exceedingly passionate. He proposed another rendezvous for the following night. Madam Zhu would not have it as a permanent arrangement and made a pact with Hong to meet every three days.

After about half a month, she visited Hengniang again. Hengniang closed the door and spoke with her, saying, "From now on you may monopolize his favor in the inner chambers. But though you are beautiful, you are not alluring. With your looks, a single act of charm could steal even Xishi's place in a man's heart—how much more so with lesser women!" She then had her try a sidelong glance. "No! The flaw is at the outer corner of the eye." She had her try a smile. "No again! The flaw is in the left cheek." Then Hengniang herself sent forth a bewitching glance with her luminous eyes, and smiled so that her melon-seed teeth showed slightly, and had Madam Zhu imitate her. After dozens of attempts, she finally began to approximate it. Hengniang said, "Go home now! Practice before the mirror until it is second nature—there is no more to the technique. As for what happens between the curtains, adapt to the moment and give him what he desires. This cannot be taught by words."

Madam Zhu returned and did everything as Hengniang had instructed. Hong was overjoyed, his body and soul utterly bewitched, fearing only that she might reject him. As evening approached, they would jest and flirt with each other, never striding beyond the threshold of her chamber, and this became so constant that he could not be driven away. Madam Zhu treated Baodai all the more kindly, and whenever there was revelry in the inner quarters, she would call her to sit together on the same couch. But Hong found Baodai increasingly ugly and would dismiss her before the feast was over. Madam Zhu lured her husband into Baodai's chamber and locked the door on him, so that Hong spent the entire night without touching her. Thereupon Baodai grew to resent Hong and complained of him to others whenever she had the chance. Hong's disgust and anger toward her deepened, and he began to beat her with increasing frequency. Baodai, in her fury, ceased to groom herself. She dragged about in worn and filthy shoes, her hair like a tangled thicket, and was no longer worth mentioning as a person.

One day Hengniang's daughter-in-law said to Madam Zhu, "How has my art served you?" Madam Zhu said, "Your method is supremely subtle! But your disciple can follow it without ever fully understanding it. Why indulge him?" Hengniang replied, "Have you not heard? Human nature tires of the familiar and delights in the new; it values what is hard to obtain and disdains what comes easily. A husband's love for a concubine is not necessarily because she is beautiful—it is because he savors what he has newly acquired and rejoices in what is difficult to attain. Indulge him to satiety, and even delicacies will grow tiresome—how much more so plain fare!"

"Why ruin one's appearance and then display it again?" Madam Zhu asked. Hengniang said, "When something is kept out of sight, it seems like a long parting. When fine attire is suddenly revealed, it is like a new arrival. It is like a poor man who suddenly obtains fine meat and millet—he will then look upon coarse grain as flavorless. And if you do not easily give yourself to him, then he becomes the familiar while you are the new, he becomes the easy while you are the difficult. This is the very method by which you turn a wife into a concubine."

Madam Zhu was overjoyed and they became intimate friends within the inner chambers. After several years had passed, Hengniang suddenly said to Madam Zhu, "The two of us are as one in affection, and I should not conceal my life from you. I wished to speak before but feared you would doubt me. Now that we must part, I dare tell the truth: I am a fox. When I was young, I suffered a stepmother's cruelty and was sold in the capital. My husband treated me with great kindness, so I could not bear to leave him abruptly, and I have lingered with him to this day. Tomorrow my old father will achieve deliverance from the corpse, and I must go to pay my respects. I shall not return." Madam Zhu grasped her hand and wept. Early the next morning she went to see, and found the whole household in consternation—Hengniang had vanished without a trace.

The Historian of the Strange remarks: "The man who bought the pearl prized the casket, not the pearl: the feeling that the new is better than the old, the easy than the difficult—for a thousand ages none has been able to break this delusion; and so the art of turning hatred into love finds scope to operate therein. When sycophantic ministers served their princes, they took care that no one should see them, and that no one should look at their books. Then one understands that to secure one's position and consolidate favour, there is a secret tradition handed down from one to another."

**Chang Dayong** was a native of Luoyang. He had a passion for tree peonies. He heard that the tree peonies of Caozhou surpassed all others in Qi and Lu, and his heart yearned toward them. As it happened, he had business in Caozhou, and so he lodged in the garden of a retired official. It was then only the second month, and the peonies had not yet bloomed. He could only pace back and forth in the garden, his eyes fixed on the budding shoots, waiting for them to open. He composed a hundred quatrains in longing for the peonies. Before long, the flowers gradually formed buds, but his funds were running low. He pawned his spring garments and lingered on, forgetting to return home.

One day, going early to the spot where the flowers grew, he found a young woman and an old woman there. He supposed they were ladies of a noble household and hastily withdrew. He went again in the evening and saw them once more, then withdrew calmly. Stealing a glance, he saw that she wore palace attire and was of dazzling beauty. In his bewildered infatuation, a sudden thought arose: this must be an immortal—how could such a woman exist in the mortal world! He turned quickly to search for her. Passing abruptly beyond a rockery, he chanced upon the old woman. The young woman was seated on a stone. They both started in alarm. The old woman shielded the girl with her body and scolded, "What does this mad fellow want?" Chang knelt and said, "You must be a goddess!" The old woman snarled at him, "Such wild talk! You ought to be bound and handed over to the magistrate!" Chang was greatly frightened. The young woman smiled and said, "Go away!" and departed beyond the mountain. Chang returned, unable to walk. He feared that the young woman would report him to her father and brothers, and that insults and humiliation would surely follow. He lay prostrate in his empty chamber, reproaching himself for his rashness. He secretly hoped that the young woman had shown no anger and might not give the matter further thought. Regret and fear mingled within him, and he fell ill and lay awake all night.

The sun was already high in the morning when he rejoiced that no one had come to punish him, and his mind gradually settled. Yet recalling her voice and countenance, his fear turned to longing. Three days passed thus, and he grew emaciated as if about to die. One night, by candlelight, his servant had already fallen asleep. The old woman entered, holding a bowl, and said, "My young mistress Gejin has personally prepared this poisoned draught. Drink it quickly!" Chang was horrified, but then said, "I have never had any quarrel with your young mistress—why should she order my death? Since she has prepared it herself, better to die by this draught than to waste away longing for her!" He took it and drained it. The old woman smiled, took the bowl, and left. Chang noticed the medicine smelled cool and fragrant—it did not seem like poison. Soon he felt his chest and diaphragm grow relaxed and his head clear, and he fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, the red sun filled the window. He rose to test himself—his illness was gone. His heart was now even more convinced that she was an immortal.

Having no way to seek her out, he would, when no one was near, go to where she had stood or sat, bow reverently, and pray in silence. One day, as he walked, he suddenly came face to face with the young woman deep among the trees. Happening to find no one else there, he was overjoyed and prostrated himself. The young woman drew him close by the hand. Suddenly a strange fragrance enveloped his entire body. He took her jade-white wrist and rose. Her skin was soft and smooth, making his very bones feel as if they would melt. Just as he was about to speak, the old woman suddenly appeared. The young woman told him to hide behind a rock and pointed south, saying, "At night, climb the wall by the flower trellis. The one with red windows on all four sides—that is where I live." She hurried away. Chang stood in dismay, his soul scattered, unable to tell where she had gone.

That night, he moved a ladder and climbed the southern wall. Beneath the wall there was already a ladder in place. He climbed down in delight and indeed found red windows. From within the room came the sound of chess pieces. He stood still, not daring to advance, and climbed back over the wall. A short while later, he went again—the clicking of pieces was still rapid. He crept closer and peered in: the young woman was playing chess against a lady in white garments. The old woman was also seated there, with a maid attending them. He returned again. He went back and forth three times, and the third watch had already sounded. He crouched atop the ladder and heard the old woman come out and say, "A ladder—who put this here?" She called the maid, and together they moved it away. Chang climbed the wall but had no steps to descend by. He returned in bitter frustration.

The following evening, he went again. The ladder was already set up. Happening to find no one about, he entered. The young woman sat alone, as if lost in thought. Seeing him, she started up in alarm, standing at a slight angle, blushing. Chang bowed and said, "I thought my fortune too slight to have any share in one from heaven—could there truly be such a night as this?" He embraced her intimately. Her slender waist was small enough to fill his hands; her breath was like orchid. She resisted, saying, "Why so sudden?" Chang replied, "Good things meet many obstacles—delay would arouse the jealousy of ghosts." Before he finished speaking, voices were heard in the distance. The young woman said urgently, "Sister Yuban is coming! You had better hide under the bed." Chang obeyed. Presently, a woman entered, laughing, "The defeated general—can he still speak of battle? I have already brewed tea. I dare invite you to a long night's pleasure." The young woman pleaded fatigue. Yuban pressed her firmly, but the young woman sat firmly and would not go. Yuban said, "So attached! Could there be a man hidden in the room?" She dragged her out the door and away.

Chang crawled out on his knees. Filled with bitter resentment, he searched through the bedding, hoping to find some token she had left behind. But the room contained no cosmetic box—only a crystal ruyi scepter by the bedside, tied with a purple kerchief, fragrant and lovely to behold. He took it and climbed back over the wall. Adjusting his collar and sleeves, he found her body's fragrance still clinging to him, and his adoration grew even deeper. Yet because of the terror of hiding under the bed, he now feared the punishment of the law. He deliberated and dared not go back, but kept the ruyi scepter treasured, hoping she would come seeking it.

Two nights later, the young woman indeed came. She laughed and said, "I took you for a gentleman before—I did not know you were a brigand!" Chang said, "There is some truth in that. The reason I was not quite a gentleman was that I was hoping for your ruyi scepter." He drew her into his embrace and untied the knots of her skirt. Her jade-white flesh was suddenly revealed, warm fragrance flowing in all directions. As he held her close, he felt that her breath and the warmth of her skin—there was nothing that was not fragrant. He said, "I always thought you were an immortal—now I know it is not false. Fortunate to receive your favor, our bond spans three lives. But I fear that, like Du Lanxiang's marriage to a mortal, it will end in parting and regret." The young woman laughed and say, "You worry too much. I am but a roaming soul like the maiden Qiao, moved by passion on a whim. This matter must be kept secret. Fear not the mouths of gossips, who twist black and white. You cannot grow wings, nor can I ride the wind—then the calamity of parting would be worse than a happy farewell." Chang agreed, yet still suspected she was an immortal and pressed her for her name. The young woman said, "Since you take me for an immortal, why should an immortal's name be passed down?" He asked, "Who is the old woman?" She said, "This is Old Mother Sang. In my youth she sheltered me, so I am not treated as a mere maid." She rose to leave, saying, "There are many eyes and ears where I live—I cannot stay long. I will come again when I find an opening." At parting, she asked for the ruyi scepter, saying, "This is not mine—it was left behind by Yuban." He asked, "Who is Yuban?" She said, "My younger cousin." She gave him her hook and departed. After she left, his quilt and pillow were all stained with her strange fragrance. From then on, she came every two or three nights. Chang was utterly enchanted.

# Ge Jin (葛巾)

From then on, he no longer thought of returning home. But his purse was now empty, and he wished to sell his horse. The woman knew his thoughts and said: "You have emptied your coffers and pawned your clothes on my account—I cannot bear the thought of that. And if you sell your mount besides, how will you travel over a thousand li to get home? I have some private savings of my own; you may use them to help with your traveling expenses." The young man declined, saying: "I am moved by your affection and kindness; I have sworn it upon my heart and carved it into my flesh—no repayment could suffice. And yet to be so greedy and base as to squander your money—how could I call myself a human being!" The woman insisted firmly, saying: "Consider it merely a loan." Then she took his arm and led him to a mulberry tree, pointed to a stone, and said: "Turn it!" He did as she said. She then drew the hairpin from her head and stabbed the ground several dozen times, and said again: "Dig!" He obeyed once more. The mouth of a jar was already visible. The woman reached in and drew out nearly fifty taels of silver. The young man seized her arm to stop her, but she would not listen, and brought out more than ten more ingots. He forcibly returned half of them before sealing the jar.

One evening, she said to him: "Lately there have been some whispers abroad—this situation cannot continue. We must make plans." The young man, alarmed, said: "What shall we do? I have always been dull and cautious by nature, but now, on your account, I have lost all self-control like a widow who has failed to guard herself. I place myself entirely at your command—knives, saws, axes, and halberds—I would not shrink from any of them!" The woman proposed that they flee together. She told the young man to return home first and arranged to meet in Luoyang. The young man packed his belongings and set out for home, intending to arrive first and then go back to fetch her. But when he reached his door, the young lady's carriage had just arrived. She ascended the hall and paid her respects to his family. The four neighbors came to offer congratulations in astonishment, but none of them knew she had stolen away and fled. The young man secretly feared for himself; the woman was perfectly calm, and said to him: "Never mind that we are a thousand li away beyond the reach of any investigation—even if they found out, I am the daughter of an old family; even Zhuo Wangsun could do nothing to Sima Xiangru." The young man's younger brother, Daqi, was seventeen years old. The woman looked at him and said: "This one has the seed of wisdom; his prospects will surpass yours." When the wedding date was set, Daqi's wife suddenly died. The woman said: "My younger sister, Yuban, you have certainly caught a glimpse of her. Her looks are not bad, and her age is about right—as husband and wife, they would make a fine match." The young man laughed when he heard this and jokingly asked her to act as go-between. The woman said: "If you truly wish to bring this about, it would not be difficult." He asked happily: "What method?" She said: "My sister and I are the closest of friends. Two horses to draw a light carriage, and the cost of one old woman's round trip—that is all." The young man, fearing that the whole story of their previous affair would come to light, dared not follow her plan. The woman assured him: "No harm will come of it." She immediately ordered a carriage and sent the old woman of the mulberry grove on her way. After several days, she arrived in Cao. As they approached the village gate, the old woman alighted and told the driver to stop and wait on the road. She entered the village under cover of night. After a long while, she returned with the young woman, and they boarded the carriage and set off. At dusk they slept in the carriage, and at the fifth watch they set out again. The young lady calculated the time and had Daqi dress in his finest clothes and go out to meet them. After about fifty li, they met, and he took the reins and drove them home. With music and candles, they rose, bowed, and completed the wedding rites. From then on, both brothers had beautiful wives, and their household grew richer with each passing day.

One day, several dozen mounted bandits suddenly burst into the compound. The young man knew something was wrong and the whole family climbed to the upper floor. The bandits entered and surrounded the building. The young man leaned down and asked: "Do you have a grudge against us?" They replied: "No grudge. But we have two requests: first, we have heard that your two wives are without equal in this world, and we ask to see them; second, there are fifty-eight of us, and each asks for five hundred in gold." They piled kindling beneath the building, threatening to set it ablaze. The young man agreed to their demand for gold. The bandits were not satisfied and wished to burn the building; the family was terrified. The woman wished to go downstairs with Yuban, but he tried to stop them and they would not listen. They descended in dazzling attire; when they had three steps yet to reach the bottom, they said to the bandits: "We two sisters are immortal maidens who have briefly descended to the mortal world—why should we fear bandits and thieves? We would give you ten thousand in gold, but I fear you would not dare accept it!" The bandits all looked up and bowed, murmuring, "We dare not." The sisters were about to withdraw when one bandit said: "This is a trick!" The woman, hearing this, turned and stood still, saying: "What do you intend to do? Then do it quickly! It is not too late yet." The bandits looked at one another and said nothing. The sisters calmly ascended the stairs and left. The bandits gazed up but saw no trace of them, and only then did they disperse with a clamor.

Two years later, each sister bore a son, and they began gradually to reveal themselves: "Our surname is Wei; our mother is titled Lady of Cao." The young man wondered, for there was no old Wei family in Cao, and besides, how could a great family lose a daughter and make no inquiry at all? He dared not press the question, but secretly found it strange. He therefore made an excuse to visit Cao again. Upon entering the territory, he made inquiries, but among the old families there was no Wei clan. So he lodged once more with his former host. He suddenly saw on the wall a poem inscribed "To Lady of Cao," which struck him as rather strange, and he questioned his host about it. The host smiled and invited him to go and see the Lady of Cao. When they arrived, it was a peony plant, as tall as the eaves. He asked why it was so named, and was told that this flower was the finest in Cao, so the local literati had playfully given it the title. He asked what variety it was. "The Gejin Purple," they said. His heart was filled with even greater astonishment, and he began to suspect the woman was a flower spirit.

After returning home, he dared not speak plainly, but mentioned the poem to Lady Cao to test her reaction. The woman's brow furrowed and her color changed. She went out at once, called Yuban to bring the children, and said to the young man: "Three years ago, moved by your longing for me, I gave myself to you in repayment. Now that you suspect me, how can we remain together?" Thereupon she and Yuban each lifted a child and hurled it into the distance. The children fell to the ground and vanished. The young man was just turning in alarm when both women had already disappeared without a trace. He was overcome with regret and remorse. Several days later, two vigorous peony plants grew where the children had fallen. In a single night they grew a chi tall; that same year they bloomed—one purple, one white, with flowers as large as plates. Compared to ordinary Gejin and Yuban varieties, their petals were even more numerous and finely divided. After several years, they grew into lush thickets. When transplanted to other places, they produced strange new varieties that no one could identify. From that time on, the splendor of the peonies in Luoyang was without equal under heaven.

The Historian of the Strange says: "When one's devotion is single-minded, even ghosts and spirits may be moved; those who turn away cannot be said to lack feeling either. A lonely official may take a flower as his wife—how much more so when she can truly understand speech! Why must one exhaustively pursue the source of things? I pity Chang for his failure to understand!"