Volume 12

Volume 12

**Two Brothers**

Yin Yuanli, a man from Yunnan, was skilled in acupuncture and moxibustion. When bandits invaded, he fled into the deep mountains. The sun was already setting, and the village was still far off, so he feared encountering tigers or wolves. In the distance, he saw two people ahead and hurried toward them. Upon reaching them, the two asked where the traveler had come from, and Yin told them his surname and lineage. The two bowed respectfully and said, "So you are the good doctor Yin! We have long admired your mountain-like stature!" Yin then questioned them in turn. The two said their surname was Ban—one was Ban Zhao, the other Ban Ya. They then said, "Sir, we too are taking refuge in a stone chamber. You are welcome to stay the night, and we have a favor to ask." Yin was pleased to go with them. Soon they arrived at a place where the chamber lay beside a rocky valley. They kindled firewood to serve for candles, and only then did Yin see that the two Bans had fierce and imposing physiques—they did not seem to be good men. Having no choice, he resigned himself to the situation. Then he heard groaning from the bed. Looking closely, he saw an old woman lying stiff and still, apparently suffering from some ailment. He asked, "What is the illness?" Ya said, "It is for this reason that we respectfully sought you out." They then held a torch to the bed and asked the guest to examine her closely. He saw two fleshy growths beneath her nose and at the corners of her mouth, each as large as a bowl. They also said, "The pain is unbearable to the touch, and it interferes with eating and drinking." Yin said, "That's easy." He took out moxa and applied dozens of moxa cones, saying, "It will be healed by tomorrow." The two Bans were delighted and roasted venison to serve their guest. There was no wine or rice—only meat. Zhao said, "We did not know you were coming on such short notice; please do not take offense at the meagerness of the offering." Yin ate his fill and slept, using a stone block for a pillow. Though the two Bans were honest and simple, their roughness was fearsome, and Yin tossed and turned, unable to sleep soundly. Before dawn, he woke the old woman and asked about her condition. The old woman had just awakened and felt the growths herself—they had ruptured into sores. Yin roused the two Bans, held a fire to examine the wounds, and applied medicinal powder, saying, "It is healed." He clasped his hands and took his leave. The Bans also gave him a roasted deer haunch. For three years afterward, there was no news of them.

Yin happened to enter the mountains again on some errand when two wolves blocked his path, preventing him from proceeding. As the sun set in the west, more wolves gathered, surrounding him front and back. The wolves lunged at him, knocking him to the ground, and several fought over him, tearing his clothes to shreds. He thought himself certain to die. Suddenly two tigers appeared in a rush, and the wolves scattered in all directions. The tigers roared in fury, and the wolves, terrified, all crouched flat. The tigers pounced and killed them all, then departed. Yin stumbled onward in a wretched state, fearing he had nowhere to stay. He met an old woman coming along. Seeing his condition, she said, "Mr. Yin has suffered terribly!" Yin sorrowfully told her what had happened and asked how she recognized him. The old woman said, "I am the old woman whose growths you moxibusted in the stone chamber!" Yin was only then enlightened and asked to stay the night. The old woman led him away into a courtyard where lamps were already lit. She said, "This old body has been waiting for you for a long time." She then brought out robes and trousers to replace his tattered ones. She set out wine and food, urging him to drink with warm sincerity. The old woman also poured wine for herself from a clay bowl and drank boldly—her talk and drinking were nothing like a woman's. Yin asked, "Those two men the other day—who are they to you? Why are they not here?" The old woman said, "My two sons went to welcome you and have not yet returned; they must have lost their way." Yin was moved by their loyalty and drank freely, not realizing he had become drunk, falling asleep where he sat. When he awoke, dawn was already breaking. He looked around—there was no house at all. He was sitting alone on a rock. He heard panting like an ox from below the rock and looked down: a tiger was sleeping, not yet awake. On its mouth were two scar marks, each as large as a fist. Terrified, he feared it might wake, and slipped away quietly. Only then did he realize that the two tigers were the two Bans.

**The Cart Driver**

A cart driver was hauling a heavy load up a slope. Just as he was exerting his utmost strength, a wolf came and bit him on the buttock. If he let go, the goods would be ruined and he would be crushed beneath them, so he endured the pain and kept pushing. When he reached the top, the wolf had already torn off a piece of flesh and departed. Taking advantage of a moment when he could not defend himself, it stole a single morsel to taste—clever and laughable indeed.

**The Spirit Medium**

Mai Buyun of Zhangqiu was skilled in spirit-wheeling divination. Whenever he attended literary gatherings with friends, he would summon a spirit to compose poetry in response. One day, his friends saw faint clouds in the sky and had a line of verse. They asked him to match it: "A sky of sheep-fat white jade." The spirit wrote in response: "Ask old Dong of the south of the city." Everyone doubted this was genuine. Later, on some errand, he happened to go to the south of the city and came to a place where the earth was cinnabar-red—strange. He saw an old man herding pigs nearby and asked him about it. The old man said, "This is the pig-blood red clay ground." Suddenly he remembered the spirit's words and was greatly alarmed. He asked the old man's surname. The reply was: "I am old Dong." Matching the verse was not so remarkable, but foreseeing that he would meet old Dong of the south of the city—that was truly divine!

**Miao Sheng**

**Gong Sheng**

Gong Sheng was a native of Minzhou. He went to Xi'an to sit for the examinations and lodged at an inn, where he bought wine and drank by himself. A huge man entered, sat down, and began to talk with him. Gong raised his cup and urged the stranger to drink, and the guest did not decline. He said his surname was Miao, and his speech and laughter were coarse and boorish. Gong, thinking him uncultivated, treated him with haughtiness. When the wine was finished, Gong did not buy more. Miao said, "A poor scholar drinking like this is enough to make one die of boredom!" He went to the wine-shop to buy more, bringing back a huge jar. Gong said he could not drink any more, but Miao seized his arm and forced him to drain his cup, until the arm nearly broke. Gong had no choice but to drink several cups in succession. Miao slurped his soup from the bowl and laughed, "I am no good at urging a guest to drink—do as you please." Gong at once packed his things and set out. After several *li*, his horse fell ill and lay down by the roadside. Gong sat waiting beside it. His luggage was heavy and cumbersome, and he was at his wits' end, when Miao caught up with him. Learning the cause, Miao took the luggage and gave it to the servant, then hoisted the horse onto his own shoulders and carried it. After more than twenty *li*, they reached an inn, where he put the horse in the stable. A good while later, Gong and his servant arrived. Gong was now astonished and regarded Miao as a superhuman being. He treated him with the greatest hospitality, buying wine and food, and they ate and drank together. Miao said, "I eat a great deal—more than you can provide for. Let me drink my fill instead." He drained an entire jar, then rose and took his leave, saying, "Your horse will need some time to recover. I cannot wait—I must go." He departed.

Later, when Gong's examinations were over, three or four friends invited him to climb Mount Hua, where they spread a feast on the ground. They were laughing and feasting together when Miao suddenly appeared, carrying a huge wine-vessel under his left arm and a pork elbow in his right hand, which he threw to the ground, saying, "I heard you gentlemen were making this excursion, and I have come to follow in your wake." The company rose and greeted him. They sat together in a mixed group and drank with great merriment. The friends wished to compose linked verses. Miao protested, "We are drinking with such delight—why torment ourselves with melancholy thoughts?" The others would not listen and imposed the "Golden Valley penalty" for poor lines. Miao said, "Whoever fails shall be dealt with by military law!" The others laughed, "The offense does not warrant that." Miao said, "If you will not have me executed, even this soldier can manage it." The senior seat, Jin Sheng, began: "Standing on the sheerest peak, the eyes gaze into emptiness." Miao continued offhand: "The spittoon is smashed, the sword's light flashes red." The next man pondered for a long time, so Miao took the pot and poured himself a drink. After a while, the lines proceeded in order, growing increasingly vulgar. Miao cried, "This is quite enough! If you would spare me, stop!" The others would not listen. Miao could bear it no more. He suddenly imitated a dragon's roar, which echoed through the valleys; then he rose and bowed and swayed, performing a lion dance. Their poetic inspiration thoroughly disrupted, the company gave up composing and passed the cups again for more drinking. By now they were half drunk, and the guests began reciting their examination essays to one another, praising each in turn. Miao did not wish to listen and pulled Gong over to play the finger-guessing game. They had decided several rounds, but the other guests went on reciting and praising without end. Miao said sternly, "I have heard quite enough. Such compositions are fit only to be read to one's wife at the bedside—to babble on like this before a crowd is detestable!" The guests looked ashamed, but they resented his coarseness all the more and raised their voices even higher in recitation. Miao grew furious. He threw himself to the ground and roared, then at once transformed into a tiger, pounced on the guests, and killed them, roaring as he departed. The only ones left were Gong and Jin. Jin passed the provincial examination that year.

Three years later, passing through Huayin again, Gong suddenly saw Ji Sheng, who had also been devoured on the mountain. In terror, he was about to gallop away, but Jin seized the bridle and would not let him go. Jin dismounted and asked what had happened. Ji replied, "I am now a *chang*—a ghost enslaved by the Miao clan—and my servitude is most bitter. I must kill another scholar before I can be replaced. Three days from now, a man in scholar's robes and cap will be devoured by a tiger, but it must be at the foot of Canglong Ridge for him to be my substitute. On that day, you should invite many literati to that spot—you will be acting on behalf of an old friend." Gong dared not argue. He respectfully promised and took his leave. Back at his inn, he pondered all night but could devise no plan. He resolved to break his promise and accept whatever punishment the ghost might inflict. It happened that a cousin, Jiang Sheng, had come to visit. Gong told him of the strange affair. Jiang was a man of some reputation in the district, but a local scholar named You had placed above him in the examinations, and Jiang secretly harbored jealousy and resentment. Hearing Gong's account, he conceived a dark desire to trap You. He sent a note inviting You to climb the mountain together. Jiang himself went dressed in white, and You did not understand his intention. Halfway up the ridge, food and wine were spread out, and the courtesies were most elaborate. It happened that the prefect was climbing the ridge above and was an old family friend of Jiang's. Hearing that Jiang was below, he sent someone to summon him. Jiang dared not go before the prefect in white clothes, so he and You exchanged caps and gowns. Before they had finished putting them on each other, a tiger sprang upon them and carried Jiang away in its jaws.

The Historian of Strange Tales remarks: "When a man is pleased with himself, he seizes others by the collar and forces them to listen. The listeners yawn repeatedly, wanting to sleep or to escape, while the reciter stamps his feet and waves his hands, quite oblivious. Even a good friend should nudge him from the side and tread on his foot, for fear that an impatient Miao Sheng might be sitting among the company. Yet the man who, out of envy, exchanged clothes and perished—this shows that Miao too acted without premeditation. Therefore, the one who inspires loathing and rage is Miao—and yet it is not Miao."

**The Scorpion Merchant**

A merchant from the south who dealt in scorpions came every year to Linqu to buy large quantities. The locals would take wooden tongs and go into the mountains, probing holes and turning over stones to hunt them. One year, the merchant came again and lodged at an inn. Suddenly he felt a stirring in his heart, and his hair stood on end in terror. He hurried to the innkeeper and said, "I have taken too many lives. Now I have angered the scorpion ghosts, and they are going to kill me! Please save me!" The innkeeper saw a large jar in the room and had the merchant crouch inside it, covering him with the jar. After a while, a man rushed in, with a yellow mane and a ferocious, hideous face. He asked the innkeeper, "Where is the southern merchant?" The innkeeper replied, "He has gone out." The man looked around the room, sniffing three times with his nose, then went out the door. The innkeeper said, "Fortunately, you are safe." But when they lifted the jar to look at the merchant, he had already turned to a pool of blood and water.

**Du Xiaolei**

**Du Xiaolei**

Du Xiaolei was from the Western Hills of Yidu. His mother was blind in both eyes. Du served her with filial devotion; though his family was poor, he never failed in providing her with the finest food. One day, he was going out on a journey. He bought some meat and gave it to his wife, instructing her to make *bōtuō* noodles. His wife was most disobedient and unfilial. While cutting the meat, she mixed dung beetles into it. The mother found the smell so foul and repulsive that she could not eat it, so she set it aside to wait for her son's return. When Du came home, he asked, "Were the noodles good?" His mother shook her head and showed him the food. Du tore it open and saw the dung beetles. He was furious. He went inside, intending to beat his wife, but feared his mother might hear. He lay on the bed, plotting his course of action. His wife asked him what was wrong, but he said nothing. His wife grew anxious and paced beneath the bed. After a long while, she began to pant heavily. Du scolded her, "Won't you sleep? Waiting to be beaten?" But she fell completely silent. He got up and lit a candle to look. He saw only a pig; on closer inspection, it still had two human feet. He realized it was his wife, transformed. The county magistrate heard of this and had her bound and paraded through the four city gates as a warning to the public. Tan Weichen personally witnessed this.

**Mao Dafu**

Mao Dafu, from the Taihang Mountains, was a surgeon specializing in sores. One day, returning from a house call, he encountered a wolf on the road. The wolf spat out a wrapped object and crouched by the roadside. Mao picked it up and examined it—it was a cloth bundle containing several pieces of gold jewelry. Just as he was marveling at the strangeness of it, the wolf jumped about joyfully ahead, tugging lightly at his robe, then departed. Mao walked on, and the wolf tugged him again. Seeing that its intentions were not malicious, he followed it. Before long, they reached a cave, where another wolf lay sick. Mao looked and saw a huge ulcer on its head, festering and crawling with maggots. Mao understood the wolf's meaning. He cleaned out all the decay and applied medicine properly, then departed. By now the sun was setting, and the wolf escorted him from a distance. After walking three or four miles, Mao encountered several wolves, snarling and closing in on him. He was terrified. The wolf he knew hurried into the pack and seemed to speak to them; the other wolves then all dispersed. Mao was able to return home. Earlier, a silver merchant named Ning Tai in the county had been killed by robbers on the road, and no one could be held accountable. It happened that Mao was selling the gold jewelry, and Ning's family recognized it. They seized Mao and brought him before the magistrate. Mao explained where he had gotten it, but the official did not believe him and had him tortured. Mao's grievance was extreme and he could not clear himself. He only begged for release and asked to question the wolves. The official sent two guards to escort him into the mountains, straight to the wolves' cave. The wolves had not yet returned, and by nightfall they still had not come. The three men turned back. Halfway there, they encountered two wolves. One still bore the scar of the ulcer. Mao recognized it, bowed, and prayed, "Previously I received your gift, and now I suffer injustice because of it. If you do not clear my name, I will be beaten to death upon my return!" The wolf, seeing Mao bound, angrily charged at the guards. The guards drew their swords. The wolf thrust its snout to the ground and howled loudly; after two or three howls, a hundred wolves gathered from the mountains and surrounded the guards, circling them. The guards were in dire straits. The wolves competed to gnaw at the ropes binding them. The guards understood their intent and untied Mao. The wolves then all departed. The guards returned and described what had happened. The official was amazed but did not immediately release Mao. Several days later, the official was out on a circuit when a wolf dropped a worn-out shoe on the road. The official passed it by, but the wolf picked up the shoe again and ran ahead to lay it in the road. The official ordered the shoe taken up, and the wolf then left. Upon returning, the official secretly sent someone to find the shoe's owner. It was reported that in a certain village there was a woodcutter who had been chased by two wolves, who had snatched his shoe and carried it away. The woodcutter was brought in to identify it—it was indeed his shoe. The official then suspected that the woodcutter must be the one who killed Ning Tai. Upon interrogation, it turned out to be so. The woodcutter had killed Ning, taken his large sum of gold, and hidden the jewelry in his clothing. He had not yet had time to search through everything when the wolves snatched it away.

In the past, a midwife was returning home when she encountered a wolf blocking the road, tugging at her clothes as if beckoning her. She followed it and found a female wolf struggling to give birth. The old woman pressed and massaged with effort, and the wolf delivered. The next day, the wolf brought venison and left it at her family's home to repay her. From this it can be seen that such events have occurred many times before.

**The Hail God**

Tang Jishi of Jiwu went to Rizhao to attend the burial of the An family. On the way, he passed the shrine of the Hail God, Li Zuoche, and went in for a look. In front of the shrine was a pool. The water was crystal clear, with several red fish swimming in it. Among them was a fish with a crooked tail, sipping at the surface and showing no fear when it saw people. Tang Jishi picked up a small stone and was about to playfully throw it. A Daoist priest hastily stopped him. Asked the reason, the priest said, "The fish in the pool are all of the dragon clan. Disturbing them will surely bring wind and hail." Tang Jishi laughed at what he considered a fabricated and baseless claim and threw the stone anyway. Soon after, he got into his carriage and headed east. Then a black cloud, like an umbrella, followed him. Hail began to fall with a rustling sound, as large as cottonseeds. After traveling another mile or so, it finally cleared. Tang Jishi's younger brother, Tang Liangwu, was behind him. He caught up and spoke with him, but Liangwu had been completely unaware of any hail. When asked, those traveling ahead said the same. Tang Jishi laughed and said, "Could it be that Lord Guangwu is playing tricks?" Still, he did not find it deeply strange. Outside An village there was a shrine to Lord Guan. A peddler of grain happened to have stopped there and set down his burden outside the gate. Suddenly he abandoned his two baskets and rushed into the shrine, seizing a large blade from the rack and whirling it about as he danced. He said, "I am Li Zuoche. Tomorrow I will accompany the Tang Jishi of Zichuan to assist in holding the funeral cords. I respectfully inform the host in advance." After speaking these words, he awoke, unaware of what he had said and not knowing who Tang was. The An family, hearing of this, was greatly terrified. The village was more than forty *li* from the shrine. They reverently prepared paper money and sacrificial vessels and went to the shrine to pray piteously, begging only for mercy and not daring to trouble him to come. Tang Jishi was puzzled by their deep reverence and faith and asked the host about it. The host said, "The Hail God's miraculous deeds are most renowned. He often possesses people to deliver his messages, and his words are never without fulfillment. If we do not pray devoutly to prevent his journey, then wind and hail will strike tomorrow."

The Historian of the Strange said: "Lord Guangwu, in his time, was among those of mature strategy and vigorous deeds. That he now administers hail in the east is perhaps due to his indomitable spirit, receiving his office from Heaven. But having already become a spirit, why must he make such a show of distinguishing himself? Tang Jishi's moral principles and literary talents have long been admired by both Heaven and man. This is why spirits and ghosts necessarily seek to demonstrate themselves to the principled."

**Li Bagang**

# From Chapter 12 of *Liaozhai zhiyi*

## Li Yuesheng

Li Yuesheng was the second son of old Mr. Shengyu. The old man was the wealthiest man in the area, storing his gold in large jars, so the villagers called him "Eight Jars." When the old man fell gravely ill, he summoned his sons to divide the gold: the elder brother would receive eight parts, the younger two parts. Yuesheng was deeply dissatisfied. The old man said, "I am not playing favorites. I have a hidden cache of silver, which I will give you when there are not many people around. Do not be impatient."

Several days later, the old man grew ever more gravely ill. Yuesheng, fearing that some unexpected event might occur, waited until no one was around and then secretly asked the old man about it at his bedside. The old man said, "A man's share of suffering and joy is predetermined. You are currently enjoying the blessing of a virtuous wife, so it would not do to give you more gold, for that would only increase your transgressions." For Yuesheng's wife, of the Che clan, was the most virtuous of women, possessing the virtues of Huan and Meng, hence these words.

Yuesheng pleaded earnestly, but the old man grew angry and said, "You still have more than twenty years of hardship ahead of you. Even if I gave you a thousand pieces of gold, you would spend it in an instant. Do not expect to receive it until you have reached the end of your resources!" Yuesheng was devoted to filial piety and fraternal love, and so dared not raise the matter again.

Before long, the old man's condition deteriorated sharply, and he passed away. Fortunately, his elder brother was virtuous, and in arranging the funeral and burial, did not quibble over accounts. Yuesheng, for his part, was innocent and carefree, never haggling over small sums. He was fond of entertaining guests and enjoyed drinking, urging his wife to cook three or four times a day, and paid little attention to managing the household's livelihood. The local scoundrels, seeing his weakness, took advantage of him at every turn. After several years, the family gradually declined. In times of distress, he relied on small loans from his elder brother to keep from utter destitution.

Before long, his elder brother died of old age and illness, and Yuesheng lost his support entirely, to the point of running out of food. He borrowed in spring and repaid in autumn; what the fields produced was exhausted the moment it was brought in from the threshing ground. He began selling off parcels of land to survive, and his holdings shrank further. Several years later, his wife and eldest son died one after another, and his desolation grew still worse. He then married Xu, the wife of a sheep trader, hoping to gain a modest fortune from her. But Xu was fierce and violent, bullying him daily, to the point where he dared not exchange condolences or congratulations with relatives and friends.

One night, he suddenly dreamed that his father appeared and said, "What you have experienced now can truly be called the end of your resources. I once promised you the hidden silver—now the time has come." He asked, "Where is it?" His father said, "I will give it to you tomorrow." Upon waking, he was puzzled, thinking it merely the accumulated longings of a poor man.

The next day, he dug up earth to repair a wall and unearthed a vast store of gold. Only then did he understand that his father's earlier words about "not many people" had meant that half the household would be dead.

---

The Historian of Strange Tales says: "Yuesheng was my closest friend, a man of simple honesty and no pretense. My brothers and I were close with him, sharing in each other's joys and sorrows. In recent years, our villages were separated by only ten-odd *li*, yet we never heard word of each other until death. When I happened to pass through his village, I did not dare to inquire after him. The truth of Yuesheng's hardships was something that could not be plainly spoken. When I suddenly heard that he had come into a thousand pieces of gold, I could not help but feel elated for him. Alas! The old man's dying instructions, which I had long heard of, I never expected to be prophetic. How extraordinary!"

---

## The Old Dragon Boatman

When Lord Zhu Huiyin served as governor of Guangdong, traveling merchants frequently brought him complaints of unsolved injustices. Travelers who had journeyed a thousand *li* were found dead with no corpses; several merchants traveling together vanished without a trace. Cases piled up in great numbers, beyond all possibility of investigation. At first, when complaints were filed, the authorities would still issue warrants for arrest; but as more and more petitions accumulated, they were simply ignored.

When Lord Zhu took office, he reviewed the old cases one by one. The petitions recorded no fewer than a hundred dead, and those who had perished far from home with no one to claim them were beyond counting. Lord Zhu was horrified and moved by compassion, pondering the matter to the point of losing sleep. He consulted all his subordinates, but found little in the way of strategy.

Thereupon, with purified sincerity and fasting, he bathed and sent a formal dispatch to the City God. He then retired to his chamber in fasting, and in a daze saw an official enter, holding a court tablet before him. Lord Zhu asked, "What official are you?" The reply was, "I am the City God, Liu." "What do you wish to say?" The City God said: "Snow hangs from the temples; clouds rise from the horizon; wood floats on water; a door is set in a wall." Having spoken, he withdrew.

When Lord Zhu awoke, the riddle was incomprehensible. He tossed and turned all night, and suddenly understood: "Snow from the temples" meant *old*; "clouds from the horizon" meant *dragon*; wood on water is a *boat*; a door in a wall is a *household*—was this not "Old Dragon Boatman"?

Now, to the northeast of the province were places called Xiao Ling and Lan Guan, fed by the Old Dragon Ford, which led to the Southern Sea. The great merchants beyond the mountain passes frequently entered Guangdong by this route. Lord Zhu dispatched military officers with secret instructions, and they captured more than fifty boatmen from the Old Dragon Ford in succession, all of whom submitted without being put in shackles.

These bandits, under the pretense of ferrying passengers, lured travelers onto their boats, then either administered drugging powder or burned narcotic incense, causing the travelers to fall into a stupor. They then cut open their bellies, stuffed them with stones, and sank them to the bottom of the river. The injustice and cruelty were extreme!

After the wrongs were redressed, rejoicing spread far and wide, and ballads and praises were collected into volumes.

---

The Historian of Strange Tales says: "To cut open bellies and sink bodies in stone—the injustice and cruelty are extreme. Yet the wooden puppets who served as officials were utterly indifferent to the suffering. Was it only Guangdong that was so dark and sunless? When Lord Zhu arrived, the spirits and gods rendered their power, and every wrong was brought to light—how extraordinary! But Lord Zhu did not have four eyes and two mouths; it was simply that his compassion for the suffering of the people had accumulated within him to the utmost. Those grand personages, who go out with swords and halberds lining their roads and return to orchid and musk perfuming their chambers—for all their exalted status, how were they any different from the Old Dragon Boatman?"

---

## The Woman of Qingcheng

Gao Mengshuo, magistrate of Fei County, was serving as prefect of Chengdu when he encountered a strange case. Previously, a Western merchant had come to Chengdu on business and married a widow from Mount Qingcheng. After some time, he returned west for certain reasons, and came back over a year later. When the couple had just reunited, the merchant suddenly died. His fellow merchants suspected foul play and reported the matter to the authorities, who in turn suspected the widow of having taken a lover. They interrogated her harshly, subjecting her to cruel torture, but in the end she had no confession to make. The case was forwarded to higher authorities, but with little factual evidence, and she languished at the bottom of the prison for a considerable time.

Later, when Gao was in his yamen, an ailing person brought in an old physician, and the matter happened to come up in conversation. Upon hearing it, the physician immediately asked: "Does the woman have a pointed mouth?" Gao asked what he meant. At first the physician would not say, but after repeated questioning, he finally said: "In the villages around Mount Qingcheng, many of the women have mated with snakes. The daughters born of such unions have pointed mouths, and within their privates they have something resembling a snake's tongue. When they are in the throes of lust, the tongue sometimes emerges. Once it enters a man's organ, the man's vital essence is exhausted and he dies on the spot."

Gao was alarmed but not yet fully convinced. The physician said: "There is a shamaness here who can administer a drug to arouse the woman's passions, causing the tongue to emerge. This can be verified." Gao followed his instructions and had the shamaness perform the treatment. The tongue indeed emerged, and the doubt was resolved. Gao reported the matter to the prefecture. The superior officials all verified the matter by the same method, and the woman's charges were dismissed.

---

## The Owl

# Changshan Magistrate Yang

Magistrate Yang of Changshan was extraordinarily greedy. During the Yihai year of the Kangxi reign, when military operations were underway in the western frontier regions, the government requisitioned privately owned mules and horses to transport grain. Yang exploited this pretext to conduct sweeping confiscations, stripping the entire region of its livestock. Zhoucun was a gathering place for merchants, and on market days carts and horses converged in great numbers. Yang led a band of strong men and seized them all—no fewer than several hundred head. Merchants from all quarters had nowhere to lodge their complaints. At that time, the various magistrates were all in the provincial capital on official business. It happened that Magistrate Dong of Yidu, Magistrate Fan of Laiwu, and Magistrate Sun of Xincheng had gathered at an inn. Two merchants from Shanxi came to the door wailing their grievances: they had four strong mules that had all been plundered. The road was far, their livelihood was ruined, and they could not return home. They implored the officials to intercede on their behalf. The three magistrates took pity on their plight and agreed. They went together to visit Yang.

Yang prepared a feast to entertain them. After the wine had been poured, the three men explained the purpose of their visit. Yang paid them no heed. They pressed the matter with greater urgency. Yang raised his cup and urged them to drink up, trying to disrupt the conversation, saying: "I have a drinking game—anyone who fails must pay a penalty. Each must name one thing in the heavens, one thing on the earth, and one ancient person. Then the left side asks what the ancient person holds in his hand, and the right side asks what he says. You must answer accordingly." Then he began: "In the heavens there is the moon; on the earth there is Mount Kunlun; the ancient person is Liu Boren. Left side: what does he hold in his hand? Answer: 'He holds a wine cup in his hand.' Right side: what does he say? Answer: 'He says that beyond the wine cup, nothing need be mentioned.'"

Magistrate Fan said: "In the heavens there is the Guanghan Palace; on the earth there is the Qianqing Palace; the ancient person is Jiang Taigong. He holds a fishing rod in his hand and says, 'Let those who are willing take the bait.'"

Sun said: "In the heavens there is the Heavenly River; on the earth there is the Yellow River; the ancient person is Xiao He. He holds a copy of the Great Qing Code in his hand and says, 'Corrupt officials and corrupt clerks.'"

Yang's face showed his shame. He was silent for a long time, then said: "I have another. In the heavens there is Mount Ling; on the earth there is Mount Tai; the ancient person is Hanshan. He holds a broom in his hand and says, 'Each person should sweep the snow in front of his own door.'"

The others exchanged embarrassed glances.

Suddenly, a young man strode in with an air of proud independence, his robes splendid and neat. He raised his hands in greeting. They all pulled him to a seat and poured him a large cup of wine. The young man smiled and said: "Let us hold off on drinking. I heard your distinguished drinking game and would like to offer my humble contribution." They invited him to proceed. The young man said: "In the heavens there is the Jade Emperor; on the earth there is the Emperor; the ancient person is the Hongwu Emperor, Zhu Yuanzhang. He holds a three-foot sword in his hand and says, 'Skin the corrupt officials alive.'"

Everyone burst into laughter. Yang flew into a rage and cursed: "Where does this insolent madcap come from?" He ordered his bailiffs to seize him. The young man leaped up onto a table, transformed into an owl, crashed through the curtain and flew out, alighting among the courtyard trees. He looked back into the room on all sides and laughed. The host tried to strike him, but he flew off laughing as he went.

The historian of anomalies remarks: "During the horse-requisition operation, the great magistrates had seven out of ten stables filled with sturdy livestock, and merchants who dealt in mules and horses by the hundreds or thousands were rarely seen outside Changshan. The sagely and enlightened Son of Heaven cherishes the people's labor—when he takes even one thing, he pays its proper price. How could he know that those carrying out his orders would spread poison like this! Wherever the owl goes, people detest its laughter most of all—children spit upon it together, considering it an ill omen. But this single laugh—how is it any different from the cry of a phoenix!"

# The Ancient Bottle

In the northern village of Zichuan, a dry well was being dug out by Villagers A and B, who descended into it. After digging about a foot, they found a skull. They accidentally broke it open and found gold in the mouth; delighted, they tucked it into their waist pouches. They dug further and found six or seven more skulls. They broke them all open—but found no gold. Nearby there were two porcelain vessels and one bronze vessel. The bronze vessel was large enough to embrace in both arms, weighing several dozen catties, with a pair of rings on its side whose purpose was unknown; it was mottled and corroded. The bottles were also ancient, not of recent manufacture. When they emerged from the well, both A and B died. After some time, B revived and said: "I am a man of the Han dynasty. When Wang Mang's rebellion threw the world into chaos, my entire family threw itself into this well. I happened to have a little gold, which I placed in my mouth—it was not a funerary offering; everyone had it. Why did you smash every skull? This is truly hateful!" The villagers burned incense and paper offerings and made vows, promising to give him a proper burial; B then recovered. A, however, could not be brought back to life.

Sun Sheng of Yanzhen heard of this strange affair and purchased the bronze vessel. Yuan Xuan, the Provincial Graduate known as Xuan the Fourth, obtained one of the bottles and found it could predict weather: whenever he saw a spot of moisture on it, at first as small as a grain of millet, it gradually widened and spread, and before long rain arrived; when the moisture receded, the clouds parted and the sky cleared. The other bottle entered the home of Scholar Zhang the Licentiate, and it could mark the phases of the moon: on the first day of the lunar month, a dark spot appeared, the size of a bean, and grew along with the days; on the fifteenth day, the entire bottle was filled; after the fifteenth, it receded in order, and by the last day of the month it returned to its original state. Because it had been buried in the earth for so long, a small stone was stuck to the mouth of the bottle, and brushing and scraping could not dislodge it. They struck it off—the stone fell away but the mouth was slightly chipped, which was something of a regret. When flowers were placed in water inside the bottle, the fallen petals bore fruit, no different from those still on the tree, so it was said.

# Master Yuan the Younger

When Mr. Han Yuanshao was still a scholar, an official suddenly arrived, announcing that his master wished to engage him as a tutor, yet he presented no visiting card. When asked about his family background, the official gave vague and evasive replies. Silk and gifts of introduction were sent in abundance, and the ceremonial courtesies were exceedingly generous. Mr. Han agreed and departed after fixing a date. On the appointed day, a carriage indeed arrived. They traveled a winding route along roads he had never before seen. Suddenly he caught sight of palatial buildings. He descended from the carriage and entered—the atmosphere resembled that of a prince's residence. Once settled in the guest quarters, wine and roasted meats were spread in profusion, and he was urged to help himself, yet there was no host present. When the banquet was cleared away, a young lord came out to pay his respects. He was fifteen or sixteen years of age, with a handsome and distinguished appearance. After the formalities were completed, he withdrew to his own quarters, and only then did he first come to the teacher's residence to request instruction. The young lord was very intelligent and grasped principles as soon as he heard them. Mr. Han, knowing nothing of the family's background, harbored considerable suspicion and unease. Two young servants attended the residence. He questioned them privately, but neither would answer. He asked, "Where is the master?" They replied that he was occupied with affairs. Mr. Han asked them to guide him so that he might observe, but the servants refused. After repeated requests, they finally led him to a place where he heard the sounds of flogging and torture. Peering through a crack in the door, he saw a king seated upon a hall, with trees of swords and mountains of blades on the steps below—all matters of the underworld. He was greatly alarmed. Just as he was about to retreat, those inside had already perceived him. The king therefore suspended his governance, drove back the ghosts with a shout, and called the servants urgently. The servants turned pale with fear and said, "Because of you, sir, disaster has befallen us!" Trembling with terror, they rushed inside. The king angrily said, "How dare you lead someone to spy upon us privately!" He then gave them a severe beating with a heavy whip. Afterward he summoned Mr. Han inside and said, "The reason I did not show myself was that the realms of darkness and light follow different paths. Now that you have seen, it will be difficult for us to meet again." He therefore presented him with a bundle of gold to send him on his way, saying, "You are the foremost man under heaven, but your trials are not yet exhausted." He ordered a servant in dark clothing to seize a horse and escort him. Mr. Han suspected that he had already died. The servant said, "How could it be so soon! All the food and provisions the master has enjoyed were provided from the world of the living—they are not things of the underworld." After returning home, he endured several years of hardship, but then passed both the provincial and metropolitan examinations—and the king's words all proved true.

Xue Weiniang

Feng Yugui was a Confucian scholar of Liaocheng. He was poor and had no means of livelihood. During the Wanli reign, when famine was severe, he fled south alone. Upon his return, he fell ill in Yi. He forced himself to walk several li until he reached the mass graves south of the city, where he grew even more exhausted. He therefore lay down beside a tomb. Suddenly, as if in a dream, he arrived at a village. An old man emerged from a gate and invited him inside. The house had two pillars and was quite crude. Inside was a young woman of sixteen or seventeen, with a graceful and intelligent bearing. The old man had her brew a decoction of cypress branches and serve it to the guest in earthenware vessels. He then asked the scholar about his native place and age. Having done so, he said: "I am Li of Hongdu, of the Pingyang clan. I have settled here as a refugee, and it is now thirty-two years. If my descendants should come to inquire, sir, I would trouble you to point out my gate to them. This old man would not forget your kindness. My adopted daughter, Wei Niang, is quite presentable and could be matched to a gentleman. When my three sons arrive, I shall send them to preside over the betrothal." The scholar was overjoyed and bowed, saying: "This humble one is twenty-two years of age and still lacks a kind spouse. Your gracious offer of an alliance is indeed excellent—but where might I find your family to convey this?" The old man said: "You need only stay in the northern village. Wait there a little over a month, and someone will come. I only ask that you do not find it troublesome." The scholar feared the old man's words might not be trustworthy and pressed him, saying: "Let me speak plainly, sir: my home is in truth bare of all possessions. I fear that in the future things may not meet your expectations, and to be abandoned along the way would be hard to bear. Even without a marriage alliance, I would not dare to break a promise made before Ji Lu—so why not speak plainly?" The old man smiled and said: "Do you want this old man to swear an oath every morning? I know well that you are poor. This betrothal is not arranged solely for your sake. Wei Niang is orphaned and without support; I have long entrusted her to someone, and I cannot bear to let her drift and be lost. That is why I offer her to you, sir. Why do you doubt me?" He then took the scholar by the arm and escorted him out, clasping his hands and closing the door as he departed. The scholar awoke and found himself lying beside the tomb. The sun was already past noon. He rose slowly and hobbled into the village. The villagers were all startled, saying he had lain dead by the roadside for a full day. He suddenly understood that the old man had been a denizen of the tomb. He kept this to himself and merely sought lodging. The villagers feared he might die again and dared not keep him. A village scholar of the same surname, upon hearing of this, came to inquire into his family background and turned out to be the scholar's uncle of the mourning grade. Delighted, he led him home and fed and treated him, and within several days he recovered. The scholar then recounted what he had encountered. The uncle was also astonished and sat waiting to see what would change. Before long, an official arrived in the village seeking his father's tomb. He identified himself as Li Shuxiang, a jinshi of Pingyang. His father, Li Hongdu, had previously traveled as a merchant with a fellow villager, Jia, and died in Yi. Jia had buried him among the mass graves. After returning home, Jia also died. At that time, the old man's three sons were all young. The eldest, Bo Ren, had become a jinshi and was serving as an official in Huainai. He had repeatedly sent men to seek his father's tomb, but no one knew of it. The second, Zhong Dao, had been recommended for filial piety and integrity. Shuxiang, the youngest, had also passed the examinations. He therefore came personally to seek his father's bones and searched throughout Yi. On the day he arrived, none of the villagers knew anything. The scholar then led him to the burial site and pointed it out. Shuxiang did not dare believe him, so the scholar recounted in full what he had encountered. Shuxiang found it remarkable. Upon examination, the two tombs were adjacent. Someone said that three years earlier an official had buried a young concubine there. Shuxiang feared opening the wrong tomb, so the scholar showed him the spot where he had lain. Shuxiang ordered materials to be carried to the side and then began to open the tomb. When the tomb was opened, a woman's corpse was seen—her garments and adornment were faded and decayed, yet her face appeared as if alive. Shuxiang realized the mistake and was terrified, not knowing what to do. But the woman suddenly rose and looked about, saying: "Has Third Brother come?" Shuxiang, startled, approached and questioned her, and she turned out to be Wei Niang. He then removed his garment to cover her and carried her back to the inn. He hastily opened the neighboring tomb, hoping his father might revive. When it was opened, the skin and flesh were still preserved, but when he touched it, it was stiff and dry. He grieved without end. He prepared the body for burial and brought it to the village, where he held purification rites for seven days. Wei Niang also wore mourning garments as a daughter. She suddenly said to Shuxiang: "Previously, Father had two gold ingots. He gave one to me as a dowry. Because I was orphaned and weak and had nowhere to hide it, I merely tied it at my waist with silk thread and did not take it away. Did you find it?" Shuxiang did not know, so he had the scholar return to search the tomb, and indeed it was found, just as the woman had said. Shuxiang still marked it with thread and gave it to Wei Niang. In his spare time, he examined her family background. Previously, her father, Xue Yinhou, had no sons and bore only Wei Niang, whom he loved dearly. One day, the young woman was returning from her uncle's house in Jinling when the old servant who accompanied her asked to cross the river. The boatman turned out to be a matchmaker from Jinling. It happened that an official, having completed his term and traveling to the capital, had sent someone to seek a beautiful concubine. He had visited several households without finding anyone to his satisfaction and was about to take a small boat to Guangling. He suddenly encountered the young woman and secretly conceived a wicked scheme, hastily beckoning her to board. The old servant knew him, so they crossed together. Midway, he put poison in the food, and both the young woman and the servant fell unconscious. He pushed the servant into the river, carried the young woman back, and sold her for a large sum to the official. When she entered the household, the principal wife learned of it and was furious. The young woman, bewildered and not knowing the proper rites, was beaten and imprisoned. After three days of travel north, she awoke. A maid told her everything, and the young woman wept bitterly. One night, while lodging in Yi, she hanged herself and was buried among the chaotic tombs. In the tomb, she was tormented by hordes of ghosts, but the old man Li often protected her, and she treated him as a father. The old man said: "Your fate is not to die. I shall choose a fine husband for you." After the scholar had been seen and sent out, the old man returned and said to the young woman: "This scholar's character and principles are worthy of trust. When your third brother arrives, I shall arrange your marriage." One day he said: "You may go and wait—your third brother will come soon." This was the very day the tomb was opened. During the mourning period, Wei Niang recounted all this in detail to Shuxiang. Shuxiang sighed for a long time and then treated Wei Niang as a sister, having her take the Li surname. He bought her some clothing and adornments and sent her to the scholar, saying: "I have limited means and cannot provide a dowry for my sister. I intend to take her back with me to comfort our mother—what do you think?" The young woman was also pleased. And so the husband and wife followed Shuxiang, and the coffin was transported as well. When they arrived home, the mother learned the whole story and loved her more than her own children, housing her in a separate courtyard. During the mourning period, the young woman grieved more deeply than the sons and grandsons. The mother pitied her even more and would not let her return east, instructing her sons to buy a house for her. It happened that a Mr. Feng was selling a house for six hundred taels of silver. In the haste, they could not raise the full amount, so they temporarily took the deed and agreed on a date for payment. When the date arrived, Mr. Feng came early. It happened that Wei Niang also came from the separate courtyard to pay her respects to the mother and suddenly saw him—he was extremely like the boatman of years past. Feng was also startled. The young woman hurried past him. Her two brothers, because their mother was slightly unwell, had also gathered at the mother's quarters. The young woman asked: "Who is the man pacing in the front hall?" Zhong Dao said: "I had nearly forgotten—this must be

"The same man who sold the house the other day." He rose and was about to leave, but the woman stopped him, told him of her suspicions, and had him go back to press the man with difficult questions. Zhongdao agreed and went out, but Feng had already left, and in his place sat Xue, the schoolmaster from the southern lane. Zhongdao asked, "Where have you come from?" Xue replied, "Last night Feng asked me to come early to his house to witness a deed as guarantor. I happened to meet him on the road just now. He said he had forgotten something and would return shortly after going home, asking me to sit and wait for him." Before long, Shen and his uncle Shuxiang both arrived, and they fell into conversation. Weiniang, on account of Feng, had slipped behind the screen to spy on the guests. She looked closely at the schoolmaster and recognized him as her father. She rushed out, seized him, and wept loudly. The old man, startled and in tears, said, "My child, how did you come here?" Only then did everyone learn that Xue was none other than Yinhou. Zhongdao had often encountered him on the street but had never known his name. Now they were all overjoyed, recounted the whole story, and set out wine to celebrate. They kept him for two nights and he told them of his wanderings. After losing his daughter, his wife had died of grief. Left a widower with no one to rely on, he had come here to make his living as a teacher. Shen promised that after buying the house, he would invite him to live with them. The old man went to look the next day, but Feng and his whole family had fled. It was then clear that the man who had killed the old woman and sold the daughter was none other than Feng. Feng had first come to Pingyang and built up a household through trade; but in recent years he had taken to gambling and daily grown poorer, so he had sold his house, and the money from selling the daughter was nearly exhausted as well. Weiniang, having found her home, did not bear too much hatred against him; she merely chose a day to move in and made no effort to track him down. Li's mother sent gifts without ceasing, and all daily necessities were provided for her. Shen thus settled in Pingyang, though returning for examinations was a great hardship. Fortunately, that year he passed the provincial examination and was recommended as a Filial and Incumbent candidate. When Weiniang became wealthy, she often thought of the old woman who had died on her account and wished to repay her son. The old woman's husband was surnamed Yin, and they had a son named Fu, who was fond of gambling and so poor he had no land to stand on. One day, during a gambling dispute over a wager, he killed a man and fled to Pingyang, seeking out Weiniang from afar. Shen took him into his household. Upon questioning him closely about the name of the man he had killed, it turned out to be none other than Feng, the boatman. Shen was astonished for a long time, then told him the whole story, and Fu learned that Feng was the very man who had killed his mother. He was overjoyed and entered Shen's service. Xue Yinhou was supported by his son-in-law, who bought him a wife, and they had a son and a daughter.

Tian Zicheng

A man named Tian Zicheng of Jiangning was crossing Lake Dongting when his boat capsized and he drowned. His son, Tian Liangsui, was a jinshi degree holder of the late Ming dynasty, and was still an infant in arms at the time. His wife, of the Du clan, upon hearing the news of her husband's death, swallowed poison and died. Liangsui was raised by his concubine grandmother, grew to adulthood, and entered official service in Hubei. After more than a year, he received orders from his superiors to conduct business in Hunan. When he reached Lake Dongting, he wept bitterly and turned back. He reported that his abilities were insufficient, and was demoted to the post of assistant magistrate in Hanyang, but he declined the appointment. The provincial authorities pressed him insistently, and he finally accepted. But he spent his time wandering freely along the rivers and lakes, never conducting himself as a proper official.

One evening, he moored his boat along the riverbank and heard the sound of a dongxiao flute, rising and falling in a most pleasing manner. He walked toward it by moonlight, and after about half a li, he saw in an open wilderness several thatched cottages with a faint glow of lamplight. Approaching a window and peering in, he saw three men drinking together inside. Seated in the upper position was a xiucai scholar of about thirty years; in the lower position sat an old man; and seated to the side, playing the flute, was the youngest of the three. When the flute playing ceased, the old man struck a beat and praised the performance. The xiucai, however, was facing the wall, lost in poetic thought, as if he had heard nothing. The old man said, "Brother Lu the Tenth must have a fine composition. Please recite it at length so that we may all enjoy it together." The xiucai then recited:

"The river is full of wind and moon, cold and dreary,

Withered grass and fallen flowers have turned to mud.

For a thousand li the cloud mountains cannot be reached,

Night after night my dreaming soul returns west of the bamboo bridge."

His voice was mournful and sorrowful. The old man laughed and said, "Brother Lu the Tenth is at his old tricks again!" He then poured a large goblet of wine and said, "This old man cannot compose a matching verse. Let me sing a song instead to accompany the wine." He then sang the poem about "the fine wine of Lanling." When he finished, everyone in the company smiled with delight. The young man rose and said, "Let me see how far the moon has tilted." He stepped outside and caught sight of the guest, clapping his hands and saying, "There is someone outside the window—our wild behavior has been fully exposed!" He then pulled the guest inside and they all exchanged greetings. The old man had him sit opposite the young man. Liangsui tasted the cups and found they all contained cold wine, and he declined to drink. The young man rose, lit a reed torch, and heated the wine before serving it. Liangsui also ordered his servant to bring out money to buy more wine, but the old man firmly stopped him. The old man then inquired about Liangsui's family and origins, and Liangsui told them his story in full. The old man said with respect, "You are the magistrate of our home district. My young friend here is surnamed Jiang, a native of this place." Pointing to the young man, he said, "This is Du Yehou from Jiangxi." Then pointing to the xiucai, he said, "This is Brother Lu the Tenth, who is from the same district as you." Lu had been quite haughty and discourteous toward Liangsui ever since he first saw him. Liangsui therefore asked, "Where is your family from? With such remarkable talent, it is strange that I have never heard of you before." He replied, "I have been living as a sojourner for a long time. Even my own relatives no longer recognize me—a pitiable man indeed!" His words were filled with grief. The old man waved his hand to interrupt him, saying, "We have met a good guest, yet instead of attending to the wine, you babble on like this—how tiresome to listen to!" He then raised his cup and drank, saying, "Let us play a drinking game together. Those who cannot comply must be penalized. Each person throws three dice, and the rule is that the throws must match one another, and each must correspond to a classical allusion." He then threw and got one, two, and three, chanting: "Three plus one makes two points the same—the three-year covenant of millet hospitality with Lord Fan: friends delight in meeting." Next was the young man, who threw two twos and a four, saying: "I am an unlearned man and can only think of vulgar allusions—please do not laugh. Four plus two twos makes the same points—four men swore brotherhood in the old city: brothers delight in meeting." Lu got two ones and a two, saying: "Two plus two ones makes the same points—Lü Xiang with both arms embracing the old man: father and son delight in meeting." Liangsui threw and got the same as Lu, saying: "Two plus two ones makes the same points—Mao Rong's two vessels entertaining Lin Zong: host and guest delight in meeting." When the game ended, Liangsui rose to take his leave. Lu now stood up for the first time and said, "The bonds of our shared homeland—we have not yet had a chance to speak our hearts. Why do you leave so hastily? I have something to ask you. Please stay a while longer." Liangsui sat down again and asked, "What is it?" Lu said, "I have an old friend who drowned in Lake Dongting. Is he of the same clan as you?" Liangsui said, "That was my late father. How did you know him?" Lu replied, "We were close in our youth. On the day he died, I alone witnessed it. I gathered his bones and buried them by the river." Liangsui shed tears and bowed, begging Lu to show him the location of the grave. Lu said, "Come here tomorrow and I will show you. It is easy to find—a few paces from here, you will see a grave with ten stalks of reeds growing on it." Liangsui wiped his tears and bowed farewell to the group. He returned to his boat and did not sleep the whole night, sensing that Lu's words and manner all seemed to have some deeper meaning. At first light he went to the place, but the cottages had vanished entirely—this alarmed him even more. He then followed the directions to search for the grave and found it. Reeds grew upon it, and when he counted them, the number matched exactly. He suddenly understood that the name "Brother Lu the Tenth" was all an allegory, and that the one he had met was the ghost of his own father. He asked the local people in detail, and learned that twenty years earlier, a wealthy old man surnamed Gao, who was fond of doing good, had rescued and buried the bodies of all who drowned, which was why there were several graves in that place. Liangsui thereupon opened the tomb, took up his father's bones, abandoned his official post, and returned home. He reported everything to his grandmother, and when he described the man's appearance, it all matched perfectly. As for Du Yehou of Jiangxi, he was in fact Liangsui's cousin, who at the age of nineteen had drowned in the river; afterward his father had moved to Jiangxi as a sojourner. Liangsui also realized that after Lady Du died, she had been buried west of the bamboo bridge, which was why the poem had recalled her. But who the old man was, he could never determine.

Wang Gui'an

Wang Su, styled Guian, was the son of an illustrious family in Daming. He happened to travel south and moored his boat by the riverbank. In the neighboring boat lived a boatman's daughter, who was mending shoes within, her bearing surpassingly graceful and lovely. Wang had been gazing at her for some time, yet the girl seemed unaware of it. Wang loudly recited the line "The Luojang maiden lives across the street," deliberately letting her hear it. The girl seemed to understand that he was referring to her; she slightly raised her head and cast a fleeting sideways glance, then lowered her head and continued mending as before. Wang's mind became ever more entranced. He threw a gold ingot at her, which fell upon her bosom. The girl picked it up and discarded it; the gold tumbled onto the riverbank. Wang retrieved it and was all the more puzzled. He then threw a gold bracelet at her, which fell at her feet. The girl went on with her work, paying no heed. Before long, the boatman returned from elsewhere. Wang, fearing that the man would see the bracelet and interrogate closely, was greatly agitated. The girl calmly covered it with her feet. The boatman untied the mooring rope and departed straight away. Wang was overcome with dejection and sat in a daze, lost in thought.

At this time, Wang had recently been widowed, and he regretted not having immediately sought to arrange a match. He inquired of the boatmen, but none knew the girl's surname. He turned his boat about and hastened in pursuit, but she had vanished without a trace. Having no choice, he returned to his boat and continued south. When his business was finished, he sailed back north and made careful inquiries along the river, yet there was no word of her. Upon reaching home, both sleep and food were haunted by her memory.

A year later, he traveled south again, bought a boat by the river, and made it as though a home. Day after day he carefully counted the passing boats; the sails and oars of those coming and going were all familiar to him, yet the boat from before remained elusive. After half a year, his funds were exhausted, and he returned. Whether walking or sitting, he could not put her from his mind. One night, he dreamed of arriving at a riverside village. Passing several gates, he saw a house with a wicker door facing south; within the gate, sparse bamboo served as a fence. He took it for a garden and walked straight in. There was a night-blooming tree, its red filaments covering the whole tree. It occurred to him: "In the poem it says, 'Before the gate a tree of silk-tree flowers'—this must be it." After several paces, he came upon a neat reed fence. Passing through again, he saw three rooms to the north, their double doors closed. To the south was a small room, its window screened by red plantains. He leaned forward to steal a glimpse and saw a clothes rack by the door, with a painted skirt hanging upon it. He knew it to be a woman's boudoir and started back in alarm. But the woman within had also sensed his presence, and someone came rushing out to observe the visitor. With powder and ink faintly visible upon her face, she was none other than the woman from the boat.

Overjoyed beyond expectation, he said, "So there is to be a meeting after all!" He was about to draw near when her father happened to return. Startled awake in an instant, he then knew it had been a dream. The scene was vivid and clear, as if before his eyes. He kept it secret, fearing that speaking of it to others would spoil this beautiful dream.

More than a year later, he traveled again to Zhenjiang. In the south of the prefecture lived a certain Xu, a Grand Minister of Imperial Equine Affairs, with whom his family had longstanding ties of friendship. Xu invited him to a feast. Wang rode there at random and mistakenly entered a small village. The sights along the road were exactly as he had known them in his lifetime. Within one gate stood a silk-tree flower tree, just as in his dream. Stupefied, he dropped his whip and went in. Every detail of the scene was no different from the dream. Entering again, he found the rooms were precisely as numerous. Since the dream had been verified, he entertained no further doubt. He went straight to the southern room, and the woman from the boat was indeed inside. She saw Wang from afar, rose in alarm, and used the door to screen herself, calling out, "What man are you?" As Wang hesitated, he still suspected it was a dream. The girl, seeing that he had come very near, slammed the door shut.

Wang said, "Do you not remember the one who threw the bracelet?" He described in full his suffering of longing and spoke of the dream's omen. The girl, through the window, inquired into his family background, and Wang told her everything. The girl said, "Since you come from an official family, you must already have a worthy lady to manage your household. What need have you of a concubine?" Wang said: "Were it not for you, I would long since have married!" The girl said, "If it is as you say, then I know your heart. But this feeling of mine is difficult to tell my parents. Yet I have also defied their wishes and refused several matches. The gold bracelet is still here. I suppose a devoted man must eventually make inquiries. My parents happen to have gone to visit relatives and will return shortly. You should withdraw for now and send a go-between to present the betrothal gifts—there is no doubt it will succeed. But if you hope to form a union through improper means, then your intentions are misguided." Wang, flustered, was about to leave. The girl called out to him from afar: "My maiden name is Yuniang, of the Meng family. My father's style is Jiangli." Wang memorized this and departed.

He left the banquet early and returned, then went to pay his respects to Jiangli. Jiangli received him and seated him beneath the fence. Wang spoke of his own family lineage, then stated his purpose directly, presenting a hundred taels of gold as a betrothal gift. The old man said, "My daughter is already betrothed." Wang said, "I have made very certain inquiries—she is indeed awaiting a betrothment. Why do you refuse me so firmly?" Jiangli said, "What I have just stated is no falsehood." Wang's countenance fell completely. He bowed in farewell and returned.

That night he tossed and turned; there was no one to serve as go-between. At first he had wished to tell Minister Xu of his feelings, but feared that marrying a boatman's daughter would make the gentleman laugh. Now his feelings were desperate, and he had no one else to act as intermediary. At daybreak, he went to Minister Xu and told him the truth. Xu said: "This old man and I are connected by marriage—he is a grandson of my grandmother's line. Why did you not say so earlier?" Only then did Wang reveal his hidden feelings. Xu said in doubt: "Jiangli is indeed poor, but he has never made his living as a boatman. Could there be a mistake?" He sent his eldest son, Dalang, to the Meng household. Meng said: "Although I am impoverished, I am not one who sells marriages. Formerly, the young gentleman sought to arrange a match with gold himself, and I presumed I would be moved by profit; therefore I dared not attach myself to him in marriage. Now that I have received the gentleman's command, there must be no error. But my headstrong daughter, being much pampered and loved, is stubborn about family status and readily refuses matches. I must discuss it with her to avoid future resentment over the marriage." He rose, went inside briefly, and returned, making obeisance exactly as instructed by his superior. They set a date and parted.

Dalang reported back. Wang then made lavish preparations of betrothal gifts and presented them to the Meng family. He lodged at Minister Xu's house and personally conducted the wedding ceremony. After three days, he took his leave of his father-in-law and returned north. One night, while lodging on the boat, he asked Yuniang: "When I met you at that place, I indeed suspected you were not the daughter of a boatman. Where were you sailing to that day?" She replied: "My uncle's house is north of the river. I had merely borrowed a small boat to visit them. My family can barely support itself, but I have always held unexpected gifts in low esteem. I laughed at your eyes being like beans, repeatedly trying to move people with money. When I first heard your recitation, I knew you were a man of literary refinement, yet I also suspected you of being a frivolous fellow trying to seduce a loose woman. Had my father seen the gold bracelet, you would have been beyond salvation. Was my heart so eager to cherish talent?" Wang laughed and said: "You are certainly very cunning, but you too fell into my snare!" The girl asked: "What snare?" Wang stopped and would not say. When she pressed him further, he said: "My home is drawing near, and this can no longer be kept secret. I will tell you truly: I already have a wife at home—the daughter of Minister Wu." Yuniang did not believe him. Wang deliberately spoke emphatically to make it convincing. Yuniang's face changed. She was silent for a while, then suddenly rose and rushed out. Wang, slipping on his shoes, chased after her—but she had already thrown herself into the river. Wang shouted loudly. The boats were thrown into an uproar. The night was dark and murky; there were only stars dotting the river as far as the eye could see. Wang grieved bitterly the whole night, following the river—

He traveled downstream, offering a large sum for the recovery of her remains, but no one was found. He returned home in low spirits, grief and anxiety mingling within him. He also feared that his father-in-law might come to see his daughter and that he would have no words to answer him. His wife's elder brother-in-law held an office in Henan, so he set out to visit him, and did not return for over a year. Along the way, he encountered rain and stopped to rest his baggage in a farmhouse. He noticed the dwelling was clean and tidy, and an old woman was playing with a child in the main room. The child, seeing Wang enter, immediately ran up and threw himself into Wang's arms, begging to be held. Wang was astonished. Then he saw that the child was lovely and charming, so he took him onto his lap. The old woman called to him, but the child would not leave. Before long, the rain cleared. Wang handed the child back to the old woman and went downstairs to prepare to depart. The child cried out, "Papa is leaving!" The old woman was embarrassed and scolded him, but he would not stop, so she carried him away by force. Wang sat waiting for his baggage to be readied. Suddenly, a beautiful woman emerged from behind the screen, carrying the child in her arms—it was Yun-niang. Just as he was wondering what this meant, Yun-niang scorned him, saying, "Heartless man! You left behind this little morsel—what am I to do with him?" Wang then realized the child was his own son. Sorrow pierced his heart. Before he could ask about her past, he first confessed his earlier jest, swearing to clear himself. Yun-niang's anger then turned to grief, and they wept together. It turned out that the landlord, Old Man Mo, was sixty years old and childless. He and his wife had gone on a pilgrimage to worship at the Southern Sea. On their return journey, their boat was moored along the river when Yun-niang drifted with the waves and happened to bump against his boat. Old Mo ordered his servants to pull her from the water and spent the whole night nursing and reviving her; only then did she gradually regain consciousness. Old Mo and his wife looked upon her and saw she was a fine young woman. Delighted, they adopted her as their own daughter and took her home. After several months, they wished to find her a husband, but she refused. After ten months, she gave birth to a son, whom they named Jisheng. When Wang took shelter from the rain at their home, Jisheng was exactly one year old. Wang thereupon unpacked his baggage, went in, and paid his respects to Old Mo and his wife, thus becoming their son-in-law. After staying several days, he finally set out with the whole family to return home. When they arrived, Old Meng had been sitting in wait for two months. When Old Meng had first come, he had noticed that the servants' manner and words were evasive, and he had been quite suspicious and bewildered. But once he saw Wang, they all rejoiced together. When Wang recounted all that had happened, they understood why the servants had hesitated to speak.

Jisheng, styled Wangsun, was a celebrated scholar of the prefecture. Because he had recognized his father while still in swaddling clothes, his parents believed him to be endowed with precocious wisdom and doted on him. As he grew, he became increasingly handsome; by eight or nine he could compose essays, and at fourteen he entered the prefectural academy. He always insisted on choosing his own match himself.

His father, Gui'an, had a younger sister, Erniang, who had married a licentiate named Zheng Qiao. They had a daughter named Xiuxiu, whose intelligence and beauty were beyond compare. When Wangsun saw her, he was seized with a passionate admiration. As time passed, he could neither sleep nor eat. His parents were greatly distressed and questioned him sharply, whereupon he told them the truth. His father sent a matchmaker to Zheng's house, but Zheng, being strict and scrupulous in his principles, declined on the grounds of their being cousins. Wangsun fell even more gravely ill.

His mother, finding no other recourse, approached Erniang in private and pleaded only that Xiuxiu come once to visit him. When Zheng heard of this, he was furious and sent back harsh words. Having abandoned all hope, Wangsun's parents simply let matters rest.

There was a prominent family in the prefecture surnamed Zhang, with five daughters, all beautiful. The youngest was named Wuke and surpassed her sisters in loveliness; she had not yet been betrothed. One day, while visiting the family graves, Wangsun caught a glimpse of her from his sedan chair. She returned home and told her mother. The mother, understanding her daughter's feelings, sought out the matchmaker Madam Yu and hinted at the matter. Madam Yu accordingly went to Wangsun's house. At that time Wangsun was ill; upon learning the news, he laughed and said, "This illness this old woman can cure."

Yuniang asked the reason. Madam Yu explained the Zhang family's intentions and spoke at length of Wuke's beauty. Yuniang was pleased and sent Madam Yu to wait upon Wangsun. Madam Yu entered, stroked Wangsun, and told him the news. Wangsun shook his head and said: "The doctor does not match the disease—what can be done?" Madam Yu laughed and said: "One only asks whether the doctor is skilled. If she is skilled, summon her and she will come gently—that suffices. But to insist on a particular person and wait for death on her account—is that not foolish?" Wangsun sighed and said: "But among all the doctors in the world, none surpasses He." Madam Yu said: "How narrow your outlook is!" She then described Wuke's features, her hair and complexion, her expression and bearing, illustrating with her hands as she spoke. Wangsun again shook his head and said: "Enough, old woman! This is beyond even my desires." He turned to face the wall and would listen no more. Seeing that his resolve was unshakable, Madam Yu departed.

One day, as Wangsun lay in the depths of his illness, a maid suddenly entered and said: "The person you long for has arrived!" Overjoyed, he leaped up. He hurried out of his room and found that a beautiful woman was already in the courtyard. Looking closely, he saw that she was not Xiuxiu. She wore a pale green embroidered skirt with fine pleats, her tiny feet just visible—she was no less than an immortal. He bowed and asked her name. She replied: "I am Wuke. You are a man of deep feeling, yet you are devoted solely to Xiuxiu, which makes others feel the injustice." Wangsun apologized and said: "In all my life I have never seen her face, so my eyes held only Xiuxiu. Now I know my fault!" Thereupon they exchanged vows of love. As they clasped hands with deep affection, his mother happened to come in and stroked him—and he started awake. It had been a dream.

He turned over in his mind her voice, her face, her smile—all were vivid before his eyes. He thought in secret: If Wuke truly is as she appeared in the dream, why must I seek what is so difficult to find? He therefore told his mother about the dream. His mother was pleased that his fixation had somewhat diminished and eagerly wished to arrange a match. Wangsun, fearing the dream might not be accurate, asked a neighboring woman who was acquainted with the Zhang family to go to their house on some pretext and secretly observe Wuke. The woman arrived to find Wuke ill, resting her chin against a pillow. Her graceful bearing was enough to overturn the world. The woman approached and asked: "What ails you?" The girl silently fingered her sash and said nothing. Her mother answered for her: "She is not ill. For days she has been sulking at her father and mother!" The woman asked why. The mother said: "Several families have sought her hand, but she has refused them all. She insists she will only marry that Wang Jisheng. I urged her too hastily, and she has now deliberately gone without food for several days." The woman laughed and said: "If the young lady were matched with Master Wang, it would truly be a pair of jade beauties. If he were to see her, he might well pine away to death again! When I return, I shall have a matchmaker sent—what do you think?" Wuke stopped her and said: "Please don't, Grandmother! If it does not work out, it will only add to the laughter!" The woman confidently assured her it would certainly succeed, and Wuke smiled.

The woman returned and reported everything just as the matchmaker had said. Wangsun asked in detail about her clothing and shoes, and found they matched the dream. He was overjoyed. Though his mind was somewhat eased, he still did not trust mere words. After several days, when he had gradually recovered, he secretly summoned Madam Yu and schemed to see Wuke in person. Madam Yu found it difficult but gave a provisional answer and left. A long time passed and she did not come. Just as he was about to seek her out, Madam Yu suddenly arrived in high spirits and said: "Fortune favors us. The young lady has had a slight ailment and each day has her maids support her as she walks across to the opposite courtyard. If you go and conceal yourself there, she walks slowly and haltingly—you will be able to observe her fully." Wangsun was delighted. The next day he ordered his carriage and set out early; Madam Yu was already there. He was told to tether his horse to a tree in the village and was led to a room facing the road, where he sat behind a closed door.

After a short while, Wuke indeed came out leaning on her maid. Wangsun watched her through the crack in the door. As the woman passed outside, Madam Yu deliberately pointed out clouds and trees along the way to delay her tiny steps. Wangsun observed everything in detail, trembling so violently he could barely control himself. Presently Madam Yu arrived and asked: "Can she replace Xiuxiu?" Wangsun thanked her profusely and returned. Only then did he inform his parents, and a matchmaker was sent to secure the betrothal. But when the go-between arrived, Wuke had already been promised to another family.

Wuangsun was despondent, choked with regret and frustration, and fell ill again that very moment. His parents were deeply troubled and reproached him for having brought this on himself. Wangsun had no answer; each day he drank only a small bowl of rice broth. After several days, his body was propped up by chicken bones on the bed—he was even worse than before.

Madam Yu suddenly arrived and exclaimed: "How exhausted you are!" Wangsun wept and told her everything. Madam Yu laughed and said: "Foolish young master! The other day when a match came to you, you deliberately refused it; today when you seek someone, can you expect it to be granted at once? Nevertheless, something can still be done. Had you consulted me earlier—even if she had been promised to an imperial prince in the capital, I could have reclaimed her for you." Wangsun was overjoyed and begged for her strategy. Madam Yu ordered a letter to be sealed and a messenger dispatched, instructing him to wait upon the Zhangs the following day. Gui'an feared they might be rebuffed for such presumption. Madam Yu said: "I already reached an agreement with Master Zhang, but he delayed several days and then suddenly went back on his word. Moreover, his betrothal to the other family has not yet been confirmed by formal letter. As the proverb says, 'She who lights the fire first gets to eat.' What doubt can there be?" Gui'an followed her advice. The next day, two servants went and met with no objections; they returned richly rewarded. Wangsun's illness immediately lifted. From that time on, his longing for Xiuxiu was extinguished forever.

Earlier, when Zheng Qiao had rejected the betrothal, Xiuxiu had been greatly displeased. When she learned that the marriage to the Zhang family had been accomplished, she grew even more despondent and fell ill, wasting day by day. Her parents questioned her, but she would not speak. A maid discerned her feelings and secretly told her mother. When Zheng heard of it, he was enraged and refused to summon a doctor, leaving her to die. Erniang said resentfully: "My niece is by no means undesirable. Why cling so stubbornly to the pedant's code of honor—"

# Chapter 12

## Wang Sun and Wu Ke

"Kill my darling daughter!" Zheng was furious. "If it's your own daughter, better she had died young, to spare us the shame!" Thus husband and wife turned against each other. Erniang, however, spoke with the girl, intending to send her back to be Wang Sun's concubine. The girl lowered her head and said nothing, but her manner showed she was quite willing. Erniang consulted Zheng, who grew even angrier, placing the girl entirely in Erniang's hands and caring nothing more about the matter. Erniang loved the girl deeply and resolved to carry out her promise. The girl was overjoyed, and her illness gradually improved.

She secretly inquired about Wang Sun and learned that the day of his formal wedding was set. When the day arrived, she used her cousin's wedding as a pretext and feigned a visit home. Before dawn, she sent someone to borrow a carriage from her brother. The brother, being most affectionate and living in a neighboring village, offered the very carriage and horses prepared for the wedding procession and came first to fetch Erniang. Upon arriving, he dressed the girl in her bridal finery and placed her in the carriage, sending two manservants and two maids to escort her. At the door, they spread a felt carpet for her to walk upon. The musicians were already assembled; the attendants ordered them to play, and at once the clamor of voices rose in a tumult. Wang Sun ran to look and saw the girl with a red veil covering her head. He was terrified and wished to flee, but Zheng's servants held him fast and ordered them to perform the ritual obeisance. Wang Sun, not knowing what had happened, completed the ceremony. The two maids led the girl straight to the nuptial chamber, and only then did he learn she was a wellborn lady. The whole household was thrown into confusion, not knowing what to do. As evening drew near, Wang Sun no longer dared to carry out the formal bride-fetching ritual.

Gui'an sent a servant to explain the matter to Zhang. Zhang was furious and wished to break off the engagement. Wu Ke refused, saying: "Though she arrived first, she has not yet received the formal betrothal gifts. Better that I still be fetched in the proper manner." Her father accepted her words and relayed them to the messenger. The servant returned, but Gui'an still dared not comply. Both sides deliberated, their anger finding no outlet.

Zhang waited so long that he knew the formal ritual would not take place, so he too sent a carriage and horses to convey Wu Ke, setting up a separate nuptial chamber in another room. Wang Sun found himself shuttling between the two, pacing about with no idea where to settle. His mother then mediated between them, proposing that precedence be given to age, and both young women agreed. When Wu Ke learned that the other lady was slightly older, she showed reluctance in addressing her as "elder sister." Her mother was greatly concerned. But at the third-day gathering, Wu Ke saw that the other lady had a most pleasing demeanor and was involuntarily won over, and from then on the matter was settled.

Yet the parents feared that over time the two might grow incompatible, but the two women showed no discord. They shared clothes and shoes and loved each other as sisters.

Wang Sun then asked Wu Ke why she had rejected the matchmaker in the first place. She laughed and said: "Nothing much—merely to repay your rejection of the old woman. Before you had seen me, your heart held only the other lady; even after seeing me, you slighted me somewhat, to test whether you valued me as highly as her. Had you fallen ill for her sake and not for mine, then I would not have pressed the matter." Wang Sun laughed and said: "That was a harsh repayment! But without the old woman, how should I have had the chance to glimpse your beauty?" Wu Ke said: "It was I myself who wished to see you—what could the old woman do? When I passed your gate, did you not know that someone was gazing at you from within? We had already pledged ourselves in a dream—how could you not believe it?" Wang Sun asked in astonishment: "How did you know?" She said: "When I was ill, I dreamed of coming to your house and thought it was nonsense. Later, when I heard you too had dreamed, I knew my spirit had truly been there." Wang Sun was amazed and then recounted his dream—the dates matched exactly. The good match between father and son was accomplished through dreams—a strange tale indeed. Therefore it is recorded here.

The Commentator says: "The father was infatuated with love, and the son nearly died of it. Is Wang Sun not what we call a slave to passion? Without a father who dreamed well, how could there have been a son whose soul took flight?"

## Zhou Sheng

Zhou was a legal advisor in the district of Zi. When the magistrate was away, his wife Madame Xu wished to make an offering to the Goddess of Mount Tai, but as the road was far, she planned to send a servant with gifts to go in her place. She asked Zhou to compose the prayer. Zhou wrote in parallel prose, recounting events of his life with considerable levity and jest. Among the lines were: "Planting flowers throughout the Yang district, I dote on the cut sleeve; setting grass upon the hills of Jiagu, I love only the bitten peach." This was a grievance Madame Xu harbored, and there were many such passages. When the draft was finished, he showed it to a fellow advisor, Ling. Ling thought it obscene and urged him not to use it. Zhou would not listen and gave it to the servant to deliver.

Before long, Zhou died in the yamen; soon after, the servant also died; and Madame Xu, after giving birth, also died of illness. People did not find it remarkable at the time. Zhou's son came from the capital to escort his father's coffin home and spent the night sharing quarters with Ling. He dreamed that his father admonished him: "One must be careful with words! I did not heed Master Ling's advice and used profane language, thereby offending the gods and cutting short my allotted years. I also brought misfortune upon Madame Xu and even the servant who burned the prayer at the shrine. I fear that punishment in the underworld cannot be avoided!" He awoke and told Ling, who had dreamed the same dream and recited the offending passage. Zhou's son was filled with dread.

The Commentator says: "To give free rein to one's pen and pour out one's thoughts with reckless delight—this is the common habit of literary men. But how dare one present lewd and insulting words before the gods? The mad scholar was ignorant, and the punishment from the underworld was only what he deserved. Yet that a virtuous lady and a servant from a thousand li away should die together without knowing their offense—is this not a great confusion, quite unlike the legal principle of distinguishing between principal and accomplice in punishment? Alas, the injustice!"

## Chu Suiliang

Zhao of Changshan, who rented his house from a prominent family, suffered from an obstruction in his abdomen. Being both impoverished and alone, he lay on the verge of death. One day, he dragged himself to a cool spot and moved his bed beneath the eaves. When he awoke, he found a peerless beauty sitting beside him. He questioned her, and the woman said, "I have come specifically to be your wife." Zhao was startled: "To say nothing of a poor man not daring to harbor such delusions—I am at death's door. What use would a wife be to me?" The woman said, "I can cure you." Zhao replied, "My illness cannot be remedied in a hurry. Even if you had a fine prescription, what could be done when I have no money to buy medicine?" The woman said, "I heal illness without medicine." She then pressed her hand against Zhao's abdomen and rubbed it vigorously. He felt her palm burning like fire. After a while, the mass in his abdomen made a faint sound of breaking apart. Shortly afterward, he felt the need to relieve himself. He rose hastily, walked a few paces, undressed, and exuded a great flow of viscous liquid, the lumps all coming out. He felt refreshed throughout his body. Returning to his former resting place, he said to the woman, "Who are you, lady? I beg you to tell me your name, so that I may make offerings to you." She replied, "I am a fox spirit. You are actually Chu Suiliang of the Tang dynasty, who once showed kindness to my family. I have long cherished the desire to repay you in some way. I searched for you day after day, and only now have I found you—my long-cherished wish can be fulfilled." Zhao, ashamed of his wretched appearance, also worried that the soot from his thatched hut and stove would stain her splendid garments. The woman simply asked him to lead the way. Zhao then brought her into his home, where there was only earthen chaff for a bed, no mat, and a cold stove with no smoke. He said, "Setting aside the fact that conditions are so wretched as to be unworthy of insulting you—even if you could endure it, look at the empty jars at the bottom. How could I support a wife?" The woman merely said, "Do not worry." As she spoke, she turned her head, and he saw that a felt mat, quilt, and bedding had already been laid on the bed. Just as he was about to question this, in another instant he saw the whole room covered in silver paper, bright as a mirror, and all the objects had been transformed. The tables and stands were exquisite and clean, and dishes and wine were laid out together. Thereupon they drank joyfully together. At dusk, they lay together in intimacy, like husband and wife. The master of the house, having heard of the marvel, requested to see her, and the woman came out to meet him without the slightest sign of embarrassment. From then on, word spread in all directions, and many people came to his door. The woman refused none of them. When banquets were held to invite her, she would always come together with her husband. One day, a provincial graduate among the guests secretly harbored lascivious thoughts. The woman knew it at once and suddenly rebuked him. She pushed his head with her hand; his head went out beyond the window frame while his body remained in the room, unable to move in any direction. After they all pleaded for mercy, she pulled him out. More than a year passed, and visitors came with increasing frequency. The woman grew rather weary of it. Those she refused would curse Zhao. On the Dragon Boat Festival, as they were drinking at a high gathering, a white hare suddenly leapt in. The woman rose and said, "The Medicine-Gathering Old Man has come to summon me!" She said to the hare, "Please go ahead." The hare darted out and went straight away. The woman told Zhao to fetch a ladder. Zhao brought a long ladder from behind the house, several zhang high. In the courtyard there was a large tree, so he leaned the ladder against it; the ladder rose even higher than the treetop. The woman climbed first, and Zhao followed. The woman looked back and said: "If any relatives or guests wish to follow, they should come at once." The crowd looked at each other and dared not climb. Only the master's young servant eagerly followed behind. Up and they went, ever higher, until the ladder ended and they joined the clouds, no longer to be seen. They all looked at the ladder and saw it was merely an old broken door, stripped of its white planks. The crowd entered his room: the ash-covered walls and ruined stove were as before, and there was nothing else. They still thought that when the servant returned, they could ask him, but in the end he was never seen again.

Liu Quan

**Translation**

**The Ox Doctor of Zouping**

Niu, an ox doctor of Zouping, carried a meal to the farmhands in the fields. When he reached the countryside, a whirlwind spun up before him. Niu at once ladled out a libation with his dipper and prayed, pouring it out as an offering. After several ladles, the wind departed.

Later, he visited the City God Temple and was pacing leisurely beneath the corridor when he noticed the statue of Liu Quan Offering Melons inside, its eyes smeared and obscured with bird droppings. Niu said, "Elder Brother Liu, how did you come to suffer this defilement?" He then used his fingernails to scrape it clean.

A few years after this, he fell ill and lay in bed. Two lictors in black seized him and carried him away. At the yamen gate, they pressed him harshly for money and bribes. Niu was at his wits' end when suddenly a man in a green robe emerged from inside. Seeing Niu, he said in surprise, "Elder Hou, what brings you here?" Niu told him everything.

The green-robed man rebuked the two black-clad lictors: "This is your Lord Hou! How dare you be discourteous!" The lictors mumbled apologies, admitting their ignorance.

Soon, a thunderous drum was heard. The green-robed man said, "The morning session has begun." He entered together with Niu, had him stand below the steps, and said, "Wait here for now. I will inquire into this for you." He then ascended the hall, beckoned with his hand, and summoned a clerk down, speaking a few words to him. The clerk clasped his hands toward Niu and said, "Elder Brother Hou, you've come, haven't you? It's nothing serious. A horse has filed a complaint; one hearing and you can go back." He then took his leave.

A moment later, Niu's name was called from the hall. Niu stepped forward and knelt. A horse knelt beside him. The magistrate asked Niu, "The horse says you killed it with your medicine. Is this true?" Niu replied, "It had a pestilential fever, and I treated it with a fever prescription. The medicine did not cure it, and it died the following day. What does this have to do with me?" The horse spoke in human words, and the two quarreled bitterly.

The magistrate ordered the registry examined. The register recorded the horse's allotted lifespan and the year, month, and day it was destined to die — the figures matched exactly. The magistrate rebuked the horse: "Your allotted span was already exhausted. How dare you bring a false accusation!" He drove it away with a scolding.

Then he said to Niu, "Your heart is inclined toward helping others; you may not die." He ordered the two black-clad lictors to escort Niu back. The two also came out together with him and were instructed to treat him well on the journey.

Niu said, "Today I have received your protection, but in truth I have never known you before. Please tell me your name and surname, so that I may repay your kindness."

The green-robed man said: "Three years ago, I was traveling from Mount Tai, parched and dying of thirst. I passed by your village, and you gave me a dipper of libation to drink. I have never forgotten it to this day."

The clerk said: "I am Liu Quan. Before, when the bird droppings covered me, I suffered unbearably. You cleaned them away with your own hand. That is why I have been so grateful. But food and wine in the underworld cannot be offered to guests. I must take my leave now."

Niu only then understood. He returned home. When he arrived, he courteously invited the two black-clad lictors to stay. They did not dare drink even a cup of water from him.

Niu regained consciousness. In fact, he had been dead for over two days. From then on, he redoubled his efforts to do good. Whenever a festival came, he would offer wine and libation to Liu Quan. At the age of eighty, he was still vigorous and strong, able to leap onto a galloping horse.

One day, on the road, he saw Liu Quan riding a horse, as if about to travel far away. After they exchanged greetings, Liu said, "Your lifespan is exhausted. The summons has already been issued. The summoning officers wish to call you, but I have forbidden them from doing so. You may go home and settle your affairs. In three days, I will come to accompany you. I have purchased a minor post for you in the underworld — it is not a hardship." He then departed.

Niu returned home and told his wife and children. He summoned relatives and friends to bid them farewell, and coffins and burial clothes were all prepared. On the fourth day, at dusk, he said to the assembled people, "Elder Brother Liu has come." He entered the coffin and died.

**Earth Transforms into Rabbits**

When Marquis of Jingni, Zhang Yong, was garrisoning Lanzhou, he went out hunting and caught many rabbits. Among them, some had half their bodies or two hind legs still made of earth. For a time, people in Qinzhong vied to spread the word that earth could transform into rabbits. This, too, is a phenomenon beyond rational explanation.

**The Bird Messenger**

Shi Wucheng of Yuancheng was at home when suddenly a bird alighted on his roof, its color resembling that a crow. Shi saw it and told his family: "My wife has sent a bird messenger to summon me. Prepare the funeral arrangements quickly — I shall die on such-and-such a day." When that day came, he died.

On the day of the funeral, the crow arrived again, following the coffin in slow flight, from Yuancheng to Xin. When the interment was completed, the coffin disappeared. Wu Muxin of Changshan witnessed this with his own eyes.

**Master Ji**

# From *Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio* (Volume 12)

A certain Mr. E of Nanyang was plagued by a fox spirit. Money and goods were constantly stolen from him. When he offended it, its curse grew even worse. Mr. E had a nephew, Master Ji, a scholar of unbridled character, who burned prayers and incense on his uncle's behalf, entreating the fox to cease, but received no response. He then prayed that the fox might visit his own household, but again received no response. Everyone laughed at him. Ji said, "The fox can perform transformations and must possess a human heart. I shall draw it in and guide it toward the path of righteousness." Every few days he would go and pray again. Though he saw no sign of success, wherever Ji went, the fox ceased its disturbances. For this reason, Mr. E often had Ji stay the night. Ji would gaze into the empty air at night and request an audience, his invitations growing ever more insistent. One day, Ji returned and sat alone in his study when the door slowly opened of its own accord. Ji rose and bowed respectfully, saying, "Brother Fox, have you come?" But there was only silence. Another night, the door opened by itself. Ji said, "If Brother Fox has deigned to descend, he is precisely the one I have prayed and entreated. Why not grant me the light of his presence?" Yet again, there was only silence. On his desk lay two hundred coins, and by morning they were gone. Ji came at night and added several hundred more. At midnight, he heard a clinking sound from behind the bed curtain. Ji said, "Have you come? I respectfully offer several hundred in copper for your use. Though I am not wealthy, I am not miserly. If you have urgent need, you need only speak plainly—why resort to stealing?" After a moment, he looked and found that two hundred coins had been taken. Ji left the remainder where it had been, and for several nights nothing more was lost. A cooked chicken, intended for a guest, was stolen. Ji came at evening and added wine as well, but from then on the fox ceased to appear altogether. The E household continued to be plagued as before. Ji went and prayed again, saying, "I set out money and you will not take it; I set out wine and you will not drink it. My aged grandfather should not be tormented any longer. I have prepared humble offerings, and tonight I shall leave them for you to take as you please." He placed ten thousand coins, a jar of wine, and two chickens, finely sliced, upon a table. Ji lay down beside it, but the entire night passed in silence, and the money and goods remained untouched. Strange disturbances from the fox ceased entirely thereafter.

One evening, Ji returned late and opened the door to his study. On the table he found a pot of wine, a plate heaped with roasted chicken, and four hundred coins strung together on a red cord—precisely the items that had been lost before. He knew this was the fox's repayment. The wine smelled fragrant; when poured, it was emerald green in color, and when tasted, it was exquisitely smooth. Having drunk half the pot and reached a state of pleasant intoxication, he suddenly felt a surge of greed arise in his heart and was seized by the impulse to become a thief. He opened the door and went out. Thinking of a wealthy household in the village, he went and scaled their wall. Though the wall was high, he leaped up and down as though he had wings. He entered their study and stole a marten-fur coat and a golden tripod, then returned home. He placed them at the bedside and lay down to sleep. At dawn, he carried them into the inner quarters. His wife asked in alarm where they had come from, and Ji stammered out the answer with a pleased expression. His wife said in horror, "You have always been upright and honest—why have you suddenly become a thief?" Ji remained calm and unperturbed, recounting the fox's act of kindness. His wife suddenly understood and said, "It must be the fox's poison in the wine!" She thought that cinnabar could dispel evil and ground some into wine, which she made Ji drink. Shortly afterward, Ji suddenly cried out, "How could I have committed theft!" His wife explained the circumstances for him, and he was overcome with bewilderment and shame. Meanwhile, word spread through the neighborhood that the wealthy household had been robbed. Ji went without food all day, not knowing what to do. His wife devised a plan: he should wait for night and throw the stolen goods back over the wall into the wealthy household's compound. Ji did as she suggested. The wealthy household recovered their original possessions, and the matter was dropped.

Ji took first place in the annual examination and was also awarded You rank, entitling him to double rewards. On the day of the results, a notice was found pasted upon a beam in the provincial examination office: "Ji So-and-so committed theft, stealing a fur coat and tripod from So-and-so's household. Why is he being awarded You rank?" The beam was extremely high—no one could have reached it by standing on tiptoe. The Literary Governor was suspicious and seized the notice to question Ji. Ji was astounded, thinking that apart from his wife, no one knew of the affair; moreover, the office was deeply secluded—how could anyone have gotten there? He suddenly understood and said, "This must be the fox's doing." He then recounted everything without concealment, and the Literary Governor rewarded and honored him even more generously. Ji often reflected to himself: he had given the fox no cause for offense. The reason it had repeatedly ensnared him was simply the petty man's shame at being the only petty man.

The Historian of Strange Tales says: "Ji sought to guide the wicked toward righteousness, but was instead bewitched by wickedness. The fox's intentions were perhaps not greatly evil—perhaps Ji drew it in with jest, and the fox toyed with him in return. Yet had he not possessed karmic roots from a former life and a virtuous wife at home, how different might the outcome have been from what Yuan She once described—'a widow of the family, once defiled by a robber, then proceeding to licentiousness!' Alas! How frightening!"

Wu Muxin says: "In the year Jiaxu of the Kangxi reign, a provincial examiner in Zhejiang reviewed the prisoners. There was a thief who had already been tattooed and was, by regulation, to be expelled and released. The examiner disliked the fact that the character for 'thief' had been written in a reduced-stroke popular form rather than the official standard form, and had it scraped off. After the wound healed, he had it re-tattooed according to the strokes and form in the character dictionary. The thief improvised a quatrain: 'I hold the mirror and look carefully—fresh blood drips in mottled streaks upon the old scars. Had I known such suffering would come again to my face, I would have guarded against a literate magistrate before stealing.' The jailers laughed and said, 'A poet who does not seek scholarly honor, yet became a thief!' The thief improvised another reply: 'In youth I studied the Way and aspired to honor, but a lifetime was wasted by poverty. I hoped to lend capital and earn interest, to roam the markets of Yan and win glory.' Judging by this, a scholar who becomes a thief is still driven by the ambition for official advancement. The fox provided Master Ji with the means for advancement, yet Ji regretted having been led astray—how absurd! A laugh."

# Retribution

A certain scholar of Anqiu was skilled in divination. He was dissolute and unrestrained in his conduct. Whenever he intended to tunnel through walls or climb over fences for illicit purposes, he would first consult the oracle. One day he suddenly fell ill, and medicine had no effect. He said, "I have truly seen something. The powers of the underworld are enraged at my profanation of Heaven's secrets and will visit severe punishment upon me—what can medicine do?" Before long, he went blind in both eyes, and both his hands broke of their own accord.

A certain man named Jia had an uncle who was childless. Jia, coveting his uncle's wealth, volunteered to be his heir. After the uncle died, Jia seized all the property and reneged on his prior commitment. Jia also had another uncle who was quite prosperous and likewise childless. Jia then became his father in name. When that uncle died, Jia again betrayed him. Thus he absorbed the wealth of three households and became the richest man in the district. One day he fell violently ill, as though possessed, and spoke to himself saying: "Would you enjoy riches and yet live?" He took a sharp blade and cut flesh from his body, flinging piece after piece to the ground. Then he said: "You have cut off others' posterity—do you still wish to have posterity yourself?" He slit his abdomen and his entrails spilled out, and he died. Before long, his son also died, and his property passed to others. Such is the retribution of karma—truly dreadful!

# Gongsun Xia

# From *Liaozhai Zhiyi*, Volume 12

In Baoding there was a certain Provincial Student who was preparing to go to the capital to purchase an appointment, hoping to obtain a county magistracy. He was just making his preparations when he fell ill, and for over a month he could not rise. Suddenly a servant boy entered and said, "A guest has arrived." The student, forgetting his illness, hastened out to greet the visitor. The guest was richly dressed and looked like a man of rank. After three bows they entered the house, and the student asked whence he had come.

The guest said, "I am Gongsun Xia, a retainer of the Eleventh Prince. I hear you are preparing to purchase a county magistracy. Since you have this ambition, would not a prefecture be even better?"

The student humbly demurred, saying, "My funds are slender; I dare not harbor extravagant hopes."

The guest offered to lend his assistance, saying that if the student would put up half the sum, the rest could be made up from his post after appointment. Delighted, the student asked for his plan.

The guest said, "The Governor-General and the Provincial Governor are both my closest friends. If you can temporarily raise five thousand strings of cash, the matter can be accomplished. At present there is a vacancy in Zhending, which can be sought without delay."

The student was surprised that it was in the same province. The guest laughed and said, "You are too narrow-minded! So long as you have money in hand, why worry whether it is Wu or Yue, native place or foreign land?"

The student remained hesitant, doubting this was anything but an absurd scheme. The guest said, "Have no misgivings. I will tell you plainly: this is a vacancy for City God in the underworld. Your lifespan is exhausted, and your name has already been entered in the register of the dead. If you arrange this now, you can still attain high rank among the shades."

He rose to take his leave, saying, "You must think it over yourself. I shall return in three days." Then he went out, mounted his horse, and departed. The student suddenly opened his eyes and bade a final farewell to his wife. He ordered his hoarded cash brought out and purchased ten thousand bundles of paper ingots, so that the entire prefecture was emptied of them. He piled them in the courtyard, along with straw effigies and paper horses, and burned them day and night until the ashes rose as high as a hill.

On the third day, the guest arrived as promised. The student handed over the funds, and the guest led him to the official bureau, where a dignified official sat upon a dais. The student prostrated himself and bowed. The official briefly examined his name and then exhorted him with words about "integrity and prudence." He then took a certificate of appointment and called the student forward to receive it. The student kowtowed and left the bureau.

Reflecting that as a mere Provincial Student of low rank, he would lack the carriages and robes needed to overawe his subordinates, he thereupon purchased additional carriages and horses. He also sent ghostly servants in a decorated sedan chair to welcome his beautiful concubine. When all these arrangements were complete, the official escort from Zhending arrived. For over a hundred *li*, one continuous procession stretched along the road, and the student was mightily pleased.

Suddenly the front riders sounded their gongs no more and lowered his banners. Alarmed and bewildered, he saw all the horsemen dismount and prostrate themselves along the roadside—the men shrunk to a foot tall, the horses no bigger than wildcats. The man in front of the carriage cried out in terror, "Lord Guan has arrived!"

The student, frightened, descended from his carriage and also prostrated himself. In the distance he saw the Lord of War attended by four or four or five riders, approaching at a leisurely pace. His beard was abundant, encircling his cheeks, not as in the images the world makes of him; his expression was fierce and majestic, his eyes nearly reaching his ears. From horseback he asked, "What official is this?"

His attendants replied, "The Prefect of Zhending."

The Lord of War said, "A mere prefecture—how can it justify such pomp!"

Hearing this, the student shuddered from head to toe; his body suddenly shrank, and when he looked at himself he was no bigger than a six- or seven-year-old child. The Lord of War told him to rise and follow on foot in the track of his horse.

By the roadside there was a temple hall. The Lord of War entered and sat facing south. He ordered writing materials brought and told the student to write out his place of origin and name. When the student had written them and submitted them, the Lord of War looked at them and said angrily, "The characters are sloppy and barely recognizable! This is nothing but a petty tradesman—how could he be entrusted with the governance of the people!"

He then ordered the student's record of merits to be examined. A man at his side knelt and reported something, though what he said could not be heard. The Lord of War said sternly, "The crime of seeking office is minor; the crime of selling rank is grave!"

Presently a golden-armored god appeared, binding the student with chains and leading him away. Two men seized him, stripped off his cap and robes, and gave him fifty blows with the bamboo until the flesh of his buttocks nearly fell away, then drove him out the gate.

He looked around: carriages and horses had all vanished. Unable to walk from the pain, he lay down among the grass. Looking carefully at where he found himself, he discovered he was not far from home. Fortunately his body was light as a leaf, and after a full day and night he reached home. It was as if he had awakened from a dream, moaning upon his bed. His family gathered and asked what was wrong; he said only that his thighs were sore. He had been in a deathlike trance for seven days, and only now did he wake.

He asked, "Why hasn't A Lian come?"—this was his concubine's pet name. Earlier, A Lian had been sitting chatting when suddenly she said, "He is now the Prefect of Zhending, and his servants have come to fetch me." She then went into her chamber to adorn herself beautifully; when her toilet was complete, she died—it had been only one night. The family told him this strange occurrence. The student beat his chest in remorse and ordered the corpse not to be buried, hoping she might return. For several days there was no sign, and then they buried her.

The student's illness gradually improved, but the sores on his thighs grew terribly severe; it was half a year before he could rise. He often said to himself, "My official funds are entirely consumed, and I was wantonly punished in the underworld—this I can endure. But my beloved concubine—I do not know where she was taken. Those quiet nights are what I cannot bear."

---

The Collector of Strange Tales says: "Alas! Truly a petty tradesman is not fit to sit in the south-facing seat of authority! Since there are such threads of corruption in the underworld, I fear that even where the Master's horse-track does not reach, those who wield power and dispense favors are too numerous to be punished. My townsman Mr. Guo Huaye recorded an event somewhat similar to this—a god among men, one might say. Mr. Guo, known for his uprightness, won the sovereign's favor and was reappointed as Governor-General of Jing and Chu. His baggage was modest, with only four or five attendants following him, their clothes and shoes all worn and shabby. People along the road had no idea he was a man of rank.

"It happened that a new magistrate was proceeding to his post, and their paths crossed. The magistrate had over twenty camel-drawn carriages, dozens of outriders, and a retinue of attendants numbering in the hundreds. Mr. Guo had no idea what office this man held; sometimes he rode ahead, sometimes behind, sometimes mingling several of his riders with the other's vanguard. The magistrate's front riders were angered by this disturbance and shouted at them to keep away. Mr. Guo paid them no heed.

"Before long they reached a large town and both parties stopped to rest. Mr. Guo then sent someone to make secret inquiries and learned that this man was a Provincial Student who had purchased an appointment and was proceeding to Hunan. He sent a messenger to summon the magistrate to him. The magistrate, hearing the summons, was astonished and suspicious. When he asked about the official's rank and lineage and learned it was Mr. Guo, he was terrified and did not know where to hide his shame. He came forward on his knees in full cap and robes.

"Mr. Guo asked, 'Are you the magistrate of such-and-such a county?'

"He replied, 'Yes.'

"Mr. Guo said, 'A mere county—how can it support such a multitude of attendants? Once you assume office, the whole district will be plunged into misery! I cannot allow you to bring calamity to the people. You may turn back at once and go no further.'

"The magistrate kowtowed and said, 'Your subordinate still has his certificate of appointment.'

"Mr. Guo ordered him to produce the certificate. After examining it, he said, 'This is a trifle—I can return it on your behalf.'

"The magistrate crawled out on his knees and returned to his quarters, not knowing what to make of his feelings, while Mr. Guo continued on his way. Here is a man who received his final assessment before even assuming office—truly something unheard of before. But Mr. Guo was an extraordinary man, and so one can believe such a remarkable thing actually happened."

Han Fang

In the final years of the Ming, a pestilence raged through several counties north of Ji, afflicting every household without exception. A farmer of Qidong named Han Fang was a man of the most devoted filial piety. When both his father and mother fell ill, he prepared paper money and silks, and went to the temple of the Lord of Lone Stone to weep and pray. On his way home, his tears still falling, he met a man dressed in clean and proper attire, who asked, "Why do you grieve?" Han told him everything. The man said, "The spirit of Lone Stone has no power here—what good will praying to him do? I possess a small art that you may try." Han was overjoyed and asked the man's name and origins. The man replied, "I seek no reward—why must you know where I come from?" Han earnestly invited him to his home. The man said, "There is no need. Only go back, place yellow paper on the bed, and speak in a stern voice: 'Tomorrow I go to the capital to report you to the Emperor of the Sacred Peak!' The illness will then cease." Han, fearing it might not work, pressed the man to come in person. The man said, "I will tell you plainly: I am not a man. The Inspector of the Circuit, moved by my sincerity and earnestness, appointed me the Earth God of Nanxiang. I am moved by your filial piety and so instruct you in this method. At present, the Emperor of the Sacred Peak is reviewing the cases of those who died unjustly. Those who have rendered service to the people, or who were upright and did not practice evil, are being appointed as City Gods or Earth Gods. The ones who now plague the people are all ghosts of soldiers killed north of the county seat. They are in haste to reach the capital to present their own cases, and so along the road they extort offerings merely to fill their mouths. If you tell them you will report them to the Emperor of the Sacred Peak, they will surely be frightened, and so the illness will cease." Han was struck with awe and respect, and prostrated himself on the ground in thanks. When he rose, the man had vanished. Marveling, he returned home. He followed the instructions, and both his parents recovered. He passed the method on to neighboring villages, and it never failed.

The Historian of Strange Matters says: "To plague people along the road in order to seek an appointment as one who does not practice evil—how is this different from riding a horse to sit for an examination in 'the category of those who seek neither fame and nor prominence'? The affairs of this world are for the most part of this kind. I recall that between the years jiaxu and yihai, those in office made the people contribute grain, and in their memorials to the throne stated that the people offered it gladly. Thereupon each county and prefecture exacted the full amount, resorting to severe beatings. At that time the seven counties north of the prefecture had suffered flooding, the harvest was poor, and collection was especially difficult. Historian Tang happened to visit Lijin and saw more than ten men in bonds. He asked, "What is this about?" They replied, "The officials have seized us to take us to the city, to press us for the 'glad contribution.'" The farmers did not understand what the words "glad contribution" meant, and so took it to be the name for corvée labor and beating—was this not both lamentable and laughable!"

Zhenzhen

Yu Xiaosi was a native of Dongchang, a merchant by trade. His wife, Xia, had returned from a visit to her natal home when she saw an old woman weeping bitterly outside the gate, accompanied by a young girl. Xia asked the cause. The old woman wiped her tears and told her story. Their family head was Wang Xinzhai, himself descended from an official lineage. The family had fallen into ruin and lacked any means of livelihood. Through a guarantor, they had borrowed money from the wealthy Huang family to engage as merchants. On the road they were set upon by bandits and lost their capital, though they escaped with their lives. When they returned home, Huang demanded repayment. Counting principal and interest, the debt came to no less than thirty taels of silver—yet they had nothing to offer in payment. Huang had noticed that the woman's daughter, Renzhen, was beautiful and proposed to take her as a concubine. Through the guarantor he sent word: if the family would consent, he would forgive the debt and, in addition, pay twenty taels as a betrothal pledge.

Wang discussed this with his wife. She wept and said: "Though we are poor, we are still of a family of caps and tassels—a family of rank. That man rose from a humble station; how dare he presume to make a concubine of my daughter! Besides, Renzhen is already betrothed—how can you make such a decision on your own!" It happened that in the same county, the son of a certain Provincial Graduate Fu had been close friends with Wang. When a son, Amao, was born to the Fu family, the two had arranged a betrothal even while the child was still in swaddling clothes. Later the Provincial Graduate took up an official post in Fujian and died there after a little over a year. His wife and son were unable to return home, and all news of them was lost. For this reason, Renzhen, though now fifteen, was still unmarried. His wife having said this, Wang had no reply—he could only think of some plan. His wife said: "If there is no other way, try speaking to my two younger brothers." Her maiden name was Fan; her grandfather had held a post in the capital, and her two nephews still owned considerable property.

The next day, Wang's wife took her daughter to her brothers and told them the whole story. The two brothers let her weep and plead, but neither offered a single word of help. Fan returned home wailing. It was then that Xia came to question her, and she poured out her grief while weeping. Xia pitied them. She looked at the girl—graceful and lovable—and felt all the more sorrowful. She invited them into her home, served them food and wine, and comforted them, saying: "Do not grieve, mother and daughter. I shall do all I can." Before Fan could even thank her, the girl had thrown herself to the ground weeping, and Xia's heart ached all the more. She thought to herself: "Though I have some savings, thirty taels is still a great deal. I shall pawn what I can and give it to you." Mother and daughter bowed their thanks. Xia set an agreement of three days.

After they left, she tried every means to raise the money, not daring to tell her husband. In three days the sum was not yet complete; she sent to borrow from Fan's mother. When Fan and her daughter arrived, Xia told them the truth and set the next day. By evening the borrowed money was delivered. She bundled it together and placed it by her bed.

That night a thief broke through the wall and entered with a torch. Xia woke and watched from the corner of her eye. She saw a man with a short knife strapped across his arm, his appearance fierce and terrible. Terrified, she dared not make a sound, pretending to be asleep. The thief approached the chest, meaning to break the lock. Then he turned and saw the bundle by Xia's pillow. He reached out and snatched it, untied it by the lamp—then tucked it into his waist pouch and left without troubling the chest.

Xia rose and cried out. There was only a young maidservant in the house. They called over the wall to the neighbors, and the neighbors gathered—but the thief was already far away. Xia sat by the lamp and wept. Seeing the maid fast asleep, she knotted a sash and hanged herself from the window lattice.

At dawn the maid woke, called for help, and they cut her down—but her limbs were already cold. When Yu heard the news and rushed to the scene, he questioned the maid and learned the truth. In grief, he prepared the burial. It was summer; the body neither stiffened nor decayed. After seven days, they placed her in the coffin.

After the burial, Renzhen slipped out secretly and went to weep at Xia's grave. Suddenly a violent storm gathered, thunder and lightning crashed, the tomb was broken open, and Renzhen was struck dead by lightning. When Yu heard this, he ran to examine the scene—the coffin lid was already open, and his wife was groaning inside. He carried her out. He saw the girl's body but did not know who she was. Xia looked closely and recognized her. They were both filled in amazement. Before long, Fan arrived. Seeing that her daughter was dead, she cried: "I suspected she would be here—and now it is so! I heard your lady hanged herself and have wept without ceasing night and day. Tonight she told me she wished to weep at the burial chamber, but I did not agree."

Xia was moved by her devotion. She spoke to her husband, and they buried Renzhen in the same coffin and grave. Fan bowed her thanks. Yu carried his wife home, and Fan returned to tell her husband.

They heard that a man in the north of the village had been struck dead by lightning on the road, with characters on his body: "The thief who stole Mistress Xia's gold." Soon they heard the weeping of a neighbor's wife—and learned that the man struck by lightning was her husband, Ma Da. The villagers reported this to the authorities, who arrested and interrogated the wife under torture. It came out that Fan, grateful to Xia for raising the money to redeem her daughter, had spoken of it with emotion in front of others. Ma Da, a wastrel and gambler, had heard of it and conceived the thought of stealing.

The official ordered a search of the wife's house for the stolen goods; only some twenty taels remained. On examining Ma's corpse, they found four more. The official sentenced the wife to be sold to make up the difference and return the money to Yu. Xia was overjoyed. She gave the full sum back to Fan, so that she might repay the creditor.

Three days after the girl's burial, a great thunderstorm arose with wind. The grave was broken open again, and Renzhen suddenly came back to life. She did not return to her own home but went instead and knocked on Xia's door—she had recognized the grave and supposed Xia had also been revived. Xia rose in alarm and asked through the door. The girl said: "Is the lady truly alive? I am Renzhen." Xia, terrified that she was a ghost, called a neighbor woman to question her. Learning that she had truly been revived, she joyfully brought her inside.

The girl said: "I wish to serve you as a servant and never return home." Xia replied: "You must not think I spent the money to buy a slave! After your burial, your debt was already repaid on your behalf—you need have no such suspicion." The girl wept all the more gratefully and wished to treat her as a mother. Xia would not allow it. The girl said: "I can work—I will not eat my bread in idleness."

At daybreak, she told Fan. Fan was delighted and came at once. She agreed to the girl's wish and entrusted her to Xia. When Fan left, Xia tried to send the girl back. The girl wept, longing for Xia. Wang Xinzhai came in person, carrying his daughter, and left her at the door before going away. Xia, startled, asked what had happened and learned the truth, and so let matters rest.

When the girl saw Yu arrive, she hurried forward to kneel and called him "Father." Yu had no children, and seeing the girl so tender and endearing, he was greatly pleased. She spun, wove, and sewed with the utmost diligence. Once when Xia fell gravely ill, the girl waited on her day and night. When she saw that Xia would not eat, she would not eat either, and tears often marked her face. She told others: "If my mother should die, I swear I will not live again!" Only when Xia began to recover did she finally smile. Xia heard this and wept, saying: "I am forty and childless. If I could have a daughter like Renzhen, it would be enough."

Xia had never borne a child, yet the following year she suddenly gave birth to a son. People regarded this as the reward of her good deeds.

Two years passed, and the girl grew. Yu and Wang discussed the matter and felt they could no longer uphold the old betrothal. Wang said: "The girl is in your household—her marriage is for you to decide."

At seventeen, Renzhen was matchless in grace and beauty. Word spread, and those seeking her hand crowded at the gate. The couple chose carefully among them. The wealthy Huang also sent a matchmaker. Yu detested him for his wealth without virtue and firmly refused. They settled on the Feng family. Feng was a noted gentleman of the county, and his son was intelligent and gifted in letters. They were about to inform Wang, but he had gone out trading and had not yet returned, so they went ahead directly—

He agreed. Huang, having failed with Yu, also posed as a merchant, tracked down Wang's whereabouts, prepared a banquet to invite him, and further supplied him with capital, gradually building a close rapport. He then introduced his own son, praising him as a worthy match, to propose the marriage himself. Wang, moved by his sincerity and impressed by his wealth, agreed to a betrothal alliance. Upon returning, Wang went to Yu's house, only to learn that Yu had already accepted a marriage proposal from the Feng family the previous day. When Wang related his own arrangement, Yu was displeased. He called his daughter out and told her the situation. The indignant young woman said, "The creditor is my enemy! To marry me to my enemy—I would sooner die than submit!" Wang, ashamed, sent someone to inform Huang of the Feng family's prior agreement. Huang angrily replied, "The girl is of the Wang family, not the Yu family. My agreement came first; theirs came second. How can they break faith?" He then brought the matter before the county magistrate, who ruled in Huang's favor based on the earlier agreement. Feng objected, saying, "Wang entrusted the girl to Yu, explicitly stating he would no longer involve himself in her marriage. Moreover, I have a formal betrothal document—his was merely a verbal promise over wine." The magistrate could not decide and intended to abide by the girl's own wishes. Huang then bribed the magistrate to rule in his favor, and so the case remained unresolved for over a month.

One day, a provincial graduate traveling north to the capital passed through Dongchang and sent someone to inquire after Wang Xinzhai. The inquiry happened to reach Yu, who questioned him further. It turned out that the graduate was surnamed Fu—none other than Amao. He had registered in Fujian, had passed the provincial examination at eighteen, and had remained unmarried due to his prior engagement. His mother had instructed him to visit Wang along the way and inquire whether the girl had been betrothed to another. Yu was overjoyed and invited Fu to his home, recounting everything that had happened. However, the son-in-law had traveled several thousand li and feared he lacked proof. Fu opened his case and produced the written betrothal agreement Wang had given that day. Yu summoned Wang to verify it, and it confirmed the truth of the matter, so they all rejoiced together. That day, the case was brought before the magistrate for reexamination. Fu presented his card and called upon the magistrate, and the case was at last dismissed. Fu set a date for the wedding and then departed. After the metropolitan examination, he purchased silk and other goods and returned, taking up residence in his old quarters to perform the wedding ceremony. News of his success as a jinshi reached Fujian, then reached Dongchang. Fu had also passed the Palace Examination. He went to the capital for official training and then returned.

The woman was reluctant to move south, and Fu, whose ancestral graves required tending, went alone to escort his father's coffin and bring his mother back with him. Several years later, Yu passed away, leaving a son only seven or eight years old. The woman raised this boy with even greater care than her own younger brother. She ensured he received an education and gained admission to the county school. The family became prosperous and comfortable—all through Fu's efforts.

The Historian of the Strange remarks: "Do divine dragons also have their champions of justice? To reward virtue and punish vice, to decide life and death with the force of thunder—this is the 'Qiantang Battle Array Dance.' Again and again the thunder peals, all for the sake of one person. Who knows but that Zhenzhen was a dragon princess sent down to the mortal world?"

Huanhou

In Jingzhou, there was a man named Peng Haoshi. One evening, he was returning home after drinking at a friend's house. He dismounted to relieve himself, and while he was occupied, his horse grazed on the grass by the roadside. There grew a small clump of delicate grass, soft and lovely to behold, with newly opened yellow flowers whose brilliant color dazzled the eye. The horse had already eaten more than half of it. Peng pulled up the remaining stems and sniffed them; they gave off a strange fragrance, so he tucked them into his bosom. Then he mounted and rode on.

The horse galloped at a tremendous speed, and Peng felt exhilarated. He gave no thought to the distance home but let the horse go wherever it pleased. Suddenly he saw the setting sun near the mountains and began to consider turning back. But looking around, he saw only a tangled mass of mountains and had no idea where he was. A man in blue robes approached; seeing the horse snorting and neighing, he took hold of the bridle and said, "The sky is already near dark. My master invites you to stay the night."

Peng asked, "What place is this?"

"Langzhong," the man replied.

Peng was greatly alarmed, for in half a day he had traveled over a thousand li. He asked, "Who is your master?"

"You will know when we arrive."

"Where is he?"

"Right at hand." Then the man took the reins and walked swiftly, man and horse flying along as if on wings. They passed over a hilltop, and Peng saw dwellings clustered halfway up the mountain, interspersed with screens and curtains. In the distance he glimpsed a crowd of people in caps and robes, as if waiting for something.

When Peng arrived and dismounted, they bowed to each other respectfully. Presently the master appeared—his bearing fierce and imposing, his headgear and clothing unlike anything in the mortal world. He clasped his hands and addressed the guests: "Today, no guest has come from farther than Master Peng." He bowed to Peng and invited him to go first. Peng declined with thanks, not daring to proceed ahead of the others. The master seized his arm and led him forward. Where the master gripped him, Peng felt as though shackled in iron, the pain so sharp he thought his arm would break. He dared not resist again and went along. The guests behind them still tried to yield to one another, but the master either pushed or pulled them, and they all groaned and stumbled, seeming unable to endure it, each following the master's will.

When they ascended the hall, the furnishings were dazzlingly splendid. Each guest was seated at his own table. Peng quietly asked the man sitting beside him, "Who is the master?"

"This is Zhang Huanhou," the man replied.

Peng was thunderstruck and dared not cough. The entire company fell silent.

When the wine had been served, Zhang Huanhou said, "Year after year I have imposed upon my relatives and friends; I have prepared this modest banquet merely to express my humble feelings. That a distant guest should honor us with his presence is also a fortunate occurrence. I have a presumptuous request to make. If you bear me any affection, I will not press it."

Peng rose and asked, "What is it?"

"Your mount already possesses the bones of an immortal and cannot be driven by the mortal world. I wish to trade horses with you. What do you say?"

Peng said, "I would offer it to you as a gift; I dare not trade."

Zhang Huanhou said, "I shall repay you with a fine horse and will also bestow ten thousand in gold."

Peng left his seat and prostrated himself in thanks. Zhang Huanhou ordered someone to help him up.

Soon after, food and drink were served in abundance. When the sun set, candles were lit. The guests rose to take their leave, and Peng also bid farewell.

Zhang Huanhou said, "You have come from far away—how will you return?"

Peng looked at his fellow guest and said, "I have already asked this gentleman to be my host."

Zhang Huanhou then went around pledging each guest with a great goblet. To Peng he said: "The fragrant grass you carry—when fresh, it can confer immortality; when dried, it can turn things to gold. Seven stalks will yield ten thousand in gold." He immediately ordered a servant to bring out the formula and give it to Peng. Peng bowed again in thanks.

Zhang Huanhou said: "Tomorrow, go to the market and choose any fine horse from among the herd—do not haggle over the price; I will settle it myself." He also told the company: "The distant guest is returning home; you may each contribute a little for his expenses."

The guests all assented. When the wine was finished, they thanked him and departed. On the road, Peng at last asked his companion's name. The man was Liu Zihui. They traveled together for two or three li, crossed a ridge, and saw village houses. The other guests accompanied Peng to Liu's home and then related the strange events.

Previously, the village had held annual sacrifices at the temple of Huanhou, with the slaughter of animals and theatrical performances, as established custom, and Liu was the chief among the organizers. Three days earlier, the sacrificial rites had just been completed. That afternoon, each household had received an invitation from a messenger to go over the mountain. When questioned, the messenger's words had been vague, but he urged them very pressingly. When they crossed the mountain and saw the pavilions and lodgings, they were all bewildered and suspicious. Just as they reached the gate, the messenger told them the truth. Even so, none dared to turn back.

The messenger said, "Gather here for now; we are expecting a distant guest who is on his way." This was Peng. The guests recounted their astonishment. Those who had been seized by the master all suffered pain in their arms; they undressed and examined them by candlelight, and the skin and flesh were black and blue. Peng looked at his own arm and found the same. The guests dispersed, and Liu prepared bedding for him.

At dawn, the villagers vied to entertain the guest. They also accompanied Peng to the market to look at horses. For more than ten days, they examined dozens of horses, but none was satisfactory; Peng was prepared to settle for whatever he could find. On another visit to the market, he saw a horse whose bones seemed excellent. He mounted and tried it—its spirit and speed were incomparable. He rode it straight back to the village and waited for the seller, but when he went to find the man again, he had already left. So he took leave of the villagers to return home. Each villager gave him money for the journey, and he set off.

The horse could travel five hundred li in a day. When Peng arrived home, he told the story of where he had come from, but no one believed him. Only when he produced objects from his bag that were from Sichuan did they all marvel at it. The fragrant grass had long since dried—there were exactly seven stalks. Following the formula, he performed the transmutation, and his family became suddenly wealthy. He then reverently went to the old place and made offerings alone at the temple of Huanhou, with three days of theatrical performances, before returning.

The Historian of the Strange writes: "Having observed Zhang Huanhou's entertainment of his guests, one can then believe that the Wuyi Mountain pavilion was no fabrication. However, the host's stern treatment of his guests was such that those who received his favor nearly had their arms broken—one can imagine the ferocity of his strength in those days."

Wu Muxin relates: "There was a man named Li whose lips could not cover his front teeth, which protruded outward by a full finger's breadth. One day, at a banquet at a certain place, two guests were yielding precedence to each other, and their struggle was fierce. One pulled him forward with all his might; the other pushed him back with equal force. The force was so great that his elbow was dislocated. Li happened to be standing just behind him, and the elbow struck his mouth; both front teeth were knocked out, and blood poured down like a flood. Everyone was aghast, and the struggle ceased." This is of a piece with Zhang Huanhou's gripping of arms and breaking of limbs—equally a source of laughter.

Yang Yuedan was a native of Qiongzhou. Returning one day from a distant prefecture, he was sailing on the sea when his boat was struck by a typhoon and on the point of capsizing. Suddenly a derelict boat drifted near, and he leaped aboard it. Looking back, he saw that the vessel he had been in with his fellow passengers had already sunk. The wind grew ever fiercer, and he let himself be driven blindly through the darkness. Before long, the wind died down. Opening his eyes, he suddenly beheld an island with clusters of dwellings stretching in every direction. He took up the oars and pulled toward the shore, coming straight to the village gate. The village was silent. He walked and sat for a long while—not a cock crowed or a dog barked. He noticed a gate facing north, half-hidden by pines and bamboos. It was already early winter, yet within the walls he could not tell what flowers they were, with buds crowding every branch. His heart was delighted, and after some hesitation he went in. From afar he heard the sound of a zither, and his steps paused for a moment. A maid emerged from within, about fourteen or fifteen years old, elegant and beautiful beyond compare. Catching sight of Yang, she turned and hurried back inside. Soon the zither music ceased, and a young man came out, astonished, asking the guest whence he had come. Yang told him everything. The young man then inquired about Yang's lineage, and Yang told him that too. The young man said joyfully, "He is a relation by marriage!" and with a bow invited him into the courtyard.

The courtyard lodgings were exquisite and handsome, and once more the sound of a zither was heard. Entering the room, they found a young woman sitting with solemn dignity, her crimson strings just tuned. She appeared to be about eighteen or nineteen, her beauty radiant and resplendent. Seeing the guest enter, she pushed the zither away and was about to withdraw. The young man stopped her, saying, "Do not flee—this man is truly a connection of yours." He then recounted the circumstances. The young woman said, "He is my nephew." She therefore asked, "Is your grandmother still hale? How old are your parents now?" Yang said, "My parents are both over forty and in good health in every respect. Only my grandmother, who is sixty, suffers from a chronic illness and cannot take a single step without help. In truth, I do not know which branch of the family my aunt belongs to; I hope you will tell me clearly so that I may report it when I return." The young woman said, "The road is long, and communication has been cut off for a long time. When you return, simply tell your father, 'Your tenth sister sends her greetings,' and he will understand of himself." Yang asked, "Of what family is my uncle?" The young man said, "My surname is Yan, from Haiyu. This is called Immortal Island, three thousand li from Qiongzhou. I myself have not been settled here long."

Tenth Aunt came in and had the maid serve the guest wine and food. The delicacies were fresh and fragrant, though Yang could not tell what they were called. After the meal, they went out to admire the view, and Yang saw peaches and apricots budding in the garden, which struck him as strange. Yan said, "Here there is no great heat in summer and no great cold in winter; the flowers never cease." Yang said joyfully, "This is truly a fairyland. When I return I shall tell my parents, so that the family may move here and become neighbors." But Yan only smiled.

Returning to the study, candles were lit. Seeing a zither lying on the desk, Yang asked to hear a refined performance. Yan then plucked the strings and adjusted the bridges. Tenth Aunt emerged from within. Yan said, "Come, come! Play for your nephew." Tenth Aunt sat down and asked her nephew, "What would you like to hear?" Yang said, "Your nephew has never studied the zither repertoire; truly, I have no particular wish." Tenth Aunt said, "Just name anything at random, and it can be made into a tune." Yang smiled and said, "The sea wind that drove my boat—can that be made into a tune?" Tenth Aunt said, "It can." At once she struck the strings, as though following an old score. The mood and rhythm surged and crashed; listening in stillness, Yang felt as though he were still in the boat, tossed and buffeted by the typhoon. He was astonished beyond measure and asked, "Can it be learned?" Tenth Aunt placed the zither before him and had him try plucking and strumming. She said, "He can be taught. What would you like to learn?" He said, "The 'Typhoon Tune' just played—I wonder how many days it would take to learn? Please first write out the melody so I may recite it." Tenth Aunt said, "This has no written score; I composed it by feeling alone." She then took another zither and demonstrated the plucking and picking motions, bidding Yang imitate them. Yang practiced past the first watch of the night, and only when the notes were roughly in order did the husband and wife take their leave.

Yang fixed his eyes and concentrated his mind, playing by himself before the candle. After a long while, he suddenly attained a wondrous understanding and could not help but dance. Raising his head, he was startled to see the maid standing beneath the lamp. He said, "You are still here, then?" The maid smiled and said, "Tenth Aunt ordered me to wait until you had retired, then close the door and move the lamp." He looked at her closely—her eyes were clear as autumn water, her bearing enchanting beyond words. Yang's heart stirred and made a slight advance; the maid lowered her head with a smile. Yang was more captivated than ever and abruptly rose to embrace her by the neck. The maid said, "Not so! The night is already in its fourth watch; the master will soon rise. Since our hearts are alike, tomorrow evening will not be too late." Even as they were fondling each other, they heard Yan call, "Fen Die!" The maid turned pale and said, "We are undone!" and hurried away. Yang crept over to listen. He heard only Yan say, "I always said this maid's earthly attachments were not yet severed, and you insisted on keeping her. And now what has happened? She deserves three hundred strokes!" Tenth Aunt said, "Once this heart has stirred, she can no longer be employed as a servant. Better to give her to our nephew." Yang was deeply ashamed and fearful. He returned to his study, extinguished the candle, and lay down.

At dawn a boy came to attend him at his washing, but he saw Fen Die no more. His heart trembled with dread of being rebuked and expelled. Before long, Yan and Tenth Aunt appeared together, seemingly bearing no grudge. They proceeded to examine his progress. Yang played a piece. Tenth Aunt said, "Though it has not yet reached the divine, nine-tenths of it is there. With practice you may attain perfection." Yang asked to learn another piece. Yan taught him the tune "The Celestial Maiden's Banishment," whose fingering was intricate and difficult. He practiced for three days before he could play it through. Yan said, "The essentials are now complete; from here on, only practice is needed. Master these two tunes, and there will be no stubborn melody left in the zither."

Yang began to think of home and said to Tenth Aunt, "Living here, I have been most happy under your care. But my family must be anxious. Three thousand li from home—when shall I ever be able to return?" Tenth Aunt said, "That is not difficult. Your old boat is still here; I shall help you with a favoring wind. You have no wife, and I have already sent Fen Die to you." She then presented him with a zither. She also gave him medicine, saying, "When you return, use this to treat your grandmother. It will not only cure her illness but also prolong her life." She then escorted him to the shore and helped him aboard the boat. Yang looked for oars, but Tenth Aunt said, "You will have no need of those." She unwound her skirt to make a sail and fastened it for him. Yang feared losing his way, but Tenth Aunt said, "Do not worry—simply follow where the sail carries you." When all was secured, she stepped down into the boat. Yang, heavy-hearted, was about to bow farewell when a south wind sprang up in earnest, and the boat was already far from shore. He saw that provisions had been placed aboard, but they were only enough for a single day's meal, and he resented the stinginess. His hunger forbade him from eating much, lest the food be quickly exhausted; he ate only one sesame cake and found it sweet and fragrant through and through. The remaining six or seven he treasured and kept, and from then on he felt no hunger either.

Soon he saw the setting sun about to sink and regretted not having asked for lamp oil or candles when he left. In an instant, in the distance he saw signs of human habitation; looking closely, it was Qiongzhou. He was overjoyed. Very soon they neared the shore. He untied

She wrapped the cakes in her skirt and returned home. When she entered the door, the whole family was overjoyed, for she had been away from home for sixteen years. Only then did they learn that she had encountered an immortal. She saw that her grandmother was old, sick, and increasingly frail. She produced the medicine and administered it, and the chronic illness was immediately cured. They all marveled and questioned her, so she recounted what she had seen. The grandmother said tearfully, "That was your aunt." In the old days, the old lady had a youngest daughter named Shiniang, who was born with an immortal's grace and had been betrothed to the Yan family. Her husband had gone into the mountains at the age of sixteen and never returned. Shiniang waited until she was over twenty, then suddenly died without illness. She had been buried for more than thirty years. Upon hearing Dan's account, they all suspected that she had not truly died. When they produced the skirt, it was the very one she had always worn at home. They divided the cakes and ate them; a single cake sustained one all day without hunger, and their spirits were doubly renewed. The old lady ordered the grave to be opened for inspection, and they found only an empty coffin remaining within.

Dan had originally been betrothed to a woman of the Wu family but had not yet married her. When Dan did not return for several years, she married another. They all believed Shiniang's words and waited for the arrival of the powder butterfly; but after more than a year with no word, they began to consider other plans. In the neighboring county, a scholar named Qian had a girl called Hesheng, whose beauty was renowned far and wide. At the age of sixteen, she had lost three fiancés before marriage. They therefore arranged the match through a go-between, selected an auspicious day, and completed the wedding rites. When she entered the door, her radiance was unparalleled in the world. Dan looked at her and realized she was the Powder Butterfly. He asked her in surprise about past events, but the girl knew nothing of them. It turned out that when she was banished, that very moment had been the hour of her birth. Whenever he played for her the melody "The Celestial Maiden's Banishment," she would rest her chin in her hand and ponder deeply, as if understanding something.

Li Tansi

Li Tansi of Changshan was a State Academy Student. In his village there was an old woman who served as a psychopomp. She told people, "Tonight I am carrying the old Mr. Tan with someone else to be reborn in a new household at Baijiazhuang in Zichuan. The body was so heavy and cumbersome that I was nearly crushed to death." At the time, Li was happily drinking with guests and dismissed the old woman's words as nonsense. That night, he died without illness. At daybreak, someone went to inquire at the place she had described, and indeed that family had given birth to a girl the previous night.

Jin Se

A man of Yi named Wang, orphaned in childhood, had to rely on himself for his lineage. His family was poor, yet he was refined and clean in his bearing—a bright young man in jacket and sandals. A wealthy man named Lan, seeing him, took a fancy to him, gave him his daughter in marriage, and promised to build him a house and provide him with property. But shortly after the wedding, the old man died. The wife's brothers despised and slighted him. The wife herself was especially arrogant and overbearing; she constantly treated her husband like a hired servant. She herself enjoyed sumptuous meals, but when Wang came in, he was given only coarse grain in a ladle and a broken piece of bamboo to use as a chopstick, set before him. Wang swallowed it all in silence. At the age of nineteen, he went to take the district examination but was rejected. Returning from the prefecture, he found his wife was not in the room. In the pot was a stew of mutton, already cooked, and he sat down to eat it. His wife came in, said nothing, and moved the pot away. Wang was utterly ashamed. He threw his chopsticks on the ground and saying, "If this is what I must endure, I would rather die!" His wife, furious, asked him when he intended to die, and immediately gave him a rope to hang himself with. Wang, in a rage, hurled a bowl of stew at her and struck her forehead. Burning with resentment, he went out, telling himself that death would indeed be better. He therefore took a sash and went deep into a ravine. Coming to a clump of trees, he was just choosing a branch to tie his sash to when he noticed that in the earthen cliff, the hem of a skirt was faintly visible. In an instant, a maid emerged, saw him, and quickly retreated as if a shadow had vanished into the earth; the earthen wall showed no crack. He knew it was something strange and uncanny; but since he sought death, he had no fear. He loosened his sash and sat down to watch. After a while, half a face appeared again, glanced at him, and immediately withdrew. He thought to himself: "This is a ghostly being. If I follow it, there must be the pleasure of death." He therefore picked up a stone and knocked on the wall, saying: "If the earth can be entered, I beg you to show me a way! I am not seeking pleasure—I am seeking death." For a long time, there was no sound. Wang spoke again. A voice from within said: "If you seek death, please withdraw for now. You may come at night." The voice was clear and sharp, fine as a hovering bee. Wang said, "Agreed," and withdrew to await evening. Before long, the stars were thick in the sky, and the cliff suddenly became a grand residence with two doors standing quietly open. Wang ascended the steps and entered. After only a few paces, a stream of water surged across, its vapor like a hot spring. He reached in to feel it: it was scalding as boiling water, and he could not tell how deep it was. He suspected that the spirits were showing him the place of death, and so he plunged in. The heat penetrated his heavy clothes; his skin ached as if it were being stripped. Fortunately, he floated and did not sink. He swam and submerged for a long time; gradually the heat became bearable, and with great effort he clawed his way up, finally reaching the southern bank, his body luckily unharmed. Walking on, he saw in the distance a summer house with lamplight inside and hurried toward it. A fierce dog burst out, tearing his clothes and ruining his stockings. He felt for a stone and threw it; the dog drew back slightly. Then a pack of dogs came, all barking—each as large as a calf. At this desperate moment, the maid came out and drove them back with a shout, saying: "Is this the young man who seeks death? My lady took pity on your hardship and sent me to lead you into a place of comfort, where you will suffer no more calamity." She raised a lantern and led him. She opened a back door, and they went forward into the darkness. They entered a household; bright candles shone through the window. "Enter yourself," she said. "I am going now." Wang went inside and looked around—he had entered his own house. He rushed back out and met the old woman his wife employed, who said: "I've been looking for you all day—where have you been?" She dragged him back inside. His wife, her wound wrapped in a handkerchief, got down from the bed and came forward with a smile, saying: "We've been husband and wife for over a year—don't you know me well enough to jest? I know I was wrong. You received empty reproach; I received a real wound. Your anger should be somewhat appeased by now." She then took two large gold ingots from the head of the bed and placed them in Wang's arms, saying: "From now on, all clothing and food shall be at your command—will that do?" Wang said nothing. He threw down the gold, burst through the door, and ran off, meaning to go back into the ravine and knock on the door of the grand residence. When he reached the wilds, the maid was walking slowly and weakly; he could only make out the lantern from afar. He ran and called out, and the lantern stopped. When he reached her, the maid said: "You've come again—you've betrayed my lady's kind intentions." Wang said: "I seek death; I did not plan to come back to you seeking life. Your lady is from a great household; surely she needs servants below as well. I am willing to serve—truly, I take no pleasure in being alive." The maid said: "Better to live in hardship than to die in pleasure—how wrong your thinking is! Our household has no other tasks: only dredging the river, sweeping the dung, feeding the dogs, and carrying corpses. If the work is not done to standard, then ears will be cut off, noses sliced away, and elbows, shins, and toes hammered. Can you do this?" He answered: "I can." They entered the back door again. Wang asked: "What are all these tasks you mentioned? You spoke of carrying corpses—where do so many dead people come from?" The maid said: "My lady is compassionate. She has established an 'Orphan Giving Garden' to shelter ghosts who died violent deaths in the underworld and have no one to claim them. The ghosts number in the thousands; each day some die, and they must be carried away and buried. Let me take you to see." After a while, they entered a gate inscribed "Orphan Giving Garden." Inside, they saw a jumble of buildings, the stench of filth assailing them. When the ghosts in the garden saw the lantern, they gathered around, all with severed heads or missing limbs—too horrible to look at. He turned to leave and saw a corpse lying beneath a wall. On closer inspection, its flesh and blood were in shreds. "It hasn't been carried away for half a day, and the dogs have already gnawed it," the maid said. She ordered Wang to move it away. Wang hesitated. The maid said: "If you cannot do it, please go back to enjoy your comfort." Wang had no choice; he carried it to a secret place. He then begged the maid to put in a good word for him, hoping to be spared further defilement by corpses. The maid agreed. They approached a dwelling, and she said: "Wait here for a moment. I will go in and speak on your behalf. The task of feeding the dogs is lighter; I will try to arrange it for you, so that I may repay you properly." She left for a short while, then came running out, saying: "Come, come! My lady has come out." Wang followed her inside. He saw four hanging lanterns in the hall, and a young woman sitting near the door—a heavenly being of perhaps twenty years. Wang prostrated himself at the foot of the steps. The young woman ordered him to be helped up, saying: "This is a scholar—how could he feed dogs? Let him stay in the Western Hall and keep the registers." Wang was overjoyed and prostrated himself in thanks. The young woman said: "Because you are simple and honest, you may be trusted with this duty. But if you make mistakes, the punishment will not be light!" Wang said yes, yes, again and again. The maid led him to the Western Hall. Seeing the beams and walls clean and bright, he was delighted and thanked the maid. He then asked the maid about the lady's family background. The maid said: "Her name is Jinsu; she is the daughter of the Marquis of Xue in the Eastern Sea. My name is Chunyan. Whatever you need day or night, please let me know." The maid left, then soon returned with clothes, shoes, a quilt, and bedding, which she placed on the bed. Wang was happy to have found his place. At dawn, he rose early to attend to his duties, recording the registers of ghosts. The servants of the household all came to pay their respects, bringing many gifts of wine and dried meat. Wang, wishing to avoid suspicion, refused them all. He ate two meals a day, both brought from within. The lady observed his integrity and frugality and specially bestowed upon him a scholar's cap and fresh garments. All gifts were sent through Chunyan. The maid had a certain style; as they grew familiar, she often conveyed her feelings with her eyes. Wang kept strictly to himself, daring not to make the slightest misstep, but only pretended to be dull and obtuse. After more than two years, his rewards were twice the usual allowance, yet Wang remained as restrained and modest as before. One night, just as he was—

He went to bed, but was roused by cries of alarm from the inner apartments. Grabbing a sword, he rushed out and saw the sky ablaze with torchlight. On going in to look, he found the courtyard swarming with robbers, and the servants all in a panic of terror. One of the servants pressed him to flee with them, but Sheng refused, and smearing his face and girding his loins, he mingled with the robbers, crying out, "Don't frighten Miss Xue! Let's just divide up the plunder and not leave anything behind." Now the robbers had been searching the various rooms for Jinser but had not found her. Sheng knew she had not been captured, and slipped to the rear of the compound to search for her alone. There he came across an old woman crouching in hiding, and learned that she and Chunyan had already scaled the wall. Sheng too went over the wall and found his wife and maid crouching in a dark corner. "This is no place to hide," he said. "I can't walk any further," she replied. He threw down his sword and lifted her on his back. After running two or three *li*, drenched in sweat, he reached a deep valley and set her down to rest. Suddenly a tiger appeared. Sheng was terrified and tried to intercept it, but it had already seized the woman in its mouth. Sheng quickly grabbed the tiger's ear, thrust his arm into its mouth, and offered himself in place of Jinser. Enraged, the tiger released the woman and bit into Sheng's arm, which snapped with a crack. The arm fell to the ground, and the tiger departed. "How you have suffered! How you have suffered!" the woman sobbed. Sheng, in his haste, felt no pain, only that blood was pouring out like water. He told the maid to tear her jacket and bind the stump. The woman stopped her, picked up the severed arm, and reattached it herself; then she bandaged it. As dawn began to break, they slowly made their way home. The house was like a ruin. When daylight came, the servants and old women gradually gathered. The woman went personally to the western hall to ask how Sheng was suffering. She unwound the bandage and found the bone had already knit. She then applied medicine to the wound and departed. From then on, she valued Sheng even more highly, ensuring that all luxuries she enjoyed were shared with him. When his arm had healed, she held a feast in the inner chamber to reward him. She offered him a seat, but he thrice declined before finally sitting in the corner. She raised her cup as though toasting a guest. After a while she said, "My body is now joined with yours. I wish to emulate the daughter of the King of Chu with her servant Jian. But lacking a go-between, I am ashamed to offer myself." Sheng was alarmed. "I am deeply indebted to you; I could not repay you even with my life. What you suggest would be improper—I fear being struck by lightning. I dare not comply. If you pity my lack of a wife, granting me the maid would be more than enough."

One day the woman's elder sister, Yaotai, arrived—a handsome woman of about forty. That evening she summoned Sheng and bade her seat. "I have come a thousand *li* to arrange my sister's marriage. Tonight you may be joined with your bride." Sheng rose again to decline. Yaotai immediately ordered wine and had them exchange cups. Sheng firmly refused, but Yaotai seized his cup and exchanged it for hers. Sheng then prostrated himself, apologized, and drank. When Yaotai left, the woman said, "I will tell the truth: I am a celestial maiden, banished for my sins. I willingly dwelled below, gathering wronged souls to atone for the Emperor's punishment. I happened to encounter a demonic calamity, and thus formed this bond of shared flesh with you. I invited my elder sister from afar not only to preside over the marriage but also to manage household affairs in my stead, so that I may return with you." Sheng rose in reverence. "The underworld is the happiest place! I have a shrewish wife at home, and my dwelling is cramped—there would be no room for us to live together comfortably." The woman laughed, "That is no obstacle."

After they had drunk their fill and retired, their passion reached its peak. Several days later she said, "This rendezvous with the dead cannot last forever. Please go home. When you have settled your household affairs, I will come myself." She gave him a horse, opened the door, and walked out; the wall closed behind her. Sheng rode into the village, where all the villagers were astonished. Reaching his gate, he found a splendid mansion gleaming before him. Previously, after Sheng had left, his wife had summoned her two brothers to beat him with rods; when he had not returned by nightfall, they had left. Someone had found Sheng's shoe in a ditch and suspected he was dead. Then more than a year passed without word. A merchant from Shaanxi, surnamed Jia, had made a match through the Lan family and had taken up residence in Sheng's house with his wife. Within six months he had carried out extensive building work. Jia went out to trade and returned with a concubine, and from then on there was no peace in the household. Jia too was often absent for months at a time. Sheng learned of these events in anger, tied up his horse, and went in. Seeing the old woman, he made her prostrate herself in terror. After cursing her at length, he had her lead him to his wife's quarters, but she had fled; he found her behind the house, where she had already hanged herself. He had the body carried back to the Lan family. He called out the concubine—a girl of eighteen or nineteen, also attractive—and took her as his own. Jia, through the villagers, demanded the return of his concubine, but she wept and refused to go. Sheng drew up a formal complaint, preparing to sue him for seizing property and keeping another man's wife. Jia dared not press the matter further and departed westward with his business.

He was beginning to suspect Jinser of breaking her promise when one evening, as he was drinking with his concubine, carriages and horses were heard at the door and the woman arrived. She kept only Chunyan and sent the others away. Entering the chamber, the concubine paid her respects. "This girl has the bearing of one who will bear sons," the woman said. "She can take my place in the hardships." She bestowed silk robes and pearl ornaments upon her. The concubine received them with thanks and stood in attendance. The woman took her hand and seated her, and they talked and laughed gaily. After a while she said, "I am drunk and wish to sleep." Sheng also removed his shoes and climbed into bed, and the concubine withdrew. Entering her own room, she found Sheng lying on the bed. Astonished, she went back to look—the candle had already been extinguished. Sheng spent every night in the concubine's chamber. One night the concubine got up and secretly peered into the woman's quarters, where she found Sheng and the woman talking and laughing together. She was greatly puzzled and hurried back to tell Sheng, but there was no one in the bed. The next morning she told him in private; Sheng himself was not aware of it, only that sometimes he stayed in the woman's quarters and sometimes lodged in the concubine's. He told her to keep the matter secret. After some time, the maid also became intimate with Sheng, and the woman appeared not to know. The maid suddenly went into difficult labor, calling only for "the mistress." The woman entered, and the child descended at once. It was a boy. She cut the cord and placed him in the maid's arms, laughing, "Don't let this happen again, girl! Too many children, and it will be hard to part with them!" After that, the maid bore no more children. The concubine bore five sons and two daughters. They lived thus for thirty years, the woman returning home from time to time, always traveling by night. One day she took the maid away and never returned. Sheng lived to eighty, and one night departed with an old servant, never to return.

Taiyuan Prison

# From *Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio*, Volume 12

## The Taiyuan Case

There was a family in Taiyuan whose mother-in-law and daughter-in-law were both widows. The mother-in-law was middle-aged and could not keep herself chaste; a village rogue frequently came to visit her. The daughter-in-law disapproved of her conduct and secretly blocked and repelled the man at the doors and walls. The mother-in-law, ashamed, found an excuse to drive out the daughter-in-law; but the daughter-in-law would not leave, and bitter quarrels ensued. The mother-in-law grew still more enraged, turned the tables, and accused her daughter-in-law before the magistrate. The magistrate asked the name of the adulterer. The old woman said, "He comes at night and leaves at dawn—I truly do not know who he is. Question the daughter-in-law and she will know." So the daughter-in-law was summoned. She indeed knew, but laid the blame for the affair on the mother-in-law, and the two bitterly contradicted each other. The rogue was brought in and clamored in his defense: "I have had relations with neither of them. The mother-in-law and daughter-in-law cannot get along, so they make false accusations to slander each other." The magistrate said, "A village of a hundred men, and yet she slanders only you?" He had the man severely caned. The rogue begged to be spared punishment and confessed to having had relations with the daughter-in-law. The daughter-in-law was put in manacles, but she never confessed. She was driven away.

The daughter-in-law angrily appealed to the provincial court, but the case went as before, and for a long while remained undecided. At that time, Sun Liuxia, a *jinshi* of Zilin, was serving as magistrate of Linjin. Being known for his judicial talent, the case was transferred to Linjin. When the parties arrived, the magistrate briefly questioned them, had them placed in custody, and then ordered his attendants to prepare bricks, stones, knives, and awls, to be ready by daybreak. The attendants were puzzled and said, "For severe punishments we already have fetters and shackles—why use irregular instruments to decide a case?" They did not understand his intent but prepared them nonetheless. The next day, he ascended the hall and, learning that all the implements had been prepared, ordered them all placed before him. Then he summoned the parties and briefly questioned each one again. He then addressed the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law: "This matter need not be investigated too minutely. The adulteress may not be certain, but the adulterer is known. Your family was originally of good standing—this was merely a moment of entrapment by a rogue, and the fault lies entirely with him. The knives and stones are here before you; take them and strike him dead yourselves." The mother-in-law and daughter-in-law hesitated, fearing they might be held accountable for the killing. The magistrate said, "Have no fear—I am here." So the old woman and the daughter-in-law both rose, picked up stones, and hurled them. The daughter-in-law, nursing a long hatred, raised a huge stone with both hands and wished she could kill him on the spot; the old woman merely pelted his buttocks and legs with small stones. He then ordered them to use the knife. The daughter-in-law seized the knife and thrust it toward his chest; the old woman still hesitated and did not strike. The magistrate stopped them and said: "Now I know who the adulteress is." He ordered the mother-in-law seized and harshly shackled, and the truth came out. The rogue was caned thirty times, and only then was the case closed.

*Supplementary note:* One day, the magistrate sent a bailiff to collect rent from a tenant. The tenant was away from home, and his wife answered the door. The bailiff, receiving no bribe, seized the woman and brought her before the magistrate. The magistrate was furious and said: "The man will return of his own accord—how dare you disturb a household!" He caned the bailiff and sent the woman home. He then ordered the craftsmen to prepare many hand-shackles, for use in pressing payment. The next day, the whole county praised the magistrate's benevolence. Those who owed taxes, hearing of this, all sent their wives to answer when the bailiffs came; the magistrate arrested and shackled them all. I have said that Magistrate Sun's talent was not deficient; but when he had got to the bottom of a matter, he was so pleased that he had no time for compassion.

---

## The Xin Zheng Lawsuit

Shi Zongyu of Changshan, a *jinshi*, was serving as magistrate of Xin Zheng. A traveling merchant from afar, one Zhang, had been doing business elsewhere and, falling ill, wished to return home. Unable being to ride or walk, he hired a handcart, carrying five thousand in cash, with two men pulling the cart. When they reached Xin Zheng, the two men went to the market for food, and Zhang, guarding the money, lay alone in the cart. A certain Man Jia passed by, glanced at him, saw there was no one nearby, and snatched the money and fled. Zhang, unable to resist, rose with effort and followed him at a distance into a village; he followed further, to a doorway. Zhang dared not enter, but peered over a low wall. Jia set down what he was carrying, turned, and saw the spy. Seizing him in anger as a thief, he bound him and brought him before Magistrate Shi, recounting what had happened. Zhang, questioned, fully stated his grievance. The magistrate, finding no corroborating evidence, rebuked and dismissed them both. As they left, both men said the magistrate could not distinguish black from white. The magistrate pretended not to hear.

He happened to recall that Jia had long owed back taxes, and sent a bailiff to press him severely. The very next day, Jia came to pay three taels of silver. Magistrate Shi asked where the money had come from. Jia said, "I pawned clothes and sold goods," and named each item specifically. The magistrate sent a bailiff to check whether among the taxpayers there was anyone from Jia's village. As it happened, Jia's neighbor was there, and was called in and asked: "Since you are Jia's close neighbor, you must know where this money came from." The neighbor said, "I don't know." The magistrate said: "If his own neighbor does not know, the source is suspicious." Jia, frightened, turned to the neighbor and said, "I pawned such-and-such and sold such-and-such—how can you not know?" The neighbor, alarmed, said: "Yes, that is true—those things existed." The magistrate said in anger: "You must have been Jia's accomplice in the robbery. Nothing but torture will get the truth!" He ordered fetters and shackles brought out. The neighbor, terrified, said: "Because he is my neighbor, I did not wish to incur his enmity; but now that punishment reaches my own body, why should I conceal anything? That money was in fact what he got from robbing Merchant Zhang." The neighbor was then released. Since Zhang had not yet returned home after losing his money, Jia was held liable for restitution. This too shows Shi's ability to govern with a sincere heart.

The *Yeshi* said: "When Shi was a scholar, he was modest and refined; one would have thought he would excel in the Hanlin Academy but prove inadequate in administrative work. Yet once he became a magistrate, his fame as a divine ruler resounded through Hebei. Who says that literary talent has no practical value? Therefore I record this to admonish those in office."

---

## Li Xiangxian

Li Xiangxian was a renowned man of Shouguang. In a previous life he had been a cook in a certain monastery who passed away peacefully without illness. His soul emerged and roosted on a storefront. Looking down, he saw that all the people on the street had flames coming from the tops of their heads—this was the *yang* qi in their bodies. When night fell, he thought he could not long remain on the storefront, but all the houses were dark and he did not know where to go. Only one household still had bright lights, and he drifted toward it. When he reached the gate, his body had already become an infant. His mother nursed him. At the sight of the breast he was frightened; but his stomach could not endure the hunger, and he closed his eyes and forced himself to suck. After more than three months, he no longer nursed; when offered the breast, he would startle and cry. His mother fed him rice water with dates and chestnuts between nursings, and he grew to adulthood. This was Xiangxian. As a child, when he went to that monastery, he could call all the monks by name. Even in old age he remained afraid of breasts.

The *Yeshi* said: "Xiangxian was a man of vast learning, a pure scholar of the eastern regions. His son rose to eminence early, while he himself ended his life merely as a literary man—is this what Buddhists call 'merit yet unperfected'? His younger brother too was a celebrated man. He had a hidden ailment: it moved only once every several months; when it moved, he had to rise hastily, paying no heed to his guests, and call for someone to bring him in from outside; at this the maids and servants all fled. If it subsided again before he reached the door, he would not enter the room but turn back. Both brothers were extraordinary men."

---

## Fang Wenshu

# From Volume 12 of *Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio*

---

Deng Chengde of Kaifeng went to study in Yan and lodged in a ruined temple, earning his keep by copying out household registration documents. At year's end, the other clerks all went home for the holidays, but Deng cooked his meals alone in the temple. At dawn, a young woman knocked and entered—of surpassing beauty. She burned incense and bowed before the Buddha, then left. The next day, she did the same. That night, Deng rose and lit the lamp, just as he was about to set to work, and the woman arrived even earlier. Deng said, "Why so early?" The woman replied, "In daylight there are too many people about, so I prefer night. But if I came too early, I feared disturbing your peaceful sleep. Just now I saw lamplight and knew you were already up, so I came." Deng joked, "There is no one else in the temple. If you stayed the night, you would be spared the trouble of coming and going." The woman smiled and said, "There is no one else in the temple? Are you a ghost, then?" Deng saw she could be approached. After she had finished her bowing, he pulled her down and sat her beside him, seeking intimacy. The woman said, "How could one do such a thing before the Buddha? I have not a roof-tile of my own, and yet you harbour such wild fancies!" Deng pressed her insistently. The woman said, "Thirty *li* from here, in a certain village, there are six or seven boys for whom a tutor has yet been found. Go and call on Li Qianchuan—you can secure the position. Tell him you have brought your family with him and ask him to provide a separate room, and I will cook for you. That is the long-term plan." Deng worried they might be discovered and punished. The woman said, "No need for concern. My surname is Fang, my name Wenshu. I have no relatives and spend the whole year living at my uncle's house. Who would know?" Deng was delighted. After parting from the woman, he went at once to the village, called on Li Qianchuan, and his scheme succeeded. He agreed to bring his family before the new year. On his return, he told the woman, who arranged to wait for him along the road. Deng took leave of his companions, borrowed a horse, and set off. The woman was indeed waiting halfway along the road. He dismounted, handed her the reins, and she rode while he walked. They reached the study hall and were most happy together. Six or seven years passed, and they lived in perfect harmony as husband and wife, with no one pursuing them for flight. Then the woman suddenly gave birth to a son. Deng, whose wife was barren, was overjoyed and named the child "Yansheng." The woman said, "A false match can never become real. I mean to leave you. What is the point of burdening you further with this child!" Deng said, "If fortune is kind, and I can save some money, I plan to flee with you back to our hometown. Why speak like this?" The woman said, "Many thanks, many thanks! But I cannot crane my shoulders and flatter, cannot live at the beck and call of a first wife and serve as a wet nurse to another's brat—the crying would be unbearable!" Deng assured her that his wife was not jealous, and the woman said no more. A month or so later, Deng's teaching engagement ended, and he planned to go into trade with Li Qianchuan's son. He told the woman, "I have been thinking—a teacher's salary will never bring wealth. Now I shall try peddling, so that I may one day return home." The woman made no reply. That night, the woman suddenly rose, holding the child. Deng asked, "What are you doing?" The woman said, "I am leaving." Deng leaped up and pursued her with questions, but the door had not yet opened before she had vanished. Struck with horror, he at last understood that she was not human. Since his circumstances were suspicious, he dared not tell anyone, claiming merely that she had returned to visit her family.

When Deng had first left home, he had made an agreement with his wife Lou that he would return by year's end. But years passed without word, and rumours spread that he was dead. His brother, finding that she had no son, wished to arrange a remarriage for her. Lou asked for three more years, supporting herself by spinning and weaving alone. One evening, as she was locking the outer door, a woman slipped in with an infant in her arms. She said, "I am returning from my mother's house and arrived late. Knowing my sister lives alone, I have come to ask for a night's lodging." Lou let her in. In her chamber, she looked at the woman—a beauty of perhaps twenty years or more. Delighted, they shared the bed, and Lou played with the child, whose skin was as white as a gourd. She sighed, "A widow has no such treasure!" The woman said, "I find the child a burden. Let me give him to you as your heir—what do you think?" Lou said, "Quite apart from whether you could bear to part with him—even if you could, I have no milk to keep him alive." The woman said, "That is no difficulty. When the child was born, I too had no milk, but half a dose of medicine did the trick. I have some left—let me give it to you." She produced a packet and set it on the window ledge. Lou gave a vague answer and did not think it strange at the time. After they had gone to sleep, and when Lou woke and called out, she found the child there but the woman had already opened the door and gone. Lou was terrified. As the morning wore on, the child cried from hunger. Lou had no choice but to feed him the medicine; in time milk flowed, and she nursed the child. A year passed, and the child grew plump and fat, began to learn to speak, and she loved him no less than her own child. From that day, her thoughts of remarriage ceased entirely. But rising early to tend the child, she could no longer work to provide food and clothing, and grew poorer by the day.

One day, the woman suddenly appeared. Lou, fearing she had come to reclaim the child, first reproached her for leaving without a word, then recounted the hardships of raising him. The woman laughed and said, "If you tell me of your hardships, would I then snatch the child away?" She called the child, who cried and clung to Lou. The woman said, "The calf no longer knows its mother! Not a hundred pieces of gold could buy him—bring the gold and I will draw up a deed of guarantee." Lou believed her and flushed red with shame. The woman laughed and said, "Sister, do not fear. I came precisely for the child. After our parting, I worried you would have no means to raise him, so I managed by various means to gather some ten pieces of gold." She produced the gold and offered it to Lou. Lou feared that accepting the gold would give the woman grounds to demand the child back, and firmly refused. The woman placed it on the bed and went straight out the door. Lou, carrying the child, ran after her, but she was already far away and would not turn back when called. Lou suspected her intentions were wicked. But with the gold, she was able to lend and borrow, and her household grew prosperous.

Three years later, Deng's trading ventures yielded a profit, and he prepared to return home. As they comforted each other, he noticed the child and asked whose son he was. His wife told him the whole story. He asked, "What is his name?" She said, "His mother called him Yansheng." Deng started in astonishment—"Then he is truly my own son!" He asked the date, and it was the very night of their parting. Deng then recounted in full the story of his union and separation with Fang Wenshu, and they rejoiced together all the more. He still hoped the woman would come, but she never appeared again.

---

# Qin Hui

In Qingzhou, at the home of Feng Zhongtang, a pig was slaughtered. After the bristles were scalded off and removed, the meat was found to bear the characters "Qin Hui, seventh incarnation." They cooked and ate it, but the flesh was foul and rank, so they threw it to the dogs. Alas! One fears that even dogs would not have wished to eat the flesh of Qin Hui!

**Hearing the Dragon**

A man of Yidu said: "The grandfather of the Grand Secretary Zhongtang had been persecuted to death by Qin Hui in the Song dynasty in a previous life. Therefore, in this lifetime he revered Yue Fei, Prince of E, above all others. North of Qingzhou city, beside a main thoroughfare, he built a temple to Prince Yue, with Qin Hui and Moqi Xie prostrate upon the ground in eternal genuflection. Travelers who came to pay their respects to Prince Yue would hurl stones at the statues of Qin and Moqi, and the incense never ceased. Later, in the year the Great Army marched against Yu Qi, the Feng family's descendants destroyed the image of Prince Yue. Several *li* away there stood a vulgar shrine called the 'Goddess of Descendants and Children,' and they carried the statues of Qin and Moqi there and set them facing the goddess in perpetual kneeling. For a hundred generations hence, there will surely be the same confusion as with 'Du Shiyi' and 'Wu Zixu'—most laughable indeed."

Again, within Qingzhou city there was once a shrine to Zhan Tai Ziyu. At the time when the eunuch Wei Zhongxian held blazing power, a certain aristocratic family, currying favor with him, took the statue of Ziyu, stripped off its cap and beard, and remade it into the likeness of the eunuch Wei. This too is a thing to make one's ears burn with astonishment.

**The Scholar of Eastern Zhejiang**

A certain scholar Fang of Eastern Zhejiang, sojourning in Shaanxi, taught pupils for a living. He was wont to boast of his courage and strength. One night he lay sleeping naked when suddenly something furry fell from the ceiling and struck his chest with a thud. It felt as large as a dog, its breath panting and snuffling, its four legs scrabbling. Terrified, he tried to rise, but the creature pressed him down with two of his legs. In extremity of fear he died. After the space of an hour he felt someone pierce his nose with a sharp object. He gave a tremendous sneeze and came back to life. He saw the lamplight flickering in the room and by his bedside sat a beautiful woman, who said with a smile, "What a fine fellow! Is this the measure of your courage?" Knowing her to be a fox-spirit, he was all the more afraid. But the woman gradually began to sport with him, and his courage grew, and they became intimate. After half a year they were as harmonious as lutes and lutes.

One day, as the woman lay with her head on the pillow, Fang stealthily threw a hunting net over her. She awoke and dared not move, but begged piteously for mercy. Fang only smiled and did not approach. Suddenly the woman transformed into a white vapor and emerged from beneath the bed. In anger she said, "After all, you are no good friend! You may escort me away." She seized him by the hand, and without willing it his body moved of its own accord. They passed through the door and soared through the air with a rushing flight. After the time it takes to eat a meal, the woman released his hand, and Fang fell dizzily downward. As it happened, the garden of a great household contained a tiger pit, with a circle of woven wood and a net of ropes laid over its mouth. Fang fell upon the net, which gave way beneath him; his belly struck the net and he hung upside down, half suspended. Looking down, he saw a tiger crouching in the pit. It looked up at the man lying above, sprang up, and came within a foot of him—his heart and gall both shattered. The gardener came to feed the tiger and was amazed to see him. They helped him out, but he was already dead. After some time he gradually revived and told the whole story. The place was on the border of Zhejiang; he was only a little over four hundred *li* from home. His host gave him money and sent him home. Returning, he told others: "Though I died twice over, without the fox I would have been too poor to return."

**The Girl of Boxing**

A commoner surnamed Wang of Boxing had a daughter who had reached marriageable age. A certain powerful local magnate, having glimpsed her beauty, watched for her to go out and then abducted her; no one knew of it. He brought her to his house and tried to force himself upon her. She screamed and fought and struggled, and he strangled her to death. Outside his gate there happened to be a deep pool, so he tied a stone to the corpse and sank it there. Wang searched for his daughter but could not find her and was at his wits' end. Suddenly it rained, and thunder and lightning circled the magnate's house. With a crash of thunder, a dragon descended and snatched away the magnate's head. When the sky cleared, the girl's corpse floated up from the pool, one hand clutching a human head. Upon examination, it was the magnate's head. The magistrate, learning of this, interrogated the members of his household, and the truth came to light. Had the girl transformed herself into the dragon? Otherwise, how could this have been accomplished? Wondrous indeed!

**One Official**

Magistrate Wu of Jinan was upright and unbending. At that time there was a vile custom: whenever an official was corrupt and had committed crimes of embezzlement or graft, his superiors would shield him and distribute the stolen funds among his subordinates, and none dared to object. When this was ordered of Wu, he refused. They pressed him, but could not prevail, and in anger berated him with curses. Wu returned their abuse with interest, saying: "Though my office is humble, I too received the Emperor's commission. You may impeach me, but you may not curse and revile me! If I must die, then I die—but I will not surrender the court's stipend to repay another man's ill-gotten gains!" The superior then changed his countenance and spoke to him gently and kindly. People all say that in this age the straight path cannot be walked; but it is men themselves who lack the straight path—why blame the age for being unfit for it?

It happened that in Gaoyuan there was a man named Mu Qinghuai who was possessed by a fox-spirit. The spirit would speak generously and freely with people, his voice seeming to come from the seat beside them, though no one could be seen. On one occasion he came to the prefecture. Among the guests, someone questioned him: "Immortals know all things, of course. May I ask: how many officials are there in this prefecture?" He answered at once: "One." They all laughed. They pressed him further for his reason, and he said: "Though the prefecture's officials number seventy-two, the only one who may truly be called an official is Magistrate Wu."

At that time there was Prefect Zhang of Tai'an, whom people called "the Stubborn Post" on account of his wooden rigidity. Whenever high officials and great dignitaries climbed Mount Tai, they made endless demands for porters, horses, sedan chairs, and the like, and the people of the prefecture groaned under the burden of supply. Prefect Zhang abolished all of it. When someone demanded sheep or pigs, he said: "I myself am a sheep; I myself am a pig. Slaughter me and feed the retinue." The great dignitaries could do nothing with him. Zhang had been serving in a distant post for twelve years, separated from his wife and children. When he first arrived in Tai'an, his lady and his son came from the capital to visit him, and their reunion was a joyful one. After six or seven days, the lady said to him calmly: "Your rice-basket is as dusty as ever—why are you so stubborn and muddle-headed as not to think of your children and grandchildren?" Zhang flew into a rage, cursed her loudly, called for the rod, and forced his wife to kneel and receive the beating. His son threw himself over his mother, weeping, and begged to take her place. Zhang laid about him with indiscriminate blows before he stopped. The lady then set off with her son and swore: "If he dies in this place, I shall never come again!" After a year, Zhang died. He could not be called anything but a "stiff-necked magistrate" of our own time. Yet given the harmony of lutes and lutes that had long been separated, how could a single word have provoked such fury—can this be human nature? And that authority and favor could be wielded even within the bedchamber—this is a matter more wondrous still than ghosts and spirits.

**The Immortal Beggar**

Gao Yucheng was the son of an old family, living in Guangli of Jincheng. He was skilled in acupuncture and moxibustion, treating all who came regardless of whether they were poor or rich. A beggar arrived in the neighborhood, with a festering wound on his shin, lying by the road. His pus and blood were scattered in a foul mess, the stench unbearable to approach. The townspeople feared he would die and fed him once a day. Gao saw him and took pity, sending someone to help him back and place him in a side room. The family detested his smell, covering their noses and standing at a distance. Gao himself brought moxa and personally performed moxibustion on him, daily feeding him plain food. After several days, the beggar asked for noodles in soup. The servant angrily rebuked him. Gao heard this and immediately ordered the servant to give him noodles in soup. Before long, the begger asked for meat and wine. The servant came running to report: "This beggar is utterly ridiculous! When he was lying by the road, he could not get even one meal a day; now after three meals he still finds the food coarse—having been given noodles in soup, he now asks for meat and wine. Such a glutton should simply be thrown back on the road." Gao asked about his wound. The servant replied: "The scabs are gradually falling off, and he seems able to walk, but he pretends to moan and groan as if in pain." Gao said: "What does it cost? Simply give him meat and wine. When he recovers, he may not be ungrateful to us." The servant pretended to agree but never delivered it, and moreover spoke with the other servants, all laughing at their master for being a fool. The next day, Gao personally went to see the beggar. The beggar rose on his lame foot and thanked him: "I have received your noble kindness—you who give life to the dead and flesh to the bones, whose grace covers all beneath heaven. But I have only just healed and am not yet strong, and I have been foolishly craving rich food." Gao knew that his previous order had not been carried out, and he called the servant and had him severely beaten, then immediately ordered that roasted meat and wine be brought to feed the beggar. The servant bore a grudge. In the middle of the night, he set fire to the side room and then deliberately raised a cry. Gao got up to look—the room was already reduced to ashes. He sighed: "The begger is done for!" He directed the others to put out the fire. They saw the begger sleeping soundly in the midst of the flames, his snoring like thunder. They called him to get up, and he pretended to be startled, saying: "Where has the house gone?" Only then did they all marvel at his strangeness. Gao valued him even more highly, lodging him in a guest room, clothing him in new garments, and sitting and associating with him daily. When asked his name, the beggar said: "Chen Jiu." After several days, his countenance grew ever more radiant. His conversation had much style, and he was also skilled at weiqi; when Gao played against him, he always lost. So Gao studied with him daily and learned many of his secrets. After half a year like this, the beggar did not speak of leaving, and Gao too would have been unhappy to be without him for even a moment. When distinguished guests came, he would always invite Chen Jiu to drink with them. Sometimes they played dice for forfeits, and Chen would call the throws on Gao's behalf, and every roll came out as desired. Gao thought this most extraordinary. He repeatedly asked Chen to perform other tricks, but Chen always declined, saying he did not know how. One day, Chen said to Gao: "I wish to take my leave. I have received your kindness deeply, and now I would host a small gathering in return—please do not bring any attendants." Gao said: "We get along so well—why this sudden parting? Moreover, your purse is empty, and I would not trouble you to play host." Chen firmly insisted: "It is only a cup of wine, and it costs nothing." Gao said: "Where?" Chen replied: "In the garden." It was the depths of winter, and Gao worried the garden pavilion would be bitterly cold. Chen insisted: "It will be fine." So Gao followed him to the garden. He felt the climate suddenly warm, like the third month of spring. When they reached the pavilion, it was even warmer. Strange birds gathered in flocks, noisily trilling their clear notes, as if it were late spring. The tables and desks in the pavilion were all inlaid with agate and jade. There was a crystal screen, translucent and reflective: within it, flowers and trees swayed, some blooming and some shedding; and there were white birds like snow, moving back and forth upon it. When Gao reached out to touch it, there was nothing there at all. Gao was astonished for a long time. He sat down and saw a myna perched on a stand, calling out: "Bring tea!" Soon a vermilion phoenix appeared, carrying a red jade tray in its beak, upon which were two glass cups filled with fragrant tea, stretching its neck and standing upright. After they had drunk, the cups were placed back in the tray, and the phoenix carried them away, fluttering its wings. The myna then called out: "Bring wine!" Immediately a blue crane and a yellow crane came fluttering down from the sun, carrying a flask and cups in their beaks, placing them in profusion upon the table. In a moment, various birds brought in dishes, coming and never ceasing their flight; rare delicacies were spread in confusion, and in an instant the table was full—the dishes fragrant and the wine cool, all unlike anything from the mortal world. Chen saw that Gao drank very boldly and said: "You have a great capacity—you deserve a large cup." The myna again called out: "Bring the large cup!" Suddenly there was a flash at the edge of the sun, and a giant butterfly seized a parrot-shaped cup, holding about a pint, and fluttered down to the table. Gao saw the butterfly was larger than a wild goose, its wings graceful and its colors brilliantly beautiful, and he could not stop praising it. Chen called out: "Butterfly, urge the wine!" The butterfly spread its wings and flew, transforming into a beautiful woman in embroidered robes, dancing gracefully as she came forward to offer wine. Chen said: "We cannot do without music to accompany the drinking." The woman then danced with ethereal lightness. When the dance reached its most intoxicating point, her feet rose more than a foot off the ground; she bent her head back until it touched her feet, then turned a somership and stood upright again, her body never once touching the dust. She sang: "Laughing and chatting, treading the fragrant groves, / Low brushing the flower branches, red against the face. / Turning and swaying, not knowing the golden hairpin falls, / Following the butterflies east past the fence." Her lingering notes were no less than those that would ring around the beams. Gao was delighted and pulled her to drink with him. Chen told her to sit and also gave her wine. After drinking, Gao's heart was stirred and his passions moved; he abruptly rose and embraced her familiarly. When he looked, she had transformed into a yaksha: eyes bulging from their sockets, fangs protruding from her lips, black flesh ridged and grotesque—too hideous for words. Gao recoiled in fright, trembling and prostrate over the table. Chen struck her lips with his chopsticks and barked: "Be gone at once!" With the strike she transformed again, becoming once more a butterfly, and fluttered away. When Gao's fright had subsided, he took his leave. Seeing the moonlight bright as if washed, he said casually to Chen: "Your fine wine and exquisite food come from the air—your home must be in the heavens. Why not take an old friend to visit?" Chen said: "Very well." He took Gao's hand and they leaped up together. Gao then felt his body in the vast void, gradually drawing near to the sky. He saw a tall gate, its opening round as a well; entering it, the light was bright as day. The steps and paths were all paved with blue stone, smooth and clean without the slightest speck. There was a great tree, several zhang tall, bearing red flowers on top, large as lotuses, covering the whole tree. Beneath it, a woman was pounding crimson clothes on a stone, of matchless beauty. Gao stood transfixed, his eyes arrested, forgetting to walk. The woman saw him and angrily said: "What mad fellow from where, daring to come here!" She threw the pestle at him, striking his back. Chen quickly pulled him into an empty space and sternly rebuked him. Struck by the pestle, Gao's wine instantly cleared, and he felt deeply ashamed. He followed Chen out, and white clouds met his feet. Chen said: "From here we part. I have something to entrust to you—remember it carefully and do not forget: your lifespan is not long. Tomorrow, quickly hide yourself in the western mountains—"

"By doing so, you may avoid it." Gao tried to detain him, but he turned and left. Gao felt the clouds gradually lower beneath him, and his body descended into a garden, but the scenery was entirely different from before. He returned home and told his wife, and they were both amazed and bewildered. Looking at the place on his robe where the pestle had struck, it was red as brocade and emitted a strange fragrance. Early the next morning, following Chen's words, he packed provisions and entered the mountain. A great fog obscured the sky, and he could not distinguish the path. He hurried along the wild terrain, when suddenly he missed his foot and fell into a cloud cavern, which seemed unfathomably deep; yet by fortune he was unharmed. After sitting for a long time to collect himself, he looked up and saw the clouds and mist like a cage around him. He sighed and said to himself, "The immortal told me to flee and hide, but in the end the great destiny cannot be avoided. When shall I get out of this cavern?" After sitting a while longer, he saw a faint light in the depths and rose to venture in, and there was another world entirely. Three old men were playing chess; when they saw Gao arrive, they paid him no mind and continued their game. Gao squatted and watched. When the game ended, they gathered the pieces back into the box. Only then did they ask the guest how he had come here. Gao said, "I lost my way and fell in by mistake." The old man said, "This is not the world of men; you should not linger here long. I will escort you back." He then led Gao down below the cavern. Gao felt the clouds and mist bearing him upward, and soon he stood on level ground. He saw the mountain trees deeply yellow, with leaves falling desolately—it seemed late autumn. He was greatly startled and said, "I came in winter—how has it changed to late autumn?" He hurried home, and his wife was utterly shocked; they wept together. Gao asked in surprise, and his wife said, "You left and did not return for three years—we all thought you had become something strange!" Gao said, "How strange—it was only a moment!" He took the provisions from his waist, but they had already turned to ashes. They looked at each other in bewilderment. His wife said, "After you left, I dreamed of two men in black clothes with shining sashes, who seemed like tax collectors. They rushed into the house, looking around, and said, 'Where has he gone?' I scolded them and said, 'He has gone out. Even if you are officials, how dare you enter a woman's bedchamber?' The two men then left, muttering to each other as they went, 'Strange, strange.'" Then he understood that what he had encountered were immortals, and what his wife had dreamed were ghosts. Whenever Gao received guests, he would wear the robe with the pestle mark beneath his clothes, and the whole room was filled with fragrance—neither musk nor orchid, and it grew stronger with sweat.

---

Man and Demon

Ma Wanbao of Dongchang was a wild and unrestrained man. His wife, née Tian, was also uninhibited and free-spirited. Their conjugal affection was deep. A woman came and lodged with an old widow neighbor, saying she had been abused by her parents-in-law and had fled out temporarily. Her needlework was exceedingly skillful, and she worked for the old woman, who was pleased and kept her. After several days, she said she could perform massage at midnight to cure women's wasting diseases. The widow often came to the Ma household to praise her skill, but Tian paid no particular attention. One day Ma peeped through a crack in the wall and saw the woman—she was eighteen or nine, quite elegant and refined. He secretly admired it and privately plotted with his wife, feigning illness to summon her. The widow came first, sat by the bed to ask after him, and said, "At the lady's invitation, I will bring her shortly. But she is afraid to see a man—please do not let your husband enter." Tian said, "Our house has no spacious rooms; she will have to come and go—what can be done about it?" After thinking a moment more, she said, "Tonight my maternal uncle in the western village has invited her to drink—I will tell her not to return, and that will be easy enough." The widow agreed and left. Ma and his wife carried out a plan to replace the Zhao banner with the Han banner, laughing as it was done. At dusk, the widow brought the woman and said, "Will your husband return home tonight?" Tian said, "He will not return." The woman was pleased and said, "That is good." After a few words, the widow took her leave. Tian lit the candle, spread the bedding, and let the woman get into bed first; then she undid her clothes and hid from the candlelight. Suddenly she said, "I almost forgot—the kitchen door is not closed, I must keep the dog from stealing food." She got out of bed, opened the door, and let Ma in. Ma slipped in quietly, got into bed, and lay beside the woman. The woman said tremulously, "I will cure the lady's ailment." She spoke intimately, but Ma said nothing. The woman then stroked his abdomen, gradually reaching below his navel, where she stopped the massage and suddenly reached lower, touching his manhood—it leapt to her wrist like a thunderbolt. The woman was terrified, as if she had mistakenly grasped a snake or scorpion, and tried to flee in haste. Ma stopped her. He reached into her thighs—there hung a fistful, a formidable organ as well. He was greatly shocked and called for a light. Ma's wife, thinking the matter had been exposed, hurried in with a lamp, hoping to mediate. She saw the woman prostrate on the ground begging for her life. Ashamed and frightened, she rushed out. Ma questioned her and learned she was Wang Erxi of Gucheng. Because her elder brother, Da Xi, was a disciple of Sang Chong, she had learned his arts through him. He asked further, "How many have you defiled?" She said, "I have not been practicing long—only sixteen." Ma thought her conduct deserved death and considered reporting her to the prefecture; but pitying her beauty, he bound her hands behind her back and castrated her. Blood flowed profusely and she collapsed, near death; after the space of a meal, she revived. He laid her in bed, covered her with a quilt, and told her, "I will heal you with medicine; when the wound is healed, you must stay with me forever—otherwise, when this comes to light, there will be no pardon!" Wang agreed. The next day, the widow came, and Ma deceived her, saying, "She is my cousin, Lady Wang Erjie. Because she was born a eunuch, her husband's family expelled her. Last night she told me her story, and I learned of it for the first time. She has suddenly fallen slightly ill—I will buy medicine for her and also invite her family to come, so she can stay with my wife as a companion." The widow entered the room to see Wang, whose face was ashen as dust. She sat by the bed and asked her. Wang said, "My private parts have swollen suddenly—perhaps it is a malignant ulcer." The widow believed her and left. Ma fed her broth and sprinkled powder on the wound, and day by day she recovered. At night he would bring her to lie with him; in the morning, she would draw water, mend clothes, sweep, and cook for Tian, like a maidservant. Before long, Sang Chong was executed, and seven others of his criminal associates were put to death in the marketplace; only Erxi had escaped the net, and warrants were sent to all jurisdictions for her strict arrest. The villagers privately suspected her; they gathered the village widows to examine her through her skirt, and the suspicion was dispelled. Wang was grateful to Ma from then on and stayed with him until the end. When she died, she was buried beside the Ma family graves west of the prefectural city; her tomb is still faintly visible there.

The Historian of Strange Tales says: "Ma Wanbao can be called one who was good at employing others. Children like to play with crabs but fear their claws, so they cut off their claws and keep them. Ah! If one could grasp this principle, one could govern the world with it."

---

Appendix

The Hibernating Snake

In our county, a man surnamed Guo taught school at He Village on East Mountain. He had five or six pupils, all of them newly enrolled. South of the schoolhouse was the privy, which also served as a cattle pen. It leaned against a rocky cliff face, on which grew a tangle of weeds and brush. Whenever the boys went to the privy, they would not return for a long while. Guo scolded them for it. They replied, "We are riding the clouds while in the privy." Guo was suspicious. When the boys next went to the privy, he watched from the side and saw them rising two or three feet into the air, now ascending, now falling, and after a while motionless. Guo stepped closer for a closer look and saw a snake in a crevice of the wall, its head raised as large as a basin, drawing in breath and rising upward. He then told everyone in the village to come and see. They set fire to the wall with torches, and the snake died, the wall splitting open. The snake was not very long, but its girth was as big as a huge barrel. It had been hibernating inside and unable to get out, having remained there for many years.

Jin Ren

A certain man of Jin was endowed with great strength and courage. He disdained the arts of unarmed combat, yet whenever practitioners of the fighting arts faced him, they were all routed. Passing through Zhongzhou, he humiliated a disciple of the Shaolin Temple. The disciple, burning with resentment, reported this to his master. They plotted together to lay on a banquet and invite him, intending to trap him. When he arrived, tea and fruit were first presented. Walnuts, shells and all, were too hard to eat. The man took one to the table's edge and extended his index finger to tap it; it shattered at once. The monks were greatly alarmed. They treated him with the utmost courtesy and dismissed him.

Long

In Bo County, a villager named Wang Maocai set out early one morning to his fields. By the fieldside he picked up a small child, four or five years old, of comely appearance and clever in speech and laughter. He took the child home and adopted him as a son, for the child was uncanny beyond the ordinary. Some four or five years later, a Buddhist monk came to his house. The child saw him and vanished in a panic without a trace. The monk said to the villager, "This child is one of the five hundred young dragons in the pool on Mount Hua. He fled here in secret." The monk then produced a alms bowl, poured water into it, and there appeared a small white snake swimming within. The monk slipped the bowl into his sleeve and departed.

Ai Cai

Among the officials of the court, there was one whose sister was raised in the palace and married to a nobleman. A certain general drafted a letter of address for him, in which appeared these striking lines: "Your esteemed younger brother, following his elder through generations, has drawn near the dragon's radiance, and his sable-tasseled cap and ear-bobs have graced the painted chamber. My humble lady sister, the Lady of the House, for ten years attended the phoenix carriage, and her rainbow robes shone bright as the morning glow. The pounding-stone's pestle may be clasped in hand—there is no need to pound the frost of the moonlit night; the water of the Imperial Canal may be entrusted with one's message—there is no labor in the poem of Yunying." The presiding official marveled at his talent and accordingly exchanged his military rank for a civil one. He later rose to the office of Tongzhengshi.