Chapter 78

Chapter 78

Seventy-Eightth Chapter

Old Scholar Idly Composes the "Charming Maiden" Lyric

Foolish Young Master Fabricates the Lotus Eulogy

After the two nuns had led Fangguan and the others away, Lady Wang went to pay her morning respects to the Lady Dowager. Seeing that her mother-in-law was in good spirits, she took the opportunity to say: "There was a maid in Baoyu's rooms named Qingwen. That girl had grown up, and for the past year she had been perpetually ill. I often noticed she was more unruly and lazier than the others. Then a few days ago she was laid up for more than ten days. I called in a doctor to examine her, and he said it was consumption. So I hastened to send her away. If she recovers, there's no need to have her back—she might as well be given to her family to be matched in marriage. As for the other girls who studied opera, I've also decided to let them go. First, they all know their lines and have loose tongues—they only know how to babble nonsense. How could the young ladies be allowed to hear such things? Second, since they have performed for a while, it's only right to release them. Besides, there are too many maids as it is. If more hands are needed, a few more can always be selected."

The Lady Dowager nodded and said: "That's only reasonable. I've been thinking the same thing. But that girl Qingwen—I thought very highly of her. How did things turn out this way? In my opinion, none of the other maids could match her in looks, speech, needlework, or brisk efficiency. She was the only one fit to wait on Baoyu in the future. Who would have guessed she'd go bad?"

Lady Wang smiled and said: "The old lady's original choice was not mistaken. It's just that she lacked the good fortune, and so she fell ill. As the saying goes, 'A girl changes eighteen times as she grows up.' Besides, those with talent are apt to be a bit eccentric. Surely the old lady has seen everything there is to see. Three years ago I began to keep my eye on this matter. I first settled on her, and I watched her carefully. Observing her coolly, I found that although she excelled others in every respect, she lacked a certain gravity. As for being weighty and understanding propriety, Xiren was the best. Although one wants a virtuous wife and a beautiful concubine, it's better still if they are gentle in disposition and dignified in bearing. Xiren's looks, though slightly inferior to Qingwen's, still ranked among the best in the household. Moreover, she conducted herself generously and had an honest heart. These past few years she had never encouraged Baoyu in his mischief. Whenever Baoyu was extremely unruly, she was the only one who would remonstrate with him to the utmost. So after selecting her for two years and finding no fault, I quietly stopped her maid's monthly allowance and allocated two taels of silver from my own monthly stipend to her. This was merely to let her know she should be even more careful and strive to improve. I did not announce it openly for two reasons: first, Baoyu is still young, and if the Master found out, he might say Baoyu was neglecting his studies; second, Baoyu might think that since the people around him dare not advise or reprove him, he could indulge himself even more. That's why I've waited until today to report this to the old lady."

The Lady Dowager laughed and said: "So that's how it is. That's even better. Xiren was always quiet and taciturn from childhood—I used to say she was a gourd without a mouth. Since you know her so well, how could she be seriously at fault? And your idea of not telling Baoyu openly is even better. Let no one mention this matter—let everyone simply know it in their hearts. I know well that Baoyu in the future will be one who does not listen to the advice of wife or concubine. I can't understand it either. I've never seen such a child. Other kinds of mischief would be expected, but his partiality for maids is hard to fathom. This has worried me, and I've often watched him closely with a cool eye. If he's always carrying on with the maids, he must have grown up and understands relations between men and women, which is why he likes to be close to them. But on careful examination, it turns out not to be so at all. Isn't that strange? I suppose he must have been a maid who was reincarnated by mistake."

At this, everyone laughed. Lady Wang then reported how Jia Zheng had praised Baoyu and taken him out sightseeing. When the Lady Dowager heard this, she was even more delighted.

Presently, Ying-chun, having finished her toilet, came to take her leave and departed. Feng-chieh also came to pay her morning respects. After attending them at breakfast, they chatted and laughed for a while. Following the Old Ancestress's afternoon rest, Lady Wang summoned Feng-chieh and asked whether the pills had been prepared.

"They haven't yet," replied Feng-chieh. "I'm still taking medicinal decoctions at present. You needn't worry, madam, I've quite recovered."

Seeing that her spirits had returned to normal, Lady Wang believed her. She then told her about the dismissal of Ch'ing-wen and the others, and added, "Why did Pao-chai go home to sleep without anyone knowing? I made an inspection along my route the other day. That new nurse who came here with Lan is extremely coquettish too—I don't like her either. I've spoken to your sister-in-law about it. It would be best to let her go. Besides, Lan is grown now and has no need of a nurse. So I asked your sister-in-law, 'Didn't you know Pao-chai had gone out?' She said she had been told, but that Pao-chai would only stay two or three days and come back once her aunt was better. Her aunt is not seriously ill—just the coughing and backaches she gets every year. There must be a reason for her leaving. Could someone have offended her? That child takes things to heart. When relatives stay together, one must be careful not to give offence, or it creates bad feeling."

Feng-chieh laughed. "Who could possibly have offended her? Besides, she spends every day in the Garden, and the only people she sees are those young ladies."

"Could it be that Pao-yu, with his thoughtless tongue, said something tactless? He's always been like a simpleton with no sense of what to avoid—it's quite possible he blurted out something when he was in high spirits."

Feng-chieh laughed again. "You're worrying too much, madam. If he went out to discuss serious business, he might seem foolish. But when he's brought in among the young ladies and all the maids, he's the most considerate of anyone. He's always afraid of giving offence—no one could possibly be annoyed with him. I think Sister Hsueh left because of the recent search of the maids' belongings. Naturally she couldn't feel at ease that the Garden had been searched. She's a relative, and she has her own maids and servants here too, so we couldn't very well search them. She probably feared we'd suspect her, so she took it to heart and withdrew of her own accord. It's only natural she should avoid any suspicion."

Lady Wang thought this reasoning sound. She lowered her head in reflection, then ordered someone to invite Pao-chai to come and explain the previous day's events to ease her mind, and told her she might continue living in the Garden as before.

Pao-chai said with a smile, "I had wanted to leave earlier, but you have had so many important matters, aunt, that I didn't like to mention it. Then just the other day mother fell ill again, and our two most reliable women in the house were also sick, so I took the opportunity to go. Now that you know, I can speak plainly: I should take my leave today and move my things out."

Lady Wang and Feng-chieh both laughed. "You're too stubborn. You really ought to move back in. Don't let a trifling matter create distance between relatives."

Pao-chai smiled. "You don't understand at all. I'm not leaving because of any particular reason. First, mother's spirits are much diminished compared to before, and at night there's no one reliable to look after her—there's really only me. Second, my brother is about to be married, and there are still many needlework tasks and household articles that haven't been prepared—I need to help mother manage these things. Aunt and Sister Feng know our family circumstances; I'm not lying. Third, ever since I've been living in the Garden, the small side gate in the southeast has been kept open for my convenience. People coming and going might take that shortcut to save themselves trouble, and there's no one to check them. If anything untoward happened through that gate, it would be embarrassing for both sides. Besides, my coming to live in the Garden was never anything important—it was only because we were all young and nothing was happening at home, so it was better to come in and be together with the cousins, whether for needlework or amusement, rather than sit at home feeling dull. Now we've all grown up and all have our own affairs. Moreover, you have met with one misfortune after another through the years, and the Garden is so large that you can't watch over everything at once—everything is connected. If there were fewer people, you would have fewer worries. So today not only do I insist on leaving, but I would also advise you to reduce things where possible—it wouldn't compromise anyone's dignity. In my opinion, this expense for the Garden could actually be eliminated. I know I'm not saying what I ought to, but you know our family well—was it always as straitened as this?"

When Feng-chieh heard this speech, she turned to Lady Wang with a smile. "What she says is right. There's no point in forcing the issue."

Lady Wang nodded. "I have no answer to that. We'll just leave it to you, then."

By this time Baoyu had returned with the others. He explained that his father's party was still in progress and, fearing it might be getting dark, Jia Zheng had sent them home first. Lady Wang asked anxiously, "Did you disgrace yourself today?" Baoyu laughed. "Not only did I not disgrace myself—I came back loaded with things." Immediately afterward, old serving women came to receive the items from the pages at the inner gate. Lady Wang examined them: three fans with three fan cases, six cases of writing materials, three strings of scented beads, and three jade belt-rings. Baoyu said, "These are from Academician Mei, those from Vice Director Yang, and these from Secretary Li—one set for each of us." Then he drew from his breast a small sandalwood protective Buddha image and added, "This was given to me personally by the Duke of Qingguo." When Lady Wang had asked who else was present and what poems were composed, she had Baoyu's portion set aside and sent with Baoyu, Lan, and Huan to pay their respects to the Lady Dowager. The old lady was delighted and could not stop asking questions. But Baoyu's mind was fixed on Qingwen. Having answered as best he could, he complained that the horse ride had jostled him and his bones ached. "Go back to your room and change your clothes," said the Lady Dowager. "A little rest and exercise will set you right. But don't go to sleep." Baoyu obeyed and hurried back to the Garden.

Sheyue and Qiuwen were already waiting with two young maids. When Baoyu came out after taking leave of the Lady Dowager, Qiuwen gathered up the writing materials and followed him. "So hot!" he grumbled as he walked, pulling off his cap and sash and stripping off his outer robe, which Sheyue took from him. Beneath his apricot-yellow lined wadded jacket showed his bright red trousers, the color of drops of blood. Qiuwen, recognizing them as Qingwen's handiwork, sighed, "We should put this pair of trousers away—the thing remains but the person is gone." Sheyue smiled ruefully. "Yes, these are Qingwen's stitches." She too sighed. "How true—the object survives, the person does not." Qiuwen tugged at Sheyue's sleeve and whispered, "But they do go well with that apricot jacket and the dark-blue boots—they bring out the blue-black of her hair and the whiteness of her face." Baoyu pretended not to hear. After a few more steps he stopped. "I want to take a walk. What's the best way to do it?" Sheyue said, "Broad daylight—what are you afraid of? That someone might lose you?" She ordered the two young maids to follow. "We'll deliver these things and come back." "Dear sister, wait for me," said Baoyu. "We'll be back directly. With both of us carrying things—one with the four treasures of the study, the other with caps, robes, sashes, and shoes—we'd look like a procession." Baoyu was pleased that she had spoken exactly as he wished and let them go.

He then led two young maids behind a rock and asked them, "Since I left, did Sister Xiren send someone to look in on Sister Qingwen?"

One of them answered, "She sent Mother Song."

Baoyu asked, "What did she report?"

The maid said, "She reported that Sister Qingwen cried out all night with her neck stiff, and this morning she closed her eyes and stopped speaking. She is unaware of anything and cannot make a sound, only gasping her last breaths."

Baoyu hurriedly asked, "Who did she call for all night?"

The little maid said, "She called for her mother all night."

Baoyu wiped his tears and asked, "Did she call for anyone else?"

The maid said, "I didn't hear her call for anyone else."

Baoyu said, "You must have been confused and didn't hear clearly."

The other young maid nearby, who was the cleverest, seeing Baoyu speak this way, came forward and said, "He really was confused." She then said to Baoyu, "Not only did I hear clearly, but I also went to see her myself in secret."

Baoyu, hearing this, quickly asked, "Why did you go see her yourself?"

The maid said, "I thought that Sister Qingwen had always treated us differently from others, and was very kind to us. Now that she has been wronged and sent away, though we have no other way to save her, at least going to see her ourselves would not be unworthy of how she cared for us all along. Even if someone found out and reported us to Lady Wang and we were beaten, we would accept it willingly. So I risked a beating and went down to see her in secret. Who would have thought that though she was clever in life, she remained so even unto death. She thought it was no use speaking to vulgar people, so she only closed her eyes to rest her spirit. When she saw me come, she opened her eyes, took my hand, and asked, 'Where has Baoyu gone?' I told her the truth. She sighed and said, 'I cannot see him.' I said, 'Why don't you wait for him to return so you can see each other one last time and both fulfill your wishes?' She smiled and said, 'You don't understand. I am not dying. A Flower Deity is lacking in Heaven now, and the Jade Emperor has ordered me to take charge. I am to assume my post as Flower Official at the second watch of the Wei hour. Baoyu will not arrive home until the third watch of the Wei hour—there is only a quarter hour between us, so we cannot meet. When the King of Hell summons those who are fated to die, he sends little ghosts to seize their souls. If one wishes to delay for a moment, one only needs to burn some paper money and pour out some offerings, and the ghosts will be so busy grabbing the money that the person fated to die can linger a while longer. But I am being summoned by an immortal from Heaven—how could I possibly delay for even a moment!' When I heard this, I hardly believed it. But when I came back to the room and carefully checked the clock, indeed, at the second watch of the Wei hour she breathed her last, and right at the third watch someone came to call us, saying you had arrived. Everything matched perfectly."

Baoyu hurriedly said, "You are illiterate and have not read books, so you don't know. This is indeed possible. Not only does each flower have a deity, but beyond having a deity for each kind of flower, there is also a Chief Flower Deity. But I don't know whether she has gone to serve as the Chief Flower Deity or as the deity of just one kind of flower."

The maid, hearing this, could not make up an answer on the spot. It happened to be the eighth month, and the lotus flowers on the pond in the garden in full bloom. The maid, taking inspiration from the scene, quickly answered, "I once asked her what kind of flower deity she was, so that we could make offerings to her in the future. She said, 'Heaven's secrets must not be revealed. Since you are so devout, I will tell you, but you must only tell Baoyu. If you reveal Heaven's secrets to anyone else, five thunderbolts will strike you on the head.' She told me then that she was the deity in charge of the lotus flower."

Baoyu, hearing this, was not only not disturbed but went from sorrow to joy. Pointing at the lotus, he laughed and said, "This flower deserves to be governed by such a person. I always knew that someone like her would accomplish something extraordinary. Though she has transcended the sea of suffering and we can never meet again, I cannot help but feel sad and miss her." Then he thought, "Though I did not see her at the end, I should go now and pay my respects at her spirit tablet, to honor the affection of these five or six years."

With this thought, Baoyu hurried back to his room, changed his clothes, and told everyone he was going to see Daiyu. He then left the garden alone and went to the place he had visited before, thinking the coffin was still kept there. But who could have known that the moment she had breathed her last, her brother and sister-in-law had gone back inside, hoping to get a few taels of silver for the funeral expenses sooner. When Lady Wang heard of this, she ordered ten taels of silver to be given for the burial. She also commanded, "Take her away at once and have her cremated immediately. She died of consumption—she must not be kept!" Her brother and sister-in-law, upon hearing these words, pocketed the silver and at once hired people to prepare the body for burial, then carried it to the cremation ground outside the city. The remaining clothes, shoes, hairpins, and rings were worth some three or four hundred taels of gold, which her brother and sister-in-law kept for their future needs. The two of them locked the door and went together to attend the funeral, and had not yet returned. Baoyu arrived and found the place empty.

Baoyu stood there for a long time, but could think of nothing else to do, so he turned and went back into the garden. When he returned to his room, he felt listless and bored, and so he went to look for Daiyu along the way. But Daiyu was not in her room. When he asked where she had gone, the maids replied, "She has gone to Miss Bao's place." Baoyu then went to the All-Spice Court, only to find it quiet and deserted. The rooms had been emptied out, and he was greatly startled. Just then an old servant woman came by, and Baoyu quickly asked her what had happened. The old woman said, "Miss Bao has moved out. She left us to watch the place, and things haven't been completely moved yet. We've helped send some things over, and that's about all done. Please go back, sir, so that we can sweep the dust. From now on, you needn't trouble yourself to come all the way here."

Baoyu heard this and stood in a daze for a long time. He looked at the fragrant vines and strange creepers in the courtyard, still lush and green, but they seemed suddenly to have turned desolate compared to yesterday, and this added to his grief. He walked out silently, and saw that beyond the gate, on the green embankment, no one had passed by for half a day—so different from former days when the maids from every household would come unbidden in an endless stream. He bent down to look at the water beneath the embankment, still flowing on softly and gently. He thought to himself, "How can there be such heartless things in this world!" After a spell of sorrow, he suddenly remembered that Siqi, Ruhua, Fangguan, and the other five had been sent away, Qingwen had died, and now Baochai and the others had also left. Though Yingchun had not yet gone, she had not returned for several days in a row, and matchmakers had come one after another to seek her hand in marriage. It seemed that before long, everyone in the garden would be scattered. Even if he fretted, it would be of no use. He might as well go find Daiyu and spend the day with her; when he came back, he would keep Xiren company. With just these two or three people, perhaps they would live and die together. With this thought, he went to the Bamboo Lodge, but Daiyu had not yet returned. Baoyu thought he should go out and wait to see her off, but he could not bear the sadness, so he decided not to go, and returned dejectedly.

Just as he did not know what to do, a maid of Lady Wang's came looking for him and said, "The Master is back and is looking for you. He has found a good subject for a composition. Hurry, hurry!" Baoyu had no choice but to follow her. When he arrived in Lady Wang's room, his father had already left. Lady Wang ordered someone to escort Baoyu to the study.

At that time, Zheng was discussing with his guests the pleasures of seeking autumn scenery. He added, "Just as we were about to disperse, a topic came up that is truly a tale for the ages. It encompasses all eight qualities—'graceful and refined, loyal and heroic'—and would make an excellent subject. Everyone should compose a lament."

The guests all hastened to ask what this extraordinary matter was.

Zheng then said, "In the past, there was a prince titled Prince Heng, who was dispatched to garrison Qingzhou. This Prince Heng was fond of beautiful women and also delighted in martial arts during his leisure hours. He selected many beauties and had them train in military matters each day. Whenever he had time, he would hold banquets for days on end, ordering the women to practice combat and the lifting of heavy weapons. Among his concubines was one surnamed Lin, the fourth daughter, whose beauty was the most outstanding and whose martial skills were even more refined. She was called Lin Si'niang. The Prince Heng was most pleased with her and elevated Lin Si'niang to command all the women, calling her the 'Guimu General.'"

The guests all exclaimed, "How marvelous! By adding 'General' after 'Guimu,' it actually becomes all the more charming and graceful—truly an extraordinary and peerless expression. One can imagine that this Prince Heng was also the most romantic figure of all time."

Zheng smiled and said, "That is naturally so, but there is something even more remarkable and lamentable."

The guests asked in astonishment, "What further wonders lie below?"

Zheng said, "Who would have expected that the following year, remnants of bandits like the 'Yellow Turbans' and 'Red Eyebrows' would once again gather like crows and plunder the regions east of the mountains? Prince Heng considered these dogs and sheep unworthy of a major campaign and set out with light cavalry to suppress them. Unexpectedly, the bandits possessed considerable cunning and stratagems. After two defeats, Prince Heng was killed by the bandites. Thereupon, the civil and military officials of Qingzhou city all said, 'If even the Prince could not prevail, what can we do?' and were on the verge of surrendering the city. When Lin Si'niang received the dire news, she gathered all the female commanders and issued orders, saying, 'We have all received the Prince's favor and walk upon heaven and earth—we cannot repay even a fraction of it. Now that the Prince has given his life for the state, I too intend to give my life for the Prince. Those who wish to follow me, come with me now; those who do not wish to, may disperse early.' Upon hearing this, all the female commanders said they were willing. So Lin Si'niang led the group out of the city that very night, fighting straight into the bandits' camp. The bandits were unprepared and several of their chieftains were slain. But then the bandites saw that these were merely a few women and concluded they could not accomplish anything. They turned their weapons and fought with full force, leaving not a single one of Lin Si'niang's group alive—thus fulfilling Lin Si'niang's loyal and righteous resolve. Later, when the report reached the capital, from the Son of Heaven down to all the officials, there was universal astonishment at this wonder. Naturally, the court then sent someone to exterminate the bandites. As soon as the imperial troops arrived, they vanished without a trace—no need to dwell on this. Only regarding the matter of Lin Si'niang—when you gentlemen hear of it, is it admirable or not?"

The guests all sighed and said, "Truly admirable and marvelous—it is indeed a splendid subject. We should all compose a lament for her."

With that, someone quickly brought brush and ink, and making slight modifications to several words from Zheng's account, composed a brief preface, which they presented to Zheng for review.

Zheng said, "It is nothing more than this. They already had an original preface. Yesterday, because an imperial edict was received, instructing a review of all persons from previous dynasties who deserved commendation but had been overlooked and not memorialized—whether monks, nuns, beggars, or women—if there was one deed worthy of praise, their records were to be forwarded to the Ministry of Rites to request imperial reward. So the original preface was also sent to the Ministry of Rites. When everyone heard this news, they all wished to compose a 'Guimu Ballad' to commemorate her loyalty and righteousness."

Upon hearing this, everyone smiled and said, "That is as it should be. But what is even more admirable is that our present dynasty possesses unprecedented and generous grace, surpassing all previous ages. It can be said that 'the sage court has no deficiencies'—words spoken by people of the Tang dynasty in advance, which have actually come true in our present dynasty. The present age does not make that statement hollow."

Zheng nodded and said, "Indeed."

While they were speaking, Huan and his nephews arrived. Zheng ordered them to look at the subject. Although both could compose poetry, and in terms of the substance within their belles they were not far from Baoyu, there were two things: first, the two of them were of a different path. In terms of examination studies, they seemed superior to Baoyu, but in terms of miscellaneous learning, they fell far short. Second, their talents were dull and sluggish, lacking Baoyu's ethereal grace. Each time they composed poetry, it was like the eight-legged essay method—inevitably stiff and pedestrian.

As for Baoyu, although he could not be considered a scholar, he was blessed by nature with intelligence and had always enjoyed miscellaneous books. He believed that among the ancients too there were fabrications and errors, and one could not be too rigid in making comparisons. If one were always afraid of this and that, even if one piled up a composition, it would be quite lacking in interest. Because he held this notion in his heart, whenever he encountered a subject, whether difficult or easy, he found no effort required—like the glib-tongued people of the world, creating something from nothing, relying on a clever mouth and sharp tongue to spin out long discourses, pulling things together at random and elaborating into a whole speech. Although there was no basis for verification, it could make the four corners of the room spring with life. Even those with stern words and severe countenances could not suppress this kind of charm.

Recently, Zheng, being advanced in years, had grown indifferent to fame and profit. Yet by his original nature he too had been a dissolute lover of poetry and wine. Because he was among the younger generation, he could not but guide them onto the proper path. Lately he had seen that although Baoyu did not study, he actually had some understanding of this. Upon careful assessment, it could not be said that he had entirely disgraced the ancestors. When he thought of the ancestors, each of them had been like this too—although there had been those deeply proficient in examination studies, not one had ever risen to prominence. It seemed this was also the fate of the Jia family. Moreover, his mother doted on him, so he did not force him with examination studies. That was how he treated him recently. He also wanted that after Huan and Lan's examination studies, they too should be like Baoyu. So each time he wished to compose poetry, he would always summon all three together to compose in competition.

Let me pass over idle talk for now. To continue: Jia Zheng then ordered the three of them each to compose a dirge. Whoever finished first would receive a prize, and the finest work would earn an extra reward. Jia Huan and Jia Lan had both composed several poems recently in the presence of many people, and their courage had grown bolder still. Now, having read the topic, they each went off to ponder on their own. In a short while, Jia Lan finished first. Jia Huan, fearful of falling behind, also completed his. Both had written down their poems, but Baoyu was still lost in thought. Jia Zheng and the others first looked at the two poems.

Jia Lan's was a seven-character quatrain, which read:

The winsome General Lin Sijiang,

Jade for flesh and bone, iron for her heart,

She gave her life to repay the Heng King—

Even Qingzhou's earth is fragrant this day.

The assembled advisors all praised it highly: "For a young gentleman of thirteen to produce such a work—it truly shows the deep learning of his family. It is no empty claim." Jia Zheng said with a smile, "The words of a child—still, one cannot but commend him."

Then they looked at Jia Huan's, a five-character regulated verse, which read:

The rouged one knows no sorrow,

The general's will is not yet stilled.

She hides her weeping, leaves the embroidered curtain,

Bearing grief, she departs Qingzhou.

She thought to repay the king's grace—

How could she avenge the foe's crime?

Who inscribed this loyal and righteous tomb?

Through all ages, she alone stands graceful.

The others said, "This is even better. Being older by some years, his conception is naturally different." Jia Zheng said, "Not too flawed, but still not earnest enough." The others replied, "That will do. The Third Master is only a couple of years older. To achieve this before capping age—with effort, in a few more years, he might well be a great Ruan or little Ruan." Jia Zheng said, "You flatter him. His only failing is his unwillingness to study." Then he asked how Baoyu was getting on. The others said, "The Second Master works with meticulous care. His poem will surely be of a different order—sentimental and graceful, unlike these."

Baoyu laughed and said, "This topic seems ill-suited to regulated verse. It needs an old-style form—a song or a ballad, a long piece—to be truly earnest." When the others heard this, they all stood up, nodding and clapping. "We knew his conception would be different! Whenever he receives a topic, he first considers what form suits it. This is the method of a master. It is like tailoring clothes—before cutting the cloth, one must take the person's measurements. The topic is called 'The Winsome Song,' and since there is already a preface, it must be a long ballad to be fitting. Perhaps modeled on Bai Letian's 'Song of Everlasting Sorrow,' or on an ancient-style poem, half narrative, half lyrical, flowing and free—only then can it approach excellence."

Jia Zheng, hearing this, found it agreeable. He took up the pen and, turning to Baoyu with a smile, said: "Very well—you recite, I'll write. If it's bad, I'll thrash your flesh. Who gave you permission to boast so shamelessly first?" Baoyu had no choice but to recite a line:

The Heng King loved martial arts and beauty alike—

Jia Zheng wrote it down, looked at it, and shook his head: "Crude." One of the advisors said, "This is precisely what makes it ancient—it is not truly crude. Let us see what follows." Jia Zheng said: "Let it stand for now." Baoyu continued:

He therefore taught fair maidens to ride and shoot.

Rich songs and lascivious dances brought no joy—

Arrayed in formation, wielding spears, they found their delight.

Jia Zheng wrote it out, and everyone said: "Just this third line alone is so archaic and vigorous—superb. These four lines narrate plainly, and they are most fitting." Jia Zheng said: "Do not flatter him excessively. Let us see how he turns it." Baoyu recited:

Before the eyes, no dust of battle rises—

The general's dainty shadow amid the red lanterns.

When the others heard these two lines, they all exclaimed: "Splendid! What a fine 'no dust of battle rises'! And then 'dainty shadow amid the red lanterns' follows—every word and phrase has entered the realm of the divine." Baoyu said:

Her war-cries were fragrant upon the air,

Her frost-bright spear and snow-bright sword—too delicate to raise.

When the others heard this, they clapped their hands and laughed: "It's even more vivid, painted before our eyes. Was our Lord Bao perhaps present that day, seeing her loveliness and catching her fragrance? Otherwise, how could he have described it with such intimacy?" Baoyu laughed: "A maiden practicing martial arts—for all her fierceness, how could she compare to a man? Without asking, one can know her delicate and timid form." Jia Zheng said: "Hurry up and continue. You have no business showing off here." Baoyu pondered a moment, then recited:

Lilied tassels and lotus-silk cords—

The others all said: "Turning to the 'cord' rhyme, the 'Xiao' rhyme—even more wonderful. Now it flows and drifts freely. And this line is exquisitely lovely." Jia Zheng wrote it and looked at it. "This line is no good. You've already written 'fragrant upon the air' and 'too delicate to raise'—why do this again? This shows a lack of force, so you're piling on decorative phrases to cover it up." Baoyu laughed: "A long song also needs some ornate phrases for embellishment—otherwise it feels bare." Jia Zheng said: "If you keep using such phrases, how will you turn to martial matters below? If you add a few more lines, won't it be like adding feet to a snake?" Baoyu said: "In that case, if the next line turns and stops, that should do." Jia Zheng said coldly: "What great ability do you have? Above you wrote a grand, sweeping, empty line—now you want a single line that both turns and concludes. Isn't this a case of the heart having more ambition than strength?" Baoyu, hearing this, hung his head in thought, then said a line:

She hung not bright pearls—she hung a precious sword.

He hastily asked: "Is this line acceptable?" The others slapped the table in astonishment. Jia Zheng wrote it, looked at it, and smiled: "Let it stand. Continue." Baoyu said: "If it's acceptable, I'll go straight through. If not, I'll just scrape it out, think of another idea, and find fresh words." Jia Zheng, hearing this, barked: "Enough talk! If it's no good, write ten or a hundred more—are you afraid of working hard?" Upon this, Baoyu had no choice but to think for a moment, then recite:

The battle over, the night grows late—her strength and spirit fail,

Grease stains and powder smears defile the shark-skin sheath.

Jia Zheng said: "Another passage. What comes next?" Baoyu said:

Next year the marauders sweep through Shandong,

Devouring like tigers and leopards, swarming like bees.

The others all remarked, "What a fine character—'walk'! It immediately shows the superiority. And the whole line flows without stiffness."

Baoyu then read:

The King led Heaven's troops to crush the foe,

Fought battle after battle, but laid no blow.

A foul wind snapped the wheat along the ridge,

Sunlight shone on banners, empty tents in pledge.

Green mountains silent, waters running slow,

This was when Heng the King was laid low.

Rain drenched the white bones, blood stained the grass,

Moonlight chilled the yellow sand where ghosts kept watch, alas.

Everyone said, "Splendid, splendid! The arrangement, the narration, the diction—all without flaw. Let's see how he comes to Lady Si, he must have some marvelous turn and extraordinary lines."

Baoyu then read:

The soldiers thought only of preserving their own lives;

Qingzhou, seen with the eye, was all dust and ashes.

Who expected that loyalty and righteousness would shine in the women's quarters,

And that the favored one of Heng the King would rise in fury?

Everyone said, "The narrative is told with grace." Jia Zheng said, "There's too much already. The rest will probably be redundant."

Baoyu then read:

Who was the favorite of Heng the King?

The graceful and valiant General Lin Si-niang,

Who commanded the maids of Qin and drove the lasses of Zhao,

Peach-blossom red and plum-blossom full, advancing to the battlefield.

Embroidered saddles bore tears, spring sorrow weighed heavy,

Armored suits made no sound, the night air turned cool.

Victory and defeat are naturally hard to foretell,

She pledged her life and death to repay her former king.

The rebels' force was rampant, beyond resisting,

Willows snapped, flowers withered—truly grievous.

Her soul clung to the city walls, her hometown near,

Horses trod on rouge, the marrow fragrant.

News galloped swiftly to the capital—

What family's sons and daughters did not grieve!

The Son of Heaven was alarmed, bemoaning the lost defense;

At that hour, civil and military officials all hung their heads.

Why should civil and military officials stand at court,

And yet not match the woman Lin Si-niang in her bower!

I heave a long sigh for Lady Si,

My song is done, yet my thoughts still wander.

When he finished reading, all praised him without ceasing and went through the whole piece again from the beginning. Jia Zheng said with a smile, "Although he has said a few lines, after all it is not very earnest." Then he said, "Go, all of you." The three of them, as if granted a pardon, came out together and each returned to his room.

The others had nothing more to say and simply retired for the night. But Baoyu alone was filled with grief. Returning to the garden, he suddenly saw the lotus flowers on the pool and remembered that the little maid had said Qingwen had become the Goddess of the Lotus. He could not help feeling pleased again and stood gazing at the lotus flowers with a sigh for a while. Then it occurred to him that he had not made an offering at her spirit tablet after her death. Why not offer a sacrifice before the lotus flowers now? Would that not fulfill the rites and be far more distinctive than the conventional mourning at the spirit tablet? Having thought this, he was about to perform the ceremony. But he suddenly stopped himself, thinking, "Even so, I must not be too haphazard. I must dress properly and have the offerings complete, to show true reverence." He thought again, "If I were to follow the conventional rites of mourning, that would certainly not do. I must break new ground, establish a different ceremony, one that is original and extraordinary, untouched by the world, so as not to betray the character she and I share. Besides, the ancients said: 'Even the humblest things—stagnant pools, duckweed, wild herbs—may be offered to kings and spirits.' It is not the value of the offerings that matters, but the sincerity of the heart. That is the first point. Second, the elegy and lament must also express my own vision and set my own style. I must not fall into the old formulas, cobbling together a few words merely to satisfy the eye and ear. It must be written with tears and blood, each word a sob, each line a cry. Better that the writing be insufficient and the grief overflow, than that literary ornament overshadow the sorrow. Besides, the ancients themselves often expressed unconventional sentiments—it is not I who set this precedent. But people today are all obsessed with fame and success; the old ways are swept clean away. They fear being out of step with the times, lest it hinder their prospects for advancement. But I have no hunger for such fame. I do not write for the world's admiration. Why should I not look far back to the methods of the Chu writers—the *Great Words*, the *Summons for the Soul*, the *Encountering Sorrow*, the *Nine Arguments*, the *Withered Tree*, the *Questions and Difficulties*, the *Autumn Floods*, and the *Biography of Master Great Man*? I may mix in single lines, or compose short couplets, or use real allusions, or employ metaphors and allegories. I will follow my fancy, write as I please, using words in play when joyful, using words to express pain when grievous. When the meaning is fully conveyed, I will stop. Why must I, like the worldly, confine myself within narrow bounds?"

Baoyu was by nature one who did not study. Once this wayward notion took hold in his mind, how could he produce fine poetry and prose? He himself composed freely, without seeking anyone's admiration, and so gave full rein to his imagination, drafting an entire long essay. He wrote it in regular script on a piece of fine ice-silk gauze that Qingwen had liked in life, and titled it "The Elegy for the Lotus Maiden." It had a preface and a song. He also prepared four things that Qingwen had been fond of. Then, under the moonlight that night, he ordered the little maid to carry them before the lotus flowers. He first performed the rites of obeisance, then hung the elegy on a lotus branch, and tearfully read aloud:

In this age of enduring peace, in the month when osmanthus and cassia vie in fragrance, on a day of irremediable sorrow, the Jade of Turbid Quality from the Happy Red Court, with humble sincerity, presents the stamens of a host of flowers, the weave of ice-silk gauze, the waters of the Seeping Fragrance Spring, and the tea of maple-dew. Though these four offerings are trifling, they serve to convey my earnestness and devotion. He thus makes offering before the Lotus Maiden of autumn splendor, who serves as attendant in the Palace of the White Emperor, saying:

I have reflected in silence: since my daughter came into this turbid world, sixteen years have now elapsed. Her ancestral hometown and family name have long since been lost beyond all possibility of investigation. Yet I had the privilege of her company in the intimacy of bedding, combing, and bathing, in the evenings of repose and merrymaking, in closeness and familiarity—for five years, eight months, and some days besides.

I recall the time before her birth: her substance was more precious than gold or jade; her nature was purer than ice or snow; her spirit was more radiant than stars or sun; her beauty was more luminous than flowers or the moon. Her sisters all admired her grace and refinement; the old nurses and matrons alike looked up to her virtuous kindness. Who could have expected that the cuckoo and the owl would hate her loftiness, that the noble hawk would be caught in a snare? That the weeds would envy the fragrance of the sweet herbs, and the thoroughwort and the orchid would be mowed down! The flower was by nature delicate—how could it withstand the raging wind? The willow was by nature sorrowful—how could it endure the sudden downpour? When by chance she encountered the slander of venomous tongues, she fell gravely ill. So her cherry-red lips faded, and her voice came out in moans; her apricot cheeks lost their fragrance, and her complexion grew sallow and pinched. Defamatory whispers issued from behind the screens; brambles and thorns spread across doors and windows. If it was not that she invited blame and was thus supplanted, it was truly that she endured slander and met her end. She bore inexpressible grief in the depths of darkness; she suffered endless wrongs without redress. Her high standards aroused envy—the lady's chamber mourned as deeply as Changsha; her upright virtue brought peril—the gentlewoman's fate was more tragic than the slaughter at the wilds of Yu. She harbored bitterness all her own—who pitied her untimely death? The fairy clouds have scattered, and her fragrant footprints can no longer be found. The isle of Juku is lost—where could one obtain the resurrection incense? The magic raft of the sea is gone—the elixir of restoring life cannot be procured. Your dark brows, like misty blue—yesterday it was I who painted them; your jade ring is cold—for whom will it be warmed now? The remaining medicine in the censer is still there; the traces of tears on your garment are still damp. The mirror is divided and the phoenix parted—sorrow opens the toilet case of Sheyue; the comb has turned to a dragon and flown away—grief snaps the teeth of Tan Yun's comb. The golden hairpin lies abandoned among the weeds; the kingfisher-feather ornament is picked up from the dust. The building is empty, the magpie tower stands idle—in vain are the needles hung for the Seventh Evening; the girdle of mandarin ducks is broken—who will continue the five-colored thread?

Moreover, it is the season of metal, when the White Autumn Emperor holds sway. In the solitary coverlet there are dreams; in the empty chamber there is no one. The moon is dark on the paulownia steps—her fragrant soul and lovely shadow have vanished together. The lotus-scented canopy's perfume is spent—her delicate breathing and soft whisperings have both ceased. The withered grass stretches to the sky—is it only the reeds? The sound of grief covers the earth—is it only the crickets? Dew and moss on the evening terrace—no sound of the cold fulling-stone passes through the curtain; rain on the lichee by the autumn wall—from the next courtyard, one scarcely hears the plaintive flute. Her fragrant name has not yet faded—the parrot before the eaves still calls her; her beauteous form is about to perish—the crabapple beyond the railing has already grown old. Behind the screen where she used to play hide-and-seek—the lotus petals are silent; in the courtyard where she used to contest with flowers and grasses—the orchid sprouts wait in vain. The embroidered thread lies cast aside—who now will cut the colored silk from the silver paper? The icy silk is broken—the perfumed gold brazier has not yet pressed it.

Yesterday, receiving your stern command, I drove the carriage to journey far to the Fragrant Garden; today, offending your merciful authority, I lean on my staff and suddenly abandon her lonely coffin. And when I heard that the coffin had been consumed by fire, I was ashamed to have broken our vow to share the same grave; when the stone sarcophagus was ruined by disaster, I was shamed to face the reproach of failing to become dust together.

Now the west wind blows through the ancient temple, where the green phosphorescent lights linger; the setting sun falls on the desolate mound, where white bones lie scattered. The catalpas and elms rustle; the artemisia and mugwort sigh. Beyond the fog-shrouded pit, the gibbons weep; around the smoke-veiled ridge, the ghosts cry. I myself knew that within the red silk curtains, the young lord's feelings were deep; now I believe that beneath the yellow earth mound, the daughter's fate was thin. The tears of blood of Runan fall, drop by drop, into the west wind; the remaining sorrow of Zize silently confuses itself to the cold month.

Alas! It is truly that dark demons brought this calamity—but could the gods also be jealous? To silence the mouths of these perverse slaves—how could I be lenient in my investigation? To tear out the hearts of these fierce women—my anger is still not assuaged! Though your earthly karma with me was shallow, yet my base devotion to you will never cease. Because I harbor this earnest thought, I cannot refrain from these earnest questions.

Now I understand that the High God has unfurled his banner, awaiting a scribe in the Flower Palace. In life you belonged to the company of orchids and irises; in death you govern the lotus. Listening to the words of the little maid, it seemed far-fetched and baseless; but considering it with my turbid mind, I find it deeply well-founded. Why? In the past, Ye Fazhan captured a soul to compose a stele, and Li Changji was summoned by imperial decree to write a record. Though the matters were different, the principle is the same. Therefore, one matches a thing with a worthy person—if it were not the right person, would it not be an abuse of the position? Now I believe that the High God's entrustment of authority and judgment can be called perfectly fitting and perfectly just, so that the gifts with which you were endowed would not be wasted.

Therefore, hoping that your unforgetting spirit may perhaps descend or ascend to this place, and not fearing that my vulgar and uncouth words might defile your intelligent hearing, I sing to summon you:

Oh, why is the sky so vast and blue—riding the jade dragon to roam the vault of heaven?

Oh, why is the earth so boundless and wide—driving the chariot of precious jade to descend to the springs and the soil?

I gaze at the scattered canopy of umbrellas—is it the light of the Winnowing Basket and the Tail?

Ranks of feathered streamers lead the way before—guarding the perilful void beside?

I drive Fenglong as my attendant—the moon-goddess Wangshu leads the way?

I hear the creaking of the chariot tracks—driving the phoenixes and the mandarin ducks on the journey?

I ask of the rich, hidden fragrance—tying sweet thoroughworts to make a sash?

Your skirts and trains glitter and shimmer—carved from the bright moon to make earrings?

I weave luxuriant flowers to form a raised altar—kindle the lotus flame to burn the orchid oil?

I carve gourds to make goblets and wine-cups—strain the clear wine to float the cinnamon brew?

I gaze at the clouds and vapors, gazing fixedly—as if seeing something afar?

I bend down to the graceful depths, pricking my ears—as if hearing something faintly?

I hope to roam the boundless void without obstruction—how can you bear to cast me away in the dust?

I implore the Wind God to drive a chariot for me—hoping to join the reins and bring you back?

My heart within is filled with grief—what is the use of crying out in vain?

You lie in repose, slumbering long—is it that the course of Heaven has changed at this point?

Since your burial is secure and peaceful—returning to your true state, what further transformation would there be?

I am still bound and suspended—your spirit condescends to summon me with a sigh?

Come! Stay! Oh, come, my lady!

If one dwells in the primeval mist and abides in stillness and quiet, even though he comes to this place, I cannot perceive him. He draws up trailing mist and vines to make a walking screen and ranks the sweet flags and rushes like a bristling formation. He warns the willow eyes against too deep a slumber and frees the lotus hearts from their bitter taste. The Maid of White is invited to the Cassian Rocks, and the Goddess of the River Luo welcomes him at the Orchid Isle. Nongyu plays the sheng, and Hanhuang strikes the yu. He summons the Lady of Mount Song and awakens the Old Mother of Mount Li. The turtle reveals its magic at the Luo Ford, and the beasts perform the Xianchi dance. Dragons lurk in the Red River and sing; phoenixes gather in the Pearl Grove and soar. With reverence and sincerity, without baskets or vessels, he sets forth from the City of Rosy Clouds and returns his banners to the Dark Garden. Now seeming near and now again obscure, now dim and now abruptly blocked—parting and joining like mist and clouds, hazy and blurred like fog and rain. When the dust clears and the stars are high, the streams and mountains are lovely beneath the bright moon. Why is my heart so troubled, as vivid as waking and dreaming? I heave a sigh and gaze in sorrow, weeping and wandering in distress. Human voices are still and faint; the sounds of nature are the rustling of bamboo. Birds startle and scatter in flight; fish rise and splash with a sound. In grief I offer this prayer; in completing the rites I pray for auspiciousness. Alas! May the spirit accept the offering!

When he had finished reading, he burned the silk and offered the tea, yet still lingered, reluctant to leave. The little maid urged him again and again before he finally turned to go. Suddenly, from behind the rocks, someone laughed and said, "Please wait a moment." Hearing this, they both started. The little maid turned and saw a figure walking out from among the hibiscus flowers. She cried out, "Oh no, there's a ghost! Qingwen's spirit has truly appeared!" Startled, Baoyu hurriedly looked—but listen to the next chapter for what happened.

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