by Pu Songling
Her description honestly persuaded Changong to fall in love with Qiulian, but he thought that agreeing to marriage might anger his father, so he forthrightly explained his hesitation to her. The old lady, however, didn’t really believe him and tried to convince him to swear that he’d marry Qiulian. Changong, however, felt that he couldn’t do this.
“So,” the old lady replied angrily, “in the real world someone can initiate a marriage proposal for a woman but still be refused. Now that I’ve tried to secure Qiulian a husband without summoning a matchmaker, if you can’t see your way to making her your wife, how will I bear the shame! Please don’t go back to the north!” Then she left.
A little while later, when his father returned, Changong quietly told him about what had transpired, secretly hoping that Mu Xiaohuan would accept the proposal. But his father laughed off the idea, rationalizing that they’d already arranged to travel far away, derisively dismissing the notion that some girl had become sexually attracted to his son.
At the place where their boat was moored, the water was deeper than the length of an oar; that night, all of a sudden, the bow of the boat got caught on some rocks, immobilizing it, so it couldn’t move. It was always the case every year that some traders tied up their boats at the sandbank in the middle of the river until high waters arrived the following season, guaranteeing that their goods would be worth a hundred times as much thanks to the delay, which is why Changong’s father wasn’t concerned that there was anything strange going on.
Then his father began to calculate that it would be costly for them to travel back home with their goods and afterwards return from the south the following year—hence he told Changong to stay there while he returned home. Changong was secretly overjoyed, but he was also sorry that he hadn’t asked the old woman where she and her daughter lived.
That day, after sundown, the old woman arrived with a maidservant, helping her support a young lady, and once they’d loosened her clothing as they laid her on a bed, the old woman turned to Changong and declared, “When you make someone this ill, don’t expect to have nothing to do with it, because it won’t do any good!” Then she simply disappeared.
Upon hearing this, Changong was frightened; he moved a candle closer to the bed so he could examine Qiulian, finding her still beautiful in her weakened state, her eyes as bright and clear as ever. When he gently asked her how she was doing, she gayly managed a little smile. Mu Changong urged her to reassure him that she was going to be alright. “I’m shy before the gentleman who makes me feel so lovesick,” she replied, “so you can recite a poem for me.”
This made Changong feel so crazed with joy that he wanted to sweep her into his arms, but he was cautious, given her fragile condition. Thus he began to caress her breasts as they joined their lips. Without thinking, in the midst of their pleasure, Qiulian teased, “If you recite Wang Jian’s ‘Your Silk Garment Amongst the Leaves’ three times, I’ll recover from my illness.”
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“I’m shy before the gentleman . . .”: Qiulian is alluding to the famous love story by Tang dynasty author Yuan Zhen (779-831), “The Story of Yingying” (yingying chuan).
Wang Jian: Wang (c. 767-830) was a Tang dynasty (618-907) poet.
Changong then did precisely that. Just as he’d finished reciting the poem for the second time, Qiulian picked up her robe and got up out of bed, declaring, “I’m all better!” As he continued to recite the poem again, the lovely Qiulian trembled with happiness. Feeling even more lovestruck, Changong blew out the candle and they retired to bed together.
Qiulian rose before the dawn, informing Changong, “My mother’s on her way here now.”
In a short while, an older woman did indeed arrive, and when she saw her daughter sitting there glowing with happiness, she couldn’t help but feel greatly relieved; when she motioned for her daughter to leave with her, Qiulian lowered her head and didn’t say a word, so her mother approached her before leaving, to remark, “You’re pleased to stay and play with your gentleman—just remember that it’s your decision.”
Following her mother’s departure, Changong started to ask more about Qiulian and where she’d been living. “You and I are just friends, coming together briefly,” she replied, “and we’re certainly not married, so there’s no need to learn anything about my family.” Yet the two loved each other and fervently vowed that their mutal devotion would remain unwavering.
One night, when Qiulian got out of bed while it was still very early in the morning, turned up the wick on the lamp, opened a book, and began to weep in sadness, Changong quickly stirred and asked her what was wrong. “Your papa’s on his way here,” Qiulian explained. “Thus I decided to consult a book on our future, and when I opened it up, it turned to Li Yi’s ‘Southern Song,’ a poem with a very inauspicious theme.”
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Li Yi’s “Southern Song”: Li Yi (c. 748-827) was identified as “one of the ‘Ten Distinguished Writers’” of the era 766-79 (Chan 176). The female narrator of his quatrain, “Southern Song,” laments that if she’d realized that her merchant husband would return so infrequently from his travels, she’d have married a man whose presence could be counted on.
Changong tried to comfort her by saying, “The line, ‘Married to a merchant on the shore,’ has already proven to be very lucky for us, so how can it not be auspicious!”
This then cheered Qiulian up a bit, so she stood up to take her leave, telling him, “I have to say goodbye for just a little while, otherwise when it’s daytime a thousand people soon will point and stare at us in envy.”
Changong grasped her arm, choking with sobs, and asked, “If we were approved to marry, how would I let you know?”
“I often send servants out to see what you’re doing,” she replied, “so I’ll definitely know whether your father has agreed to our marriage.” Changong prepared to disembark from their boat to see her off, but she insisted that he stay onboard and then departed.
Before long, Changong’s father arrived for real. Changong gradually disclosed his intentions to him. Mu Xiaohuan suspected that his son was referring to some prostitute, so he angrily scolded him. He carefully examined the valuable items aboard the boat to ensure that nothing had been lost, then finished reprimanding him.
One night when his father didn’t happen to be onboard the boat, Qiulian suddenly appeared—and having come together, they were reluctant to part, but they didn’t know what to do about it. “We have to accept our fate,” said Qiulian, “but to consider the present, since you’ll be staying a couple more months, let’s plan what to do after that.” Just before parting, they decided they would use verse recitations to signal their subsequent rendezvous. Henceforward, whenever Mu Xiaohuan went out, Changong would begin reciting in his tenor voice, and Qiulian would consequently show up.
April passed, and as commodity prices started falling, none of the merchants had a contingency plan, so they collected money and offered it, along with their prayers, at the temple of the lake god. Then, following the Dragon Boat Festival, a mighty rain came and all of the boats on the lake started to move off.
Upon returning home, Changong was so distracted by thoughts of Qiulian that he succumbed to illness. This was such a cause of concern that his family had a shaman brought in to treat him. Changong privately told his mother, “This sickness isn’t something medicine or prayers can help—only Qiulian’s presence can do that.”
At first, his father was angered by Changong’s condition; but when enough time had elapsed, and his son’s malady took a turn for the worse, Mu Xiaohuan became so worried that he hired a carriage to transport his son back to their boat, and once aboard, they returned to Hubei, where they anchored at their previous site. Changong’s father made inquiries among the locals, but no one knew anything about Qiulian’s mother.
In a little while, the old woman appeared at the lakeside, grasping what appeared to be a rudder, admitting that she was Qiulian’s mother. When Changong’s fa
ther climbed aboard their boat, he discovered Qiulian there, and though he secretly took great comfort from this, he still asked her about her background, learning only that her family were living on the water.
He then told her earnestly about Changong’s illness, hoping that since she’d boarded the boat, she’d be able to relieve his son’s protracted suffering. However, the old lady insisted that without a formal marriage agreement, she couldn’t allow Qiulian to be there. At that, Qiulian half-turned her face towards them, eavesdropping soberly. Once she heard what the two were saying to each other, tears began to stream from the corners of her eyes—thus when the old woman saw Qiulian’s face, and considered the father’s sincere pleas, she agreed to allow Qiulian to see Changong.
When night fell and Mu Xiaohuan left the boat, Qiulian appeared at Changong’s bedside, weeping as she told him, “What happened to me the other year now happens to you! Otherwise you wouldn’t know what such an experience feels like. But we can’t let you remain feeble like this—I’m eager to cure you as soon as possible. I’d also like to recite a bit of a poem for you.” Changong was happy for her to do so.
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Dragon Boat Festival: Held on the fifth day of the fifth lunar month to ward off evil during “the Dragon month, when disease is most rampant and threatening” (Palmer 198).
Qiulian then recited the Wang Jian poem that he’d previously recited for her. “This poem comes from the heart,” he said, “for how else can it cure both of us? When I hear your voice, my body and spirit already feel restored. Try to recite ‘The Willow Branches Stretch Toward the West.’” Qiulian then did exactly as he asked. “What a comfort!” he commended her. “You previously referred to a poem known as ‘Plucking Lotus Seeds,’ and recited, ‘The fragrant lotuses covered a dozen ponds.’ If you feel it’s not a completely absurd request, I’d like to trouble you for a more complete rendition of that piece for my amusement.” Qiulian then complied with this request, too.
Just as she concluded, Changong leapt up and cried, “How could I ever have felt unwell!” At that, they joyfully embraced and made love, as though Changong’s lingering illness had never occurred. Afterwards, he asked her, “What happened when my father spoke with your mother? Did they come to some kind of agreement?”
Qiulian was already aware of the change in Mu Xiaohuan’s attitude, but she simply replied, “Not yet.”
She left soon afterwards, followed by the arrival of Changong’s father, who was so overjoyed to see his son up and about that he freely offered his comfort and encouragement. Accordingly, he declared, “That girl’s quite beautiful. But she’s been making a living with her mother since she entered her teens, and though it doesn’t matter that what they do is small or humble, she can’t still be pure.” Changong refused to listen to him.
Later on, after his father went out and Qiulian came back, Changong told her what Mu Xiaohuan had said. “From everything I’ve observed,” she replied, “I’ve learned this: in the world, the hastier you are, the further from your goal you’ll end up; the more eagerly you try to persuade somebody, the more adamantly he refuses you. We should let him change his mind by himself and propose the matter to us.”
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“The Willow Branches . . . the West”: Verse written by Liu Fangping, a Tang dynasty (618-907 C.E.) poet.
Changong asked her what she suggested they should do, so she explained, “Ordinarily, merchants are devoted to obtaining profits. I happen to have some skill at anticipating commodity prices. When I see some cargo in a boat, I know if it won’t be selling well. You can tell your father for me: if he stockpiles these goods, their eventual sale will triple his profits; other goods might fetch ten times as much. When my words turn out later to be true, then I shall become a respected daughter-inlaw in your family. By the time we come back here, you’ll be eighteen, I’ll be seventeen, and we’ll have many happy days ahead—so what is there to worry about!”
Changong told his father about the value that Qiulian said the goods would have. Mu Xiaohuan really didn’t believe the plan would work, so he only took half of their profits to invest as Qiulian had advised. After returning home, he went to check their commodities inventory, and found that their own investments had lost quite a bit of value; fortunately, he’d followed Qiulian’s advice at least a little and earned significant profit from that, which quite offset their losses.
Thereafter, he deferred to Qiulian like she was a goddess. Changong became even more adulatory, claiming that Qiulian would make their family wealthy. His father consequently collected up their trading capital and they headed south.
Once they’d arrived at the lake, several days passed and they didn’t see Qiulian’s mother; several more passed, till they finally spotted her boat moored to a willow tree, so Mu Xiaohuan offered her the marriage gift from his family, but she refused it. Nevertheless, the old lady sent her daughter over to Changong’s boat. Mu Xiaohuan consequently hired another boat so they could proceed with the wedding plans.
Qiulian then had Mu Xiaohuan travel even further south to purchase the goods she’d listed in an account book. Qiulian’s mother meanwhile invited her son-inlaw to come live with her on her boat. Mu Xiaohuan returned three months later. The goods that had been taken to Hunan had already tripled in value.
Just as they were about to return home, Qiulian asked if they could take some lake water with them. After they returned home, at every meal she added some lake water to their food, eating it like soy sauce. Henceforth, whenever they traveled south on business, they were careful to bring her several jars of this water.
Three or four years passed, and Qiulian gave birth to a son. One day, she began sobbing that she needed to go home. Mu Xiaohuan and Changong together took her back to southern Hubei. When they arrived at the lake, they didn’t know where the old lady was. Qiulian tied up the boat and called for her mother, becoming alarmed and looking pale. She urged Changong to ask around the lakeside for any news of her.
As he was doing so, he discovered a fisherman who’d caught a large fish that turned out to be a freshwater dolphin. When Changong looked closely at it, it proved to be really huge, the size of a person, complete with human breasts and genitals. This seemed very strange to him, so he went back and told Qiulian. Horrified, she told him that she’d always been committed to the freeing of captive animals, so she urged him to buy the creature’s release. When Changong returned to the fisherman pay for this liberation, he found that the man had raised the price very high.
“When I was at your home,” Qiulian said, “I helped to make you an enormous fortune, a sum of money that you’re too stingy to use! I’ll just throw myself in the lake and drown!” Changong was startled, but didn’t dare mention Qiulian’s response to his father, so instead he just stole the taels he needed to purchase the creature’s release.
Returning after doing so, he didn’t see Qiulian anywhere and searched unsuccessfully for her, until almost two hours later, she finally appeared. “Where’ve you been?” he asked her.
“I happen to have been with my mother,” Qiulian replied.
“And where was that?” inquired Changong.
Qiulian blushed as she explained, “I mustn’t be untruthful with you now: the creature you paid to release was none other than my mother. We were living in the underwater court of the dragon lord, who put us in charge of entertaining visitors to Hubei. Someone coming to the palace wanted to select entertainers and heard by rumor that we were highly recommended, so an edict was issued to my mother that I was wanted. My mother then reported honestly that I was elsewhere.
“The dragon lord refused to accept this and hence exiled my mother to the lake’s south shore, where she became so hungry that she wanted to die, which is how she came to suffer the misfortune of being caught on the fishing line. Even though she’s escaped that calamity now, her punishment isn’t over yet. Since you love me, I begged you to act on her behalf, praying to a particular Daoist immortal that she’d be exemp
t from retribution. If you regard us as alien creatures, I’ll leave our son to you alone. I’ll go to the dragon palace, where everything must be a hundred times better than in your home.”
Changong, quite shaken, wondered whether he’d even be allowed to glimpse a Daoist immortal. “Tomorrow afternoon around one o’clock,” she told hm, “the Daoist immortal will arrive. When you see a crippled Daoist, pay your respects to him, and follow him when he enters the water. The dragon lord is partial to men of letters, so he’ll surely be open to your request to see me.” Then she took out what looked like a fish belly and held it out to him, remarking, “When the Daoist asks what you want, take this out, and ask him to write the character for ‘exempt’ on it.” Changong responded that he would wait there as she’d advised.
Consequently, when a Daoist priest happened to arrive, limping, Mu Changong did obeisance to him. The Daoist quickly walked away, with Changong following after him. Then taking a stick and striking the water with it, the Daoist leapt onto the stick. Changong followed him, also leaping onto it, only it wasn’t a stick any longer—it was a boat. Accordingly, he repeated his obeisance to the Daoist.
The priest asked him, “What is it you wish?” Changong took out the apparent fish belly and asked for the character to be written on it. The Daoist spread out the belly-like flesh, examined it, and declared, “This came from the fin of a freshwater dolphin—so where did you encounter it?”
Changong didn’t dare try to hide the truth, so he spelled out everything in detail, from beginning to end. The Daoist laughed and said, “This is so uniquely elegant, how can the old dragon possibly resist it!” He took out a brush and painted the character meaning “exempt” on it, like he was writing a magical talisman, then returned with it to the boat and commanded it to take him below. Changong watched him step onto the stick and begin floating away, then an instant later, he vanished.
