by Pu Songling
The eunuch’s servants, overjoyed, were prepared to do as he’d asked. The eunuch was also quite pleased, and personally led the Daoist through the back gate of the prince’s estate, where he was able to experience all of the scenery. Gong followed him as they ascended into the tower.
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Prince Zhu Tanfeng: The tenth son of Zhu Yuanzhang—better known as the first Ming emperor, Hongwu (reigned 1368-98)—Tanfeng was known as the “Impetuous Prince” (see Zhu 2:893n2); he died in the 22nd year of his father’s reign.
Then as the eunuch was leaning against a window, Gong gave him a push, and as the eunuch felt his body fall outside the tower, a thin kudzu vine suddenly wrapped around his waist, which left him hanging out in the open air; and as he gazed into the distance below, the sight making him feel dizzy, the kudzu vine began to make a faint sound, like it was about to snap. Terrified, the eunuch began howling loudly.
Before long, several other domestic eunuchs arrived, and were quite startled by the sight. When they saw that he was suspended high above the ground, they climbed the tower together and examined the situation, discovering the kudzu vine to be fastened onto the window frame; they wanted to untie it, but the vine was so thin that it couldn’t bear the strain of their efforts. They searched for the Daoist, but he’d already disappeared.
Helpless to know what to do, they sent word to the prince. When the prince arrived to investigate the matter, he found it extremely strange. He ordered layers of straw to be spread at the base of the tower as padding, for the vine was about to snap. Just as the work was finished, the kudzu vine pulled apart, and the eunuch fell to the ground—but the actual distance was no more than a zhi. Everyone had a good laugh about it.
The prince ordered some people to make inquiries about the Daoist’s whereabouts. When they heard that he was lodging at xiucai Shang’s home, and went there to ask about him, they were told that he’d gone out for a stroll, but hadn’t returned yet. Later, they met him along the road, and led him to see the prince.
The prince invited Gong to dine with him, and then asked him if he’d perform some tricks. “I’m just a rustic fellow, with only mediocre abilities,” the Daoist replied. “In order to repay your favor, I’ll deign to present Your Majesty with a female song and dance performer to wish you a long life.”
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A zhi: This distance is equal to eight cun (approximately 2.667 decimeters), or about 10½ inches.
Xiucai Shang: Shang is a scholar who has qualified in the imperial civil service examination at the county level.
Then he reached into his sleeve and withdrew a beautiful woman, set her on the ground, and she turned to face the prince, saluting him obsequiously. The Daoist ordered her to perform the drama, “Banquet at Jade Lake,” and to offer the prince ten thousand years’ worth of good wishes. The woman accordingly recited the dramatic piece. Gong then took another woman from his sleeve, who called herself “the Queen of Heaven.”
A little while later, Dong Shuangcheng, Xu Feiqiong, and all the goddess’ handmaidens, one after another, came out. And at the end, the Weaving Maid arrived for a visit, making a present of an entire suit of splendid, golden-colored clothing, shining brilliantly throughout the room. The prince believed it was just a trick, so he demanded that Gong show him how he did it. The Daoist quickly responded, “I can’t!”
The prince wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he finally took a closer look at it—consequently discovering that there was no sign of stitching in the clothing, meaning that it had been made in a way that no human being could manage. “With all sincerity, I’ve shown respect to Your Majesty,” the Daoist said sadly, “and for a short while I’ve borrowed some of heaven’s celestials, but now this clothing has been besmirched by impure qi, so how can I return it to its owner?”
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“Banquet at Jade Lake”: A reference to the immortal abode of the central Daoist goddess, the Queen Mother of the West (xiwangmu); see Cahill’s chapter, “Eating the Peaches of Immortality: Emperors and Immortals” (143-89).
Dong Shuangcheng: One of the attendants of the Queen Mother of the West, assigned “to blow the Cloud Harmony Mouth Organ” (Cahill 99).
Xu Feiqiong: Another female attendant of the Queen Mother of the West, assigned “to sound the Thunder Numen Flute” (Cahill 149).
The Weaving Maid: Legend associates the Weaving Maid, a daughter of the Jade Emperor, with a Cowherd, and when the maid becomes so enamored of her beau that she neglects her weaving work, the lovers are turned to stars, separated by the Milky Way, and subsequently allowed to be together only one day a year (Cahill 167; Yang and An 221).
The prince then realized that the performances had been delivered by immortals, and was thinking that he wanted to ask one or two of them to stay; as he looked at them carefully, he saw that they were just the female singers from the palace. But he began to suspect that there was something odd about the music, since it wasn’t what he was used to listening to in the palace, so he asked the singers about it, but they were at a loss, and responded that they weren’t sure what to make of it.
The Daoist took the shining clothing, put it in the fire to burn, and then replaced everything inside his sleeve, yet when he searched it again, everything was already gone. The prince thereupon very seriously asked the Daoist to come live in his palace. Gong replied, “Since I’m a rustic fellow by nature, living in a palace would make me feel caged, not like in the xiucai’s home, where I feel free.”
He began often returning at midnight; sometimes the prince would be particularly persistent in asking him to stay, and so the Daoist would stay there overnight. At banquets, he’d always playfully produce some flora that were out of season. The prince asked him, “I’ve heard that immortals can never entirely give up sentimental feelings—is that true?”
Gong answered, “Perhaps that’s true of immortals; I’m no immortal, so my heart’s like a dead tree.”
One night, as the Daoist was staying at the palace, the prince sent a young prostitute to go test Gong’s emotions. She entered his room, calling his name several times, but there was no answer; when she brought a candle closer, she found him sitting on the bed, his eyes closed. When she shook him, his eyes flashed open, but then shut again; as she shook him a second time, he made a snoring sound. Then she pushed him with her hand and he toppled over onto the ground, sound asleep and snoring like thunder; and when she flicked him in the forehead with her finger, it made a pinging sound like an iron cauldron.
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Qi: The vital energy, or life essence, of an individual, according to Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM).
She returned and reported this to the prince. He then sent someone to try to prick Gong with a needle, but the needle couldn’t penetrate his skin. They tried to push him, but he was so heavy that they couldn’t shake him; more than ten additional men were sent to lift him up onto the bed, but it was as if a thousand catties of stone were pressing him to the ground.
At daybreak when they went to spy on him, he was still asleep on the ground. He awoke with a laugh and said, “I must have been sleeping so deeply that I fell out of bed and didn’t even feel it!” Afterwards, the girl often came and sat next to Gong when he’d be sitting or lying down to sleep, pressing his skin playfully: at first, when she’d touch him, it would still be pliant, but then when she’d press it again, it would be completely solid.
The Daoist lodged at Shang’s house, though he didn’t return until midnight. Shang had previously locked the door to Gong’s room, and with the dawn approaching he went to open the door, where he found the Daoist already in bed.
Originally, Shang had shown considerable kindness to Huige, the young prostitute, who was trained in musical performance, and had vowed to marry her. Because of her remarkable performing abilities, Huige was quite popular at the time. When the prince heard of her reputation, he summoned he
r to become a palace performer, thereby severing her attachment to Shang.
The xiucai was constantly concerned about her, but there was nothing he could do to stop worrying. One night, he asked Gong, “Have you seen Huige?”
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A thousand catties: A weight equal to 1,102.3 pounds.
“I’ve seen all the performing girls,” the Daoist replied, “but I don’t know which one is Huige.” Shang described her appearance, and her age, so the Daoist would recall her. Then he begged Gong to take a letter to the girl. The Daoist laughed and said, “I’m from beyond the mundane world, so I can’t be your Se Hong.”
Shang’s sorrow seemed endless. Thus the Daoist opened up his sleeve and declared, “If you feel you must have a look, please step inside here.” Shang took a peek, and it was as big inside as an entire room.
He prostrated himself and crawled inside, where a light allowed him to see quite clearly that it was as broad as a great hall; its contents were all-inclusive, from desk to beds. Once he was inside the room, he found it so unusual that he no longer felt depressed.
Gong then entered the palace, where the prince had invited him to play chess. Seeing Huige arrive, the Daoist pretended to shake the dust from his robe, by which time Huige had already been admitted into his sleeve, though no one else noticed this.
Shang had been sitting by himself there, meditating, for some time, when suddenly a beauty descended from the eaves of the hall, and when he went to investigate, he discovered it was Huige. Both of them were pleasantly surprised, and embraced as they reached each other. “Today we’ve been united so unexpectedly,” said Shang, “that I can’t help but commemorate it in writing. I hope, dear, that you can help me finish the couplet.”
They wrote on the wall, and then read aloud, “A nobleman’s home is like the sea—footprints don’t last in it for long.”
Once they had recited it, Huige replied to Shang, “It’s beyond my wildest expectations to have encountered you here.”
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Se Hong: Wang Xianke, a Tang dynasty (618-907 C.E.) personage, was in love with a palace maid named Wushuang, but was unable to meet her—until one of the many plots of his crafty servant, Se Hong, succeeded (Zhu 2:894n29).
“This sleeve is truly huge enough to hold all of heaven and earth,” replied Shang.
Huige answered, “It certainly can hold the romantic longings of two lovers.”
Just as they concluded their writing, five men entered suddenly, wearing eight-sided Daoist hats and pink clothing, and recognized the lovers, though they’d never met before. The men didn’t say a word, but seized Huige and left.
Panic-stricken, Shang didn’t know why the men had taken her. Gong was just returning then, and called for Shang to come out, with Shang subsequently asking him to explain what was happening, and why the men had avoided speaking up to explain to him. The Daoist smiled, loosened his clothing, and rolled back his sleeve to show him. Shang looked closely and observed some faint writing inside, small and delicate as lice eggs, which was the couplet he and Huige had written.
Ten days later, he begged to enter the Daoist’s sleeve again. Altogether, he’d been inside three times. Once he was inside, Huige told Shang, “My belly’s been swollen and quivery, and I’m so worried that I tightened a belt around it. There are a great many snoops in the prince’s household, so if some morning I happen to give birth, where can I accommodate a crying infant? I need to trouble Gong, who’s surely an immortal and has seen my pregnant girth, to rescue me.” Shang promised to ask for his help.
He returned to see the Daoist, prostrating himself on the ground and refusing to rise. Gong pulled him up and said, “What you have requested, I’ve already taken care of granting. Consequently, I’d like you to cease your worrying. Your family line is depending upon this baby for its continuance, so I dare not allow anything to interfere. Accordingly, you don’t need to enter the sleeve again after this. What I’m repaying for your kindness has nothing to do with a secret affair with a woman.”
After several months, Gong appeared to him, and said with a laugh, “Your son’s been born. Grab some swaddling clothes as quickly as possible and come!”
Shang’s wife, who was exceedingly virtuous, was about thirty years old, and had given birth several times before, but with only one son surviving; she’d also recently produced a daughter, who died just a month later. When she heard Shang’s announcement, she was happily surprised and came out to join him.
The Daoist felt around inside his sleeve and drew out a baby boy who was sound asleep, with something protruding from his navel, as though the umbilical cord hadn’t yet been severed. As Shang and his wife joined together to hold the infant in their arms, it began gurgling and crying. Gong loosened his robe and explained, “The birth blood splattered my clothing, and in Daoism, that’s a taboo. Now I must give it to you to keep for twenty years, and then you must dispose of it.” Shang gladly accepted the clothing.
The Daoist then advised him, “You mustn’t throw the old robe away, but rather burn it till it’s reduced to the weight of several coins, then you can use the ash to promote healing from a difficult birth or abortion.” Shang then did as he told him.
When they’d been home for a long time, Gong suddenly appeared and told Shang, “From the old robe that you’ve been keeping, you should save a little for yourself, which you must remember you have, even after my death.” Shang told him his words were inauspicious. The Daoist made no reply and left.
Gong then went to see the prince, and told him, “I’m about to die!” The startled prince asked him what he meant, and he replied, “This was fated, just as I said.” The prince didn’t believe him, and insisted that Gong stay with him.
The prince asked him to play chess, but the Daoist quickly got up; the prince then stopped him. Gong asked him to step outside the room with him, so the prince followed. The Daoist then quickly lay down, and when the prince went to look at him, he was already dead. The prince provided a coffin for him, and had him buried with full funeral ceremony.
Shang was on the point of exhausting the last of his tears of grief when he recalled Gong’s earlier words to him. The robe that the Daoist had left behind did indeed work effectively, so accordingly, a crowd gathered outside Shang’s door, clamoring for a piece of it.
He began to cut from the stained sleeve; afterward, he cut off the collar and lapel of the robe, and never failed to save any pregnant woman whatsoever with those segments. Recalling the Daoist’s words at the time he entrusted him with the robe, Shang began to fear that now his own wife might really experience a disastrous childbirth, so he cut out a piece of the blood-stained cloth the size of a palm, and hid it away.
It happened that the prince’s cherished concubine had been in labor for three days, without giving birth, and his physicians’ medicines had proved ineffective. The prince sent someone to tell xiucai Shang about it, and so he came when summoned, concocted a prescription including some of the bloody robe for her to take, and she consequently gave birth.
The prince was overjoyed, offering Shang silver and beautifully colorful, luxurious satin, which Shang protested he couldn’t possibly accept. The prince asked him what he wanted, and the xiucai replied, “I dare not say.” Again the prince asked him, so Shang kowtowed, answering, “It’s like exerting pressure on heaven to secure its favor, but giving me the former prostitute, Huige, would be enough.”
Huige was summoned, and when the prince inquired about her age, she replied, “I was eighteen when I entered your palace, and now fourteen years have passed.” The prince took her to be too old, so he ordered all of the other prostitutes at court to appear, for Shang to choose one of them; but there wasn’t one of them that interested him.
With a laugh, the prince exclaimed, “Silly bookworm! What, you’ve been fated for a decade to marry her?” Shang responded about what had passed between them. Then the prince directed a carriage to be splen
didly prepared, had the colorful satin that he’d earlier offered Shang made into clothing for Huige, and saw the couple off as they departed.
The son to whom Huige had given birth earlier was named Xiusheng—as a reminder of Gong’s sleeve—and by that time was eleven years old. Every day they thought about the Daoist immortal’s kindness to them, and on Qingming they cared for his gravesite.
There happened to be a man from Sichuan who was emigrating to the city of the prince’s palace, and after he’d been traveling for quite some time he met Gong on the road, who took out a book and said, “This was in the palace, and I left there so hastily that I haven’t been able to return what I borrowed, thus I hope I can trouble you to return it for me.” When the man arrived and heard that Gong had already died, he didn’t dare inform the prince about the book; Shang did it for him.
When the prince opened the book up to examine it, he discovered that it was indeed something the Daoist had borrowed. Suspicious, the prince sent the xiucai to Gong’s grave, and there Shang found the coffin empty.
After his first son also died young, Shang was able to count on Xiusheng to carry on the family name, which made him more convinced than ever that Gong was truly a prophetic immortal.
The collector of these strange tales remarks, “The sleeve could hold all of heaven and earth—are the fables of the ancients on similar subjects really true? What could be more unusual! Inside it are heaven and earth, sun and moon, a woman awaiting marriage and having a child, and a shelter from taxation; the bothersome elements in a person’s life would be nothing more serious than mere fleas in this sleeve, and no different than the perfect world described in ‘Peach Blossom Spring’! If only one could often rest in this sleeve, and then, when old, return to that utopian place.”
