Strange Tales from Liaozhai--Volume 4

by Pu Songling

  “What’s the evidence of that?” the magistrate asked him.

  Zhu replied, “The blood on my clothing can serve as proof.” Accordingly, men were sent to search everywhere in his home, but in the end, nothing was discovered.

  Thus they repeatedly whipped him senseless, resuming the torments each time he regained consciousness. Zhu then told them, “My mother couldn’t bear to bring out the incriminating proof since it would mean my death, so you need to let me get it myself.” Hence he was sent home under escort, where he told his mother, “If you give me the clothing, they will execute me; if you don’t give it to me, they’ll still execute me: since I die either way, it would be better to get it over with quickly, rather than delaying.” His mother began weeping, went inside briefly, then brought out the clothing and handed it over.

  The magistrate examined it carefully, discovering traces of blood evidence, so he ordered Zhu to be beheaded. The ruling was challenged, the evidence was reviewed once again, and still the verdict remained the same.

  A whole year passed, approaching the date scheduled for execution. The magistrate happened to be reviewing the cases of certain prisoners, when suddenly a man came straight up to him in the law court, glared at the magistrate with angry eyes and loudly berated him, “You’re so dense, how can you possibly pass judgment!” Dozens of servants tried to grab him. But with a wave of the man’s raised arms, he incapacitated all of the servants.

  The magistrate was so frightened by this that he tried to run away. In a great voice, the man then cried, “I, General Zhou, serve under Lord Guan! If you so much as move, you muddled official, I’ll cut you down!” The magistrate was so terrified, he held his ground and listened. “The killer was Gong Biao, so what has any of this to do with Zhu?” demanded General Zhou.

  When he finished speaking, he fell to the ground and stopped breathing, as though dead. In a little while, he revived, his face unnaturally pale. When the magistrate asked him who he was, he replied he was Gong Biao. He was beaten, and confessed fully to the crime.

  Gong, a habitual criminal, knew that the husband of the matchmaker’s neighbor was returning home after collecting the money he was owed, and reasoned that he’d surely be carrying a great deal of it, so he murdered him, but once he was done, he found no money on the man. When he heard that Zhu had accused himself, he considered himself lucky indeed. That same day, however, he found himself inside the magistrate’s gates, without knowing how he’d gotten there.

  The magistrate asked Zhu where the bloody clothing came from, but he similarly didn’t know. When the magistrate called upon Zhu’s mother for an explanation, she revealed that she had cut her arm to soak the clothing with her blood; he examined her left arm and found a knife wound there that hadn’t yet healed up. The magistrate was stunned.

  Hence after the truth of the matter was brought to light, the magistrate was removed from his position and was punished by having to pay a penalty, and while he was being detained over the matter, he died. After more than a year, the murdered husband’s mother wanted his wife to remarry; she felt moved by Zhu’s chivalry towards her, so she married him.

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  Lord Guan: Guan Yu (d. 219), the Three Kingdoms-era hero who later became revered as the god of war; see Sondergard and Collins (50-73).

  The collector of these strange tales remarks, “For one who holds government office, whether he accumulates good deeds for his next life, or causes chaos in the world, depends upon how well he handles lawsuits or judgments, which must be treated quite seriously. Eagerness to wind up a legal case and immediately carry out punishment for it naturally violates the benign spirit of justice; but delaying punishment for a long period also often harms the lives of the people.

  “A man commences litigation, and several seasons of farming might be interrupted; by the time the case is completed, ten families are bankrupted: how can this be considered a minor matter! I always say that officials mustn’t accept lawsuits arbitrarily, but according to high moral principles. Moreover, if a subject didn’t commit a severe crime, he doesn’t need to be detained while waiting for a trial; and if there’s no problem passing judgment on the matter, why’s there any need to hesitate?

  “If the rustic farmers of the towns and the heroic spirits of the mountain villages come into conflict for insignificant reasons like geese and ducks, and bring the fight into the court, it takes nothing more than a word from a magistrate to show them the error of their ways and to calm them into stopping—it’s not necessary for a whole group to investigate the matter, but merely requires that the magistrate flog the plaintiff and defendant, and then judge the issue clearly.

  “In this sense, is a judge any different than a divinity? In every instance, we see the lawsuit being judged like this: once a summons has been issued, the magistrate seems to forget about it. The officers taking the plaintiff and defendant into court won’t do it until they accept money from them, as does the court scribe. And because of all this hoodwinking, the case may languish for years before coming to judgment, during which time the accused has already wasted away to skin and bones!

  “Meanwhile, the magistrate, with authority over the people, just lies in his bed, without any knowledge of their suffering. One should know that being in prison is like the torments of the abyss of suffering in the underworld, where they have countless ghosts of people who were wrongly accused, stretching their necks just trying to catch their breath, hoping that someone from far away will pull them out and rescue them! If they were people who committed evil deeds, we shouldn’t feel any pity for them; but if there are also good people innocently implicated in criminal cases, how can we bear that?

  283. The Ghosts’ Recitations

  Due to his status as a literary celebrity, Master Zhan, a public school instructor, faced no restrictions on his public behavior. However, in his drunken ravings, he was unable to maintain any degree of propriety. Every time he got drunk and went home, he’d gallop his horse up the steps into a Confucian shrine. Alongside the steps grew a good many ancient cedars.

  One day, as he was riding up with abandon, he split open his head on one of the trees, and screamed, “Zilu’s so angry at my impertinence, he’s beaten my brains out!” At midnight, he subsequently died.

  There was a certain itinerant merchant in the city who plied his wares around the countryside, and one evening he was staying at the shrine. In the still of the night, when there was no one around, he suddenly saw four or five men carrying wine enter and begin drinking, with Zhan among them.

  When the wine had gone around several times, someone initiated some literary invention and began to recite, “When the character for ‘field’ is stuffed, it’s because it’s got ‘ten’ in its middle; when the character for ‘ten’ is pushed out of it, the character for ‘ancient’ is the result.”

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  Zilu: One of Confucius’s first students, Zilu, the brash warrior, nine years younger than the master, was persuaded to improve himself through education rather than martial skill (Clements 16).

  Another man declaimed, “When the character for ‘return’ is stuffed, it’s because it’s got ‘mouth’ in its middle; when the character for ‘mouth’ is pushed out of it, the character for the name “Lü” is the result.”

  “When the character for ‘prison’ is stuffed,” declared someone else, “it’s because it’s got ‘decree’ in its middle; when the character for ‘decree’ is pushed out of it, the character for ‘contain’ is the result.”

  Then another fellow recited, “When the character for ‘tired’ is stuffed, it’s because it’s got ‘tree’ in its middle; when the character for ‘tree’ is pushed out of it, the character for ‘apricot’ is the result.”

  When it was Zhan’s turn, he seemed to be lost in thought, but unable to come up with anything. All the others laughed and said, “Since you can’t recite anything, you have to pay the penalty.” A wine goblet flew over t
o him.

  Zhan then replied, “I’ve got it: when the character for ‘speak’ is stuffed, it’s because it’s got ‘one’ in its middle—“

  The group then laughed, “And what character’s made when it’s pushed up?”

  “When the character for ‘one’ is pushed out of it,” cried Zhan, “the characters ‘a mouth’ are the results!” The group shared a big laugh, and it wasn’t long until they all exited the shrine’s gate and vanished.

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  The character for ‘field’ . . . ‘apricot’ is the prize: This word game is built on manipulation of characters formed with the “enclosure” radical, which looks like a box. Thus field (田) is “stuffed” with the character for ten (十), and when it’s “pushed” up out of field, it becomes ancient (古). Similarly, return (回) is “stuffed” with mouth (口), which when pushed out forms Lü (吕). Prison (囹) is “stuffed” with decree (令), which when “pushed” out becomes contain (含). Tired (困) is “stuffed” with tree (木), which when “pushed” up becomes apricot (杏).

  The character for ‘speak’: Zhan makes what initially seems a lame attempt at the game: speak (曰) is “stuffed” with one (一), but there is no character that has the single stroke “one” above the “mouth” radical (which is to what the “enclosure” radical converts, once its interior figure is pushed out). Zhan solves this by pushing the one to the side of the character, creating two separate characters meaning “a mouth” (一口).

  The merchant wasn’t aware that Zhan had died, but began to suspect something was odd, so he stopped by the school instructor’s home. When the merchant asked about him, he learned that Zhan had already been dead for quite some time, which is when he finally realized that the men he’d encountered at the shrine were ghosts.

  284. Empress Zhen

  Liu Zhongkan, from Luocheng, was uneducated when he was young, but he was fascinated with the classics, and constantly shut himself up in the house, studying hard, but just couldn’t get through them. One day, he happened to be reading, when all of a sudden he smelled a strange fragrance filling the room; in moments, the tinkling sound of a waist pendant became increasingly audible.

  Startled, Liu turned around, to discover that a beautiful woman had entered, her hairpin and earrings gleaming brightly; she was followed by maids dressed as though they were from the imperial palace. Liu took fright and prostrated himself before her. The beauty helped him up, saying, “Why the sudden shift from offensiveness to humility?”

  “I’ve never before made the acquaintance of a goddess,” Liu replied, terrified now. “When did I ever previously offend you?”

  The beauty smiled and said, “We haven’t been parted for long, and yet you’re this muddled! Weren’t you the one kneeling on the stone step, begging Cao Cao to forgive you?” Then she spread some embroidered brocade cushions, set out a jade-colored beverage, and clutching Liu, sat down and they began drinking together, discussing matters ancient and modern, about which the beauty seemed extraordinarily well-informed. Liu felt stupid, like he didn’t know a thing. “I stopped by the Jade Lake once for a banquet,” the beauty told him, “and your wisdom vanished for several of your lives thereafter!”

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  Luocheng: The modern city of Luoyang, in Henan province.

  Kneeling . . . Cao Cao to forgive you: General Zhang Xiu’s advisor persuades him to ally himself with devious former Han dynasty Prime Minister Cao Cao’s forces in Chapter 23 of Romance of the Three Kingdoms, so Zhang kowtows before Cao Cao, who quickly raises him to his feet with an equal show of humility.

  Then she gave orders for them to be served hot soup that contained a shimmering oil. As Liu finished drinking his, he suddenly felt his mind become serene and untroubled. Afterwards, at dusk, once everyone else had left, he blew out the candle and undid his jacket, and without a worry in the world they made love.

  When it was not yet dawn, all of the serving women were already standing by. The beauty got up, applied her make-up so it appeared as before, and combed her bangs, till there was nothing left to tidy. Liu affectionately took care to ask the beauty her name, and she replied, “Though there’s no harm in telling you, I’m afraid you’ll find it impossible to accept. My name is Zhen; you were an official serving Cao Cao’s son, Cao Pi. At that time, you suffered punishment because of me, and when we met last night, I was just repaying you for that.”

  “Aren’t you attached to Cao Pi?” asked Liu.

  “Yes, but Pi’s the son of a traitorous father,” she replied. “I played around with men of wealth and rank for a number of years, and as time passed I no longer gave it any thought. Pi was detained in the underworld because of his father, A-Man, but now I don’t hear anything about him. On the other hand, when Cao Zhi became the literary patron for the heavenly emperor, I met him once.”

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  Jade Lake: The abode of the Queen Mother of the West, “the owner of the elixir of immortality and the divine saucer peach that could endow longevity on the one who ate it” (Yang and An 265).

  Zhen: That is, Zhen Ji, who came from the area of modern Wuji county, in Hebei province (Zhu 2:980n13). She was taken from her husband, Yuan Xi, and married to Cao Pi, son of Cao Cao, when Pi named himself emperor and ruled the northern kingdom of Wei as the Emperor Wendi (220-226).

  Before long, Liu saw an imperial coach stop in the courtyard. Thence the woman took some jade and rouge and offered them as presents to Liu, said farewell, and climbed into the coach, then praising him highly, she departed.

  From that point forward, Liu’s writing ability took a considerable leap forward. But he kept reminiscing about Zhen, his thoughts fixated crazily on her. Over a period of several months, he gradually became unbearably emaciated. His mother didn’t know the reason for his decline, so she was very worried.

  There was an old woman among his family’s servants who suddenly told Liu, “Isn’t this all because of what you’ve been thinking about?” Liu then put the feelings he’d been concealing into words, and told her their source. “If you’ll try to write her a letter,” the old woman replied, “I can deliver it to her.”

  Happily surprised to hear this, Liu said, “You must possess arcane skills that I didn’t previously know to look for. And if you can help me this way, I certainly won’t forget the favor.” Then he drafted a letter and handed it over to the old woman, who left with it.

  In the middle of the night she returned, reporting, “Fortunately, nothing went wrong. As I arrived at the gate, the servants there figured I was some kind of demon, and really wanted to tie me up. I consequently took out your letter, and then I was just about to leave. In moments they called for me to enter, and the lady inside was sobbing, saying that she wouldn’t be able to see you again. That being the case, she wanted to reply to your letter. I told her, ‘The master’s wasting away, and there’s nothing in the world that can cure him.’

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  A-Man: Cao Cao’s baby name, by which close acquaintances continued to know him as an adult.

  Cao Zhi: Known as the Emperor Mingdi (227-239) in the kingdom of Wei. Another son of Cao Cao, and a talented poet.

  “The lady pondered this for quite some time, then she explained to me, ‘I’m afraid I must trouble you to tell Master Liu that I will send him a beautiful wife soon.’ As she was about to embark on a journey, she urged me, ‘If he does as I suggest, things will work out for us in a hundred years; moreover, if he doesn’t leak our secret, we may be able to continue this eternally.’” Liu was overjoyed, and agreed to wait for whatever she suggested.

  Accordingly, the next day, the old maidservant sent a woman to visit Liu’s mother—who was pleased that her son would be able to produce an heir—and the woman introduced herself as a member of the Chen family; the woman, whose courtesy name was Sixiang, was the maidservant’s daughter, and hoped that she might ask to be made Liu’s wife. Liu’s m
other found her adorable, and discussed a marriage proposition with her; Chen’s maidservant mother didn’t ask for any kind of engagement gift, simply waiting there until they held the wedding ceremony, and then she left.

  Upon reflection, Liu knew there was something strange about all this, so he privately asked his new wife, “Have you been in anyone’s service before?”

  “I served as a concubine of Cao Cao.” Liu remarked that she must be a ghost. “No, I’m not,” said Sixiang. “Empress Zhen and I are both among the immortals, but because of offenses we committed, we were punished here in the mortal world. My lady was all ready to return to her former position; my penance hadn’t yet been fulfilled, so she requested of the heavenly officials that I be allowed for a while to serve her, and they left the decision up to her, so that’s why I’m here now, to serve you.”

  One day, there was an old blind woman, with a yellow dog in tow, who was begging for food at Liu’s house, beating a rhythmic accompaniment on clappers while she sang folk songs. Sixiang came out to sneak a peek at her, and as she stood there uncertainly, the dog seemed determined to take a bite out of her. When Sixiang was startled into running away, the dog caught at her hem and ripped it. Liu quickly took a stick and hit the animal.

  Still angry, the dog tore at the material it’d bitten off, instantly tearing it full of holes, chewing it up and gulping it down. The old blind woman seized the dog by the scruff of the neck, tied a rope around it, and left. When Liu came to check on Sixiang, and noticed her standing there in a quandary, he commented, “You’re an immortal, so why’re you afraid of a dog?”

  “You don’t understand,” she replied, “Cao Cao has taken the shape of the dog and the old woman because he’s very angry that I haven’t remained chaste for him.” Liu wanted to pay to have the dog beaten to death. Sixiang told him it couldn’t be done, explaining, “If heaven’s emperor wishes to punish me, what chance do I have of resisting it?”