Strange Tales from Liaozhai--Volume 4

by Pu Songling

  The next day, the man returned to lead the vice-general to see his brother-in-law, explaining, “His name is Tian.” He turned out to be a man of great renown and influence, like someone from a nobleman’s family. The vice-general paid his respects, although Tian seemed to look down on him and didn’t show him much courtesy. The man, holding a contract, turned towards the vice-general and declared, “In discussion with my brother-inlaw, we agreed upon a figure of no less than ten thousand taels, and then you can settle on what public office you’ll request.” The vice-general agreed to comply with the proposal.

  “A man’s mind is unpredictable,” said Tian, “and after acting, I wonder whether he’ll change his mind.”

  The man laughed and replied, “Brother-in-law, you’re thinking too hard about it. Besides, since you can help to get him the position, couldn’t you also work to deny it to him? There are quite a few generals and officials at court who want to offer money for favors, but fret because they have no one to come to. This general has a great future, and he wouldn’t want to jeopardize it.” The vice-general swore that he wouldn’t regret his decision, and left.

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  After you’re summoned: Pu whets the vice-general’s appetite by having the con-man offer him the position of a daizhao, an “expectant” official; that is, “someone serving, or expecting to serve, in a post requiring an imperial appointment,” often prior to the appointment actually being made (Hucker 475). The term was usually attached to a specific office: e.g., Expectant Official under the Imperial Doctor.

  Accompanying him, Tian’s brother-in-law declared, “In three days, you’ll receive the confirmation from us.”

  A couple days later, as the sun set in the west, several men raucously rushed in, crying, “His Majesty is waiting for you!” The vice-general was quite startled, so he quickly rushed with them to the imperial court.

  He saw the emperor seated at the head of a hall, with his private guards standing around him like a forest. The vice-general bowed obsequiously. The emperor ordered that he be given a seat, then conveyed his greetings with eager solicitousness, looking him up and down before exclaiming, “I had heard that you were possessed of an extraordinary martial ferocity, and now that I’ve seen you, it’s true that you’d make a talented general!”

  He continued, “The site of your appointment is strategically located and difficult to access, and now that you’ve been designated a military official, don’t betray my expectations, for I’ve granted you a nobleman’s title.” The vice-general acknowledged the emperor’s favors to him, and departed.

  Right away, Tian’s brother-in-law, wearing a fur coat, arrived at the vice-general’s place to finalize their contractual agreement, which the vice-general paid accordingly, and then the man left.

  Thereupon the vice-general sat back and entertained himself with the seal of his office that hung on a ribbon, and each day boasted about his new honor to his relatives and friends. Several days passed, and when he inquired about an update on his status, he discovered that the position had already been conferred upon someone else.

  Outraged, he argued angrily at the Minister of War’s office, where he insisted, “I was granted the appointment to this position by the emperor, so why have you given it to someone else?” The Minister of War found this quite strange. The vice-general described his treatment as a favorite of the emperor, which now seemed to have been nothing but a dream.

  The Minister of War grew angry with him, and had him held in military court custody. As soon as he identified Tian, the man he’d been introduced to by name, the court declared that there was no such fellow. What’s more, he’d lost ten thousand taels, so he was finally discharged and left.

  How strange! Even if this military man was gullible, how was the imperial court faked? I suspect that there was some conjuring employed, for as the saying goes, “The best thieves don’t need to carry a weapon.”

  Scholar Li, from Jiaxiang, was a skilled performer on the qin. By chance, when he was wandering the eastern outskirts of town, he saw some workers who were digging in the ground uncover an ancient qin, and bought it from them for a very modest price.

  Wiping it clean, he found it to possess a rare luster; its strings were intact, and when he held it, he felt extraordinarily energized. Jubilant, it was like he’d gained possession of a huge piece of jade, thus he placed it in a brocade bag and hid it in a secret compartment, so even when his relatives came to visit, he wouldn’t have to take it out to show them.

  There was an assistant magistrate named Cheng who was newly arrived at his position, so he decided to pay a call on Li. Li didn’t like to make friends or go out, so since the new assistant magistrate made a point of specifically visiting him first, Li felt really grateful.

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  Jiaxiang: Located in modern Shandong province.

  Qin: A zither-like stringed instrument, played on a table top or on one’s lap. The older the wood composing its body, the better its sound is believed to be; one website claims to offer qin instruments for sale that are made of wood taken from Han dynasty burial sites.

  Several days passed, and then Cheng invited him out for drinks, insistently pleading till he came. Cheng conducted himself with peerless refinement as they discussed deep topics over their wine, delighting Li. The next day, after Li received a written invitation from Cheng to join him for some wine, they found themselves laughing heartily, even more in accord than before. Following this enjoyable time spent in each other’s company, they were always together.

  After a year, it happened one day that in Cheng’s government office, Li spotted a qin wrapped up in an embroidered bag, lying on a table, so he opened the bag, took out the instrument, and began playing it. “You know how to play this?” marveled Cheng.

  “It’s what I enjoy most in my whole life,” Li replied.

  Surprised, Cheng informed him, “We’re close friends who’re never apart, so why haven’t I heard about this consummate talent?” He poked the fire in the stove, lit some incense, and then asked Li to play a little something. Li respectfully played like a master. “What an expert!” cried Cheng. “I’d like to display my modest skill, if you won’t laugh at my limited talent.”

  He proceeded to play “Song of the Imperial Phoenix,” his tone perfectly clear, a matchless performance that was out-of-this-world. Li admired Cheng more than ever, and wanted to treat Cheng as his teacher.

  From then on, as the two men continued their qin playing together, their friendship grew ever more close. After a year, Cheng finished teaching Li his techniques. But whenever Cheng came to pay him a visit, Li always had them use a common qin, since he was unwilling to take the ancient qin out of its hiding place.

  One night, they were really drunk. Cheng told him, “There’s a new song I’ve just learned—you want to hear it?” He then performed “The Imperial Concubine’s Complaint,” expressing so much bottled-up resentment in it that he seemed to be on the verge of tears. Li earnestly praised the performance. “It’s so frustrating that this qin isn’t any better; if it was a really excellent qin, its tone would be truly transcendent,” Cheng lamented.

  Li joyfully replied, “I have a qin stored away that’s quite rare, compared to ordinary instruments. Now that we’ve become such dear friends, how can I keep it a secret from you?” Then he opened the compartment, carried out the bag, and unveiled the qin.

  Cheng took his sleeve and wiped the dust from the instrument, then set it on the table and began playing the song again, the strings responding fluidly to each of its sections, as he gave a performance of entrancing excellence. Li beat time and afterwards was speechless.

  “Such clumsy playing,” remarked Cheng, “betrays this marvelous qin. If I could give my wife a chance to perform with it, then you’d have a few sounds worth your hearing.”

  Li, surprised, said, “It’s hard to believe that your wife is skilled at playing the qin, too.”

  �
�I learned the skill from her,” replied Cheng.

  “It’s a pity that I can’t listen to her play it in her room, due to the inconvenience,” Li sighed.

  Cheng told him, “We’ll, we’re practically family, so you don’t need to feel self-conscious about it. Tomorrow, if you’ll please bring your qin, for propriety’s sake we can place her behind a curtain for the performance.” Li was pleased at the prospect.

  The next day, he took up his qin and went to see Cheng. The assistant magistrate set out provisions for them to drink merrily together. Soon, just as Li took the qin inside, someone turned and rushed to take a seat. He immediately glimpsed a beauty concealed by a curtain, and instants later, a fragrance flowed from beyond it.

  In moments, there came the sound of the qin’s strings gently being played, and as he listened, Li couldn’t tell what song it was; but he felt moved to his very core, like a musician’s soul was flying over him. Once the song was finished, he proceeded to peek behind the curtain, where he saw a woman of about twenty who was uniquely lovely.

  Cheng enthusiastically encouraged Li to drink up, and when from behind the curtain the strings began to play “Writing Poetry in a Leisurely Mood,” Li became even more overwhelmed in body and spirit. He continued imbibing until he was quite drunk, then left his seat in order to take his leave, and asked for his qin.

  “After drinking so much,” Cheng advised him, “you need to take care so you don’t slip and fall with it. Come back tomorrow, and my wife can do her best to perform even better.”

  Li went home. The next day when he came to visit, he found Cheng’s office and house quiet, with only one old servant answering the door. When he asked where Cheng was, the old fellow explained, “At the fifth watch, he left with his wife and children—to where, I have no idea—and said they’d be back in three days.”

  On the third day, Li went to wait for their return, but by nightfall, there was still no news of them. The more he thought about it, the more suspicious he became that he’d been done wrong, so he broke the bolt fastening a door and peered inside the house; it was completely empty, with nothing but a table and a bed still there.

  When he informed Cheng’s superiors, they figured an accident might be the reason for Cheng’s absence. Li mourned the loss of his qin, disdaining all sleep and food, doing nothing but asking every family within a thousand li about the instrument. Cheng was from the Hubei-Hunan region, and three years earlier, he’d given away his property, which succeeded in bringing him very good luck.

  Li persisted in pursuing him, inquiring about him at residences in villages, but in the Hubei-Hunan region there was absolutely no sign of him. Someone told Li, “There was a Daoist named Cheng who was a good qin player; then he had passed on to him a bit of magic for making money. He suddenly left three years ago, and hasn’t been seen since.”

  Li suspected that this was the man he sought. He meticulously inquired about the man’s age and his facial features, finding that they matched the Cheng he’d met perfectly. At that point, he realized that the qin explained why the Daoist had purchased the title of an official. They’d been close friends for more than a year, but Cheng hadn’t talked about his musicianship; gradually when Li had taken out the qin, Cheng asked to play it, till finally Li had been deluded by the beauty; they fooled him for three years, then took his qin and got away.

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  Fifth watch: The last of the night’s five two-hour segments, from approximately 3:00-5:00 a.m.

  The Daoist had a higher craving for the qin than scholar Li did. There are endless opportunities to swindle people everywhere, just as the Daoist did, and to deceive in elegant ways.

  297. Releasing the Butterflies

  A Changshan jinshi named Wang Dousheng happened to be serving as a magistrate, and whenever he’d preside over a case, depending upon the seriousness of the crime, he would decree that the guilty party had to catch a certain number of butterflies to redeem himself; when the hundreds or thousands of butterflies were subsequently released in the magistrate’s office, like pieces of brocade cloth fluttering in the wind, Wang would slap his table in wonderment, laughing uproariously.

  One night, he dreamed that a woman dressed in fine, expensive clothing, calmly entered and said to him, “Many of my sisters have been subjected to your tyranny and have died. Hence you’re going to suffer a bit of embarrassment for their destruction.” When she finished speaking, she changed into a butterfly, fluttered around the room, and then flew away.

  The next day, Wang was alone, pouring himself some wine in his office, when suddenly the arrival of the imperial censor was announced, so Wang rushed out to greet him, forgetting to remove the white flowers from his hat that his wife had playfully pinned there earlier. When the imperial censor saw them, he took them as a token of disrespect, launched a torrent of verbal abuse at Wang, and then stormed off.

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  Changshan: Modern Zouping county in Shandong province.

  Jinshi: A successful candidate in the highest level of the imperial civil service examination.

  From that point forward, Wang ceased imposing the capture of butterflies as a punishment.

  Yu Chongyan, from Qingcheng, was a practical joker. One particular Lunar New Year’s eve, while he was the official in charge of jurisdiction, he took fireworks and tied them onto a donkey, from its head to its tail, then hauled the beast over to the gate of the prefectural chief, where he started pounding a rat-a-tat on the wooden gong used to announce the watches, crying, “I’m presenting you this fiery ass, so come out and take a gander.”

  At the time, the prefectural chief’s favorite son was afflicted with smallpox, and the chief was in a dark mood, so he declined. Yet the official insistently kept calling for him. The prefectural chief couldn’t get him to stop, so he sent the gatekeeper with a key out to open the gate.

  Just as it was opened, the official took the opportunity to light the fireworks, and then pushed the donkey inside. The explosive bursts frightened the donkey into a frenzied gallop; with the fireworks blowing up and shooting at people, no one dared approach the creature.

  The donkey tore through the courtyard and ran inside the house, wrecking dishware and destroying a large rice steamer, and whatever the fire touched, it turned to ashes, so the window screens were all reduced to cinders. The prefectural chief’s family members ran around, yelling in panic. His terrified, sickly son was trapped inside all night and died.

  The prefectural chief hated the official bitterly, and was just about to report the man’s offenses. But then the official came to the chief’s courtyard, wearing thorns, to beg his pardon for what he’d done, and was subsequently dismissed from his position.

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  The watches: The five two-hour divisions of the night, beginning at 7:00 p.m. and continuing through 5:00 a.m.

  Qingcheng: Located in Gaoqing county, Shandong province.

  298. A Boy Gives Birth to Sons

  Yang Fu, a regional commander in Fujian, had a catamite servant whose stomach began vibrating. For ten months it kept expanding, till the boy dreamt that an immortal cut into his sides and took something out.

  When he woke up, there were two baby boys crying, lying under each of his arms. He raised up to look at his sides, and found two neat incision scars there. It’s said that the boys were named Tianshe and Dishe.

  The collector of these strange tales remarks, “This event must have happened before Wu Sangui rebelled. Following Wu’s rebellion, Provincial Governor Cai suspected Yang of being in on the scheme, and summoned him, thinking that Yang was going to rebel, too. Yang’s wife, who’d long been considered clever and bold, became concerned and tried to stop him from going. But Yang wouldn’t listen to her. In tears, his wife saw him off.

  “When she returned home, she gathered all Yang’s generals and soldiers, and they quickly took her to Cai’s base to await further news. In a short while, Yang
’s wife heard that they were preparing to execute her husband, so she responded by soliciting Cai.

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  Tianshe and Dishe: These might be construed as signifying “My young relative from the heavens” and “My young relative from the earth.”

  Wu Sangui rebelled: Wu was a commander of northern defense forces, resisting Manchu incursions into China, who in 1643 formed an alliance with the Manchus (often interpreted as the ultimate betrayal of the already-decaying Ming dynasty) that resulted in their taking Beijing and establishing the Qing dynasty.

  “In a panic, Cai didn’t know what to do, but fortunately, since his guards were watching her husband, Yang’s wife couldn’t attack him, thus she was forced to leave with her soldiers. After they were quite some distance away, Cai donned his military uniform and loudly began shouting orders to fight back. The people around him responded by just laughing at him.

  “A few years later, the rebellion was concluded. Before long, Cai died suddenly. Just as he was dying, Cai saw Yang appear, with a young soldier on either side of him, the three of them watching him.

  “Alas! Yang’s ghost might have been powerful, but he couldn’t return to life! And what were the two infant sons but spirits, portents of what would later happen?”

  299. Scholar Zhong

  Zhong Qingyu was a literary celebrity in Liaodong. He applied to take the provincial level imperial civil service examination in Jinan. When he heard that there was a Daoist at the regional prince’s court who could tell what would happen to people in the future, Zhong looked forward to meeting him.

  It was after he’d already passed two tests in the examination, and came to Baotu Spring, that he happened to discover the man. He was an aged Daoist, about sixty years old, whose long beard hung below his chest. A group had gathered, completely surrounding him, to ask whether they’d experience good or bad fortune, and he responded to all of them with brief comments.