Strange Tales from Liaozhai--Volume 4

by Pu Songling

  The young men then took an enormous bowl and served a round of wine to their guest while their ensuing conversation proved bold and unrestrained. Later on, they led him into another courtyard, where Huang and Huo could sleep together. Their quilts and pillows were smooth and soft, their bedding consisting of cured leather over palm fiber and rattan.

  The next day, the maidservants of Huo’s mother laid out three meals for them, and Huo figured it was probably a good opportunity for them not to have to go out all day long. Huang, however, suffered from boredom, saying over and over that he wanted to go home, while Huo insisted that they stay.

  One day, she told Huang, “Now here’s a plan for you: purchase someone who can bear you a male heir. But buying a concubine can be quite expensive; so you could pretend you’ve made me your adoptive sister, then ask my father to help set up a marriage for you, and it wouldn’t be difficult to get a girl from a decent family.” Huang told her he couldn’t do it. Huo, however, refused to listen to this.

  A certain scholar named Zhang, who’d experienced some degree of success in the imperial civil service examinations, happened to have a daughter who’d recently been widowed, and decided to marry her off for a hundred strings of cash, so Huo with effort persuaded Huang to marry her. The widow’s childhood name was A-Mei, and she was quite sweet. Huo called her “sister-in-law”; Huang felt weird and uncomfortable about it, but Huo remained quite placid.

  Another day, she told Huang, “I’m about to leave for Nanhai with my elder sister, to visit our aunt, and I’ll be back in a month, so meanwhile please live peacefully as a couple with sister-in-law.” Then she left.

  Huang and A-Mei lived by themselves in one of the courtyards, where they were regularly brought food and drink that happened to be very elaborately prepared. However, since the day that A-Mei had married into the family, no one had ever visited their room.

  Every morning, A-Mei would go to see Huo’s mother, say a few words, and then withdraw. The wives of Dalang and Sanlang would just watch this and laugh. Even if they invited her to stay a while, they wouldn’t talk to her about anything. Whenever he saw Huo’s father, Huang behaved just as A-Mei did.

  It happened that all the men in the household had assembled to have a conversation, and when Huang arrived, all of the others fell silent. Huang suspected that they just found him boring, but couldn’t bring themselves to tell him so. A-Mei could tell how he felt, so she asked him, “If you treat the others like your elder and younger brothers, then why, after a month here, do they all treat you like a stranger?”

  For a moment, Huang was unable to answer, and then, stifling his laughter, he replied, “I’ve been an outsider for ten years, so now I can finally begin to consider this home.”

  A-Mei then discreetly investigated whether her parents-in-law were indeed from a powerful and distinguished family, and also tried to find out where her sisters-in-law lived. Huang was mortified, and couldn’t conceal his embarrassment, till she finally exposed the inside story. “Though my family may be poor,” she told him tearfully, “at least I’m not some kind of debased concubine, nor so strange about everything I do that I’ve become as loathed and despised as these people are!”

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  Nanhai: Identified by Zhu as an islet in the Pearl River (2:1097n47).

  Huang was so aghast that he had no idea about what course to take, other than to kneel before A-Mei and listen to whatever she would suggest. She stopped her tears, then turned and asked to live elsewhere. “I don’t know how to plan otherwise,” Huang replied, “unless I leave here alone and you stay with your father.”

  “How could I possibly bear returning home again, after we’ve been married?” said A-Mei. “Though she was with you first, she didn’t have the formal ceremony with you; and though I arrived after her, I’ve finished the public ceremony with you. Wouldn’t it be better to wait till she returns from visiting her aunt, and then ask her afterwards to explain things, like why she had you buy me?” They lived there for several more months, but in the end, Huo still hadn’t returned.

  One night, they heard the sounds of boisterous drinking coming from the guest house. Huang stealthily went to steal a peek, and saw two visitors in military garb sitting down: one man was wearing the skin of a leopard wrapped around him, and seemed as awe-inspiring as a deity; his host took a tiger’s head, which had been made into a helmet, and put it on, so the tiger’s mouth was at his forehead, completely covering up his nose and ears.

  Astounded, Huang returned and told A-Mei, and in the end they didn’t even have any conjectures about who Huo’s father and brothers really were. The apprehensive couple discussed the fact that they wanted to rent their own place to live, then worried that someone there might figure out what they were pondering.

  Huang declared, “I’ll say this for sure, darling: even the family member who went to visit relatives in the South Sea came back, and I just can’t make this place my home any longer. I want to take you away, but I’m afraid your father just wouldn’t agree to it, so I could leave for two years, and then come back for you. If you can stand to wait for me, then please do so; if not, then it’s okay for you to choose someone else.” A-Mei wanted to go tell Huo’s parents about their intentions, and to go with Huang, but he wouldn’t agree to it. As A-Mei’s tears began to fall, he reassured her of his faithful devotion to her, then left.

  Huang subsequently went in to take his leave of Huo’s parents. At the time, all of the other men had gone out, so Huo’s father urged him to stay and wait for their return, but Huang wouldn’t hear of it and went on his way.

  As he sadly climbed into a boat, his strength and vigor seemed to fail him. When they came to Guazhou, he turned his head all of a sudden and saw a sailboat appear, speeding like the wind; as it drew closer, he could see the figure of Huo Dalang seated in the prow, brandishing a sword. From a distance he cried, “If you really want to go back, then why didn’t you say so? If you abandon your wife here, how do you know whether she can wait around for two or three years?”

  By the time he finished speaking, his boat had already drawn nigh. A-Mei herself stepped out from inside the boat, while Dalang drew them up close to Huang’s boat, and then she jumped out and departed.

  Before all this, after Huang had left, as A-Mei turned to Huo’s father and mother, tearfully explaining Huang’s departure, Dalang, carrying swords at both sides, suddenly drove a carriage up to the gate, and compelled A-Mei to accompany her husband on a long trip. The whole family was so frightened by his voice that no one dared gasp, or attempt to resist or to question him. When she explained to Huang what had happened, he didn’t understand how it was possible, but he was overjoyed to be reunited with A-Mei, so he paid his boat fare and sent it on its way.

  Once they returned home, Huang took out some money to start a business, and was so widely praised for it that he became wealthy. A-Mei often felt concerned about her parents, and wanted Huang to go and find out how they were doing; then she became worried that he might come back with Huo, forcing the two of them into conflict over who was the proper wife and who the concubine.

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  Guazhou: A town near Zhenjiang, in Jiangsu province, where the Grand Canal enters the Yangzi River.

  After they’d been living there a while, A-Mei’s father, old Zhang, came for a visit, and when he saw their trim and well-maintained house, he felt very comforted, and told his daughter, “After you went out the gate, I went to visit the Huo family to find out more about them, but I saw that their gate was already bolted shut, and the caretaker said he didn’t know anything about it, noting that it’d been six months since he’d had any news of them. Day and night, your mother has wept, saying that villains were planning to destroy you, but didn’t know what to do about it. Isn’t it wonderfully fortunate that you’re safe and sound now?” Huang then explained the situation to him, and that because of it, he’d guessed that the Huo family were deities.
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  A-Mei gave birth to a son whom they named Xianci. When he was a teenager, his mother sent him to visit Zhenjiang, and when he arrived at Yangzhou, he went to an inn, following all the people coming and going from it. There was a woman who arrived and entered Xianci’s room, pulled aside the curtain, embraced him on her knees, and with a smile asked him his name. The boy then told her. “What does your name mean?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” replied Xianci.

  “When you get home,” the woman directed him, “ask your father if he’s aware of its significance.” Then she retied his hair, removing a flower from her own hair and inserting it into his; next she took a gold bracelet and fastened it around the boy’s wrist. After this, she took some gold and slipped it into his sleeve, telling him, “Go back and buy some books.”

  An old servant went to the inn, but couldn’t find the young master; he looked around until he came to Xianci’s room, where he heard the sound of people conversing, and when he peeked inside, he discovered Huo with the boy. Outside the curtain, someone made a small cough, seemingly signaling the servant’s presence to her. Huo pushed the boy down onto his bed, distracted, then disappeared once again. The servant asked the innkeeper who she was, but he didn’t know her.

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  Xianci: His name means “Conferred by the immortals.”

  Yangzhou: On the northern bank of the Yangzi River, opposite Zhenjiang, on the south bank.

  After several days, Xianci returned home from Zhenjiang, told Huang what had happened, and then took out the gold and presented it to him. Huang began sighing over and over. When he made inquiries regarding Zhu, he learned that the man had been dead for three days, his corpse unburied, so Huang took pity on him and generously saw to his burial.

  The collector of these strange tales remarks, “Was Huo an immortal? She repeatedly exchanged one master for another, which wasn’t chaste. But while she humbled the stingy and frustrated the lustful, she didn’t do so without deliberation. Besides, since stingy people should be humbled, there’s no need to feel pity for them.”

  321. The Certifier of Literary Trends

  Wang Pingzi, from Pingyang, went to take the provincial level imperial civil service examination in the capital, and rented a place to live in Baoguo Monastery. Inside the monastery there was a scholar from Yuhang who’d arrived earlier, so Wang took a room nearby for his residence, and then tried to pay him a visit. The scholar, however, simply didn’t respond.

  Whenever they met each day, the scholar always acted ill-mannered. Wang became resentful of his arrogance, and cut off any further contact with him. One day, a young man walked into the monastery, dressed in a white robe and cap, and he looked quite striking as he approached. He came over to meet and talk with Wang, and as they spoke amiably, Wang came to respect the young man.

  He proceeded to ask him about his background, and the young man replied, “I’m from Dengzhou, and my name is Song.” Wang told his servant to set up a seat for Song, and facing each other, they continued to laugh and chat.

  The Yuhang scholar happened to pass by, so both of them stood up to offer him their seats. The scholar quietly took a seat, but he still wasn’t even the least bit polite. Finally he asked Song, “So you’re also here to take the examination?”

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  Pingyang: A prefecture in Pu’s time, now the city of Linfen in Shandong province.

  Baoguo: The monstery’s name is a verb meaning “to dedicate the self to the nation’s service.”

  Dengzhou: Part of modern Penglai county, Shandong province.

  “No, I’m not,” replied Song. “I’m a person of mediocre talent, and haven’t entertained such lofty aspirations for a long time.”

  “Then what province are you from?” the scholar persisted. Song identified his hometown. “Oh well, that proves you’re being prudent—Shandong and Shanxi men are never sufficiently refined and well-versed in literature,” replied the scholar.

  “While few of us indeed in northern Shandong have mastered these things,” Song commented, “such failure may not be equally true for me; many of you in the south have mastered them, but that may not necessarily be true for you.”

  As he finished speaking, Wang broke into applause. He shouted his approval, and thereupon burst into laughter. The Yuhang scholar, angry and embarrassed, raised his eyebrows and pushed up his sleeves, demanding in a loud voice, “Do you dare assign us a topic here and now, so we can each write an examination-quality essay to compare?”

  Song turned to him with a smile and replied, “Of course I would dare!” Then he hurried to the place where he was staying, picked up a copy of Confucius’ Analects, and passed it to Wang. Wang took it in hand and opened it, pointing to the words “A youth from the Que village would carry messages for the Master.”

  The scholar stood up and asked for writing materials. Song pulled him aside and said, “You can just recite something. I’ve already analyzed the passage and composed a response: ‘Visitors coming and going there saw him, but not a one of them knew who he was.’” Wang held his belly and roared with laughter.

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  “A youth from the Que village . . .”: This comes from the Analects 14.44. In the Ames and Rosemont translation, it continues: “Someone asked Confucius, ‘Is he making any progress?’ The Master replied, ‘I have seen him sitting in places reserved for his seniors, and have seen him walking side by side with his elders. This is someone intent on growing up quickly rather than on making progress” (183). Song’s response clearly mocks the self-important Yuhang scholar.

  The scholar angrily replied, “You’re completely unskilled at literature, and all you can do is hurl insults, so how dare you behave like this!”

  Wang tried to be conciliatory, suggesting that it might be better to select another theme. Accordingly, he turned to the text again and read, “‘There were three selfless men during the Shang dynasty.’”

  Song stood and responded, “The three didn’t all choose the same path, but they all did the same thing. What was it, then, that they all had in common?”

  “Selflessness,” replied Wang. “If you’re selfless, and that’s what matters, what difference does it make whether you choose the same path as others?”

  The Yuhang scholar wouldn’t have anything to do with the topic, so he just got up and declared, “His comment shows he has no aptitude for literature.” Then he left.

  Wang hence respected Song even more. He invited Song to share his room, and while he was originally very fond of him, he was now sure that they’d be friends for good, so he finally took out all of his writings to ask for Song’s comments on them. Song quickly skimmed through it, and in fifteen minutes had already finished reading more than a hundred of them, commenting, “So you’re also fond of the literary path? But when you write, be sure to do so without thought of passing the examination; if you do, your work will be of inferior quality.” Then he picked up and read through Wang’s remaining writings one by one, offering his opinion of them.

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  “There were three selfless men . . .”: This is from Analects 18.1. The reference is to three men who followed their consciences while serving the infamous King Zhou, last of the Shang (1075-1046 B.C.E.) rulers.

  Wang was greatly pleased, and treated Song as his teacher; he sent a cook to make some sugar dumplings for him. Song consumed them and replied, “I’ve never tasted anything like this in my whole life, so I’ll trouble you in days to come to allow me to experience some more of it.” Following this, they got along very well together.

  For the next few days, whenever Song appeared, Wang made sure to set out some sweetened dumplings for him. If by chance the Yuhang scholar happened to run into them, he wasn’t very inclined to talk, but his arrogant attitude would immediately collapse.

  One day, the Yuhang scholar took one of his composition exercises and showed it to Song. Song
saw that the document was densely filled with friends’ comments, and after passing his eyes over it, he pushed it across the tabletop without saying anything about it. The scholar suspected that he hadn’t actually read it, so he asked him again to do so. Song replied that he’d already read it all. The scholar then figured that Song just didn’t understand it.

  “What problem could there be in understanding it?” remarked Song. “It simply isn’t very good!”

  The Yuhang scholar demanded, “How can you possibly know if it’s any good, when you’ve only given it a perfunctory reading?” Song proceeded then to recite the entire composition, as though he’d studied it for a long time, commenting throughout the recitation on its failings. The scholar felt ill at ease and began sweating, so he left without saying anything more.

  Moments later, Song left; the Yuhang scholar then reentered, insistently pleading with Wang to take out the writings he’d shown Song. Wang refused. The scholar then began forcefully searching among Wang’s essays that Song had evaluated, and settling upon one piece covered with comments, laughed at a particular mark and cried, “This one’s as big as a sugar dumpling!” Wang was so flummoxed by the remark that he didn’t think anything further about it.

  The next day, when Song arrived, Wang told him everything that had happened. “I thought ‘the southerners will no longer appear’—how dare he be so rude to you!” Song declared angrily. “He deserves a punishment!” Wang made every effort to rationalize the scholar’s behavior, hoping Song would take his advice to drop the matter, and hence Song felt a genuine respect for him.

  Subsequently, when they were back in their room, Wang showed some of his writing to Song, who praised it quite enthusiastically. It happened that when they were going to explore one of the monastery’s pavilions, they noticed a blind monk sitting in a hallway, where he made his living as a doctor by selling medicine.