Snap your fingers; half a year passed. There were some vulgar plutocrats in the city who prized Wang Mien’s pictures and were always eager to buy them. Of course these wealthy men did not come personally; they sent their lackeys, who shouted and called out orders and made such a commotion that Wang Mien had no peace. When he could bear it no longer, he painted a huge ox and pasted it up together with some barbed verses. He knew this would lead to trouble and began thinking about moving on.
One day in the clear early dawn he was sitting in his room when he was amazed to see a great crowd of men and women shrieking and wailing as they moved down the street. In the baskets that hung from their shoulder poles, some had pots and household things and some had children. All were gaunt and ragged. They streamed past, rank after rank, filling up the street. Some sat on the ground and begged. Asked why they were here, they said they had come from the shires and counties along the Yellow River. Their fields and homes had been swept away, they said, when the river broke through the dikes and flooded the countryside. They were ordinary folk fleeing a disaster for which the government had no concern. So they could only take to the road to survive.
Wang Mien could not stand to watch them. “The river is overflowing north,” he said with a sigh, “and the world enters a period of great disorder. What’s the point in remaining here?” He gathered up what money he had, tied his things together in a bundle, and went back home. It was only when he reached the border of his home province that he learned Wei Su was back in the capital and the magistrate had been promoted. So it was safe to return home and pay respects to his mother.
He was glad to find her hale as ever. She told him of the many kindnesses Old Ch’in had shown her. Quickly unpacking, Wang Mien took a bolt of silk and some dried persimmon to Old Ch’in to show his gratitude. The farmer prepared a homecoming celebration, and afterwards Wang Mien chanted poems, made pictures, and took care of his mother as he had done before.
Six years went by. Wang Mien’s mother, now old and unwell, kept to her bed. Wang Mien tried every kind of cure and doctor—to no avail. One day his mother gave him the following advice: “I can see that I am past saving. Now, these few years people have been bending my ears saying that since you are so learned I should encourage you to go and become an official. No doubt that would reflect well on your ancestors. And yet these officials never seem to come to a good end. With your proud spirit, the outcome would be dreadful if you got yourself in trouble. So my son, heed these last words—take a wife and raise a family; care for my grave—and don’t become an official. That way I can die in peace, eyes and mouth closed.”
Wang Mien tearfully assented. His mother drew her last few soft breaths and went home to the heavens. The grieving son pounded his bosom and stamped his feet and gave voice to his sorrow, and his cries moved the neighbors to tears. He asked Old Ch’in to help prepare the burial clothes and the coffin. Wang Mien himself carried the earth to make the grave mound, and for the required twenty-five months he “slept on earth and hemp” in mourning.
Hardly a year after the ceremonial mourning ended, a great revolution broke out. The anti-Mongol leader Fang Kuo-chen seized Chekiang province, Chang Shih-ch’eng seized Suchou, and Ch’en Yu-liang seized the Hupei-Hunan region. But these three were only bandit-heroes. The founder of the Ming Dynasty was to be Chu Yüan-chang,* the Great Imperial Ancestor, who raised an army at Chuyang, captured Nanking, and established himself as the king of Wu. His righteous legions smashed the bandit-hero Fang Kuo-chen and gave him command of all Chekiang, and the villages and towns knew peace.
One day at noon as Wang Mien was returning home after the ceremonial sweeping of his mother’s grave, he was surprised to see a dozen horsemen heading into his village. The man in the lead wore an army cap on his head and a military tunic. With his light, clear face and three-strand whiskers, he had the marks of a true Chinese sovereign. The man dismounted at Wang Mien’s gate, greeted him courteously, and said, “May I trouble you with a question? Where is the home of Master Wang Mien?”
“Your humble servant,” replied Wang Mien. “This poor home is mine.”
“Marvelous,” said the man, “for it is you I come to greet.” He ordered his men to dismount, picket their horses by the lakeside willows, and take up posts outside the cottage. The leader alone took Wang Mien by the hands and went with him indoors, where they seated themselves as host and guest and exchanged further amenities.
Wang Mien said, “I dare not inquire your most respected name and title and why you have favored this remote village with a visit.”
“I am named Chu,” replied the man. “I have raised armies throughout southeast China and previously held the title king of Chuyang. Now that I have taken Nanking, I am known as the king of Wu.* I have come to conquer the forces of the bandit-hero Fang Kuo-chen, and wish in particular to pay my respects to you.”
“Oh! Simple villager that I am, to lack the eyes to see! So it’s really Your Highness! How dare a foolish peasant take Your Grace out of his way?”
“This poor orphan,”† said the king of Wu, “is a crude, rough fellow. But now that I see your air of learning, my thoughts of worldly fame and merit seem to vanish. All during my campaigns I have held your name in esteem. Today I come to pay respectful call in hopes of receiving your instruction, Master. Since the people of Chekiang have long been in rebellion, what can be done to win their hearts and minds?”
“Needless for a peasant to tell it to a man of enlightenment and foresight like Your Majesty,” replied Wang Mien. “If the basic principles of humanity and rectitude be used to win the people’s loyalty, who in the whole world could hold out against you? If you conquer our weak people by force, their sense of rectitude will keep them from the disgrace of submission. Look what happened to Fang Kuo-chen!”
The king of Wu sighed deeply and nodded in approval, and the two spoke together until the sun went down. The king’s followers had brought dry rations of cooked grain with them, and Wang Mien went himself to the kitchen to bake a good helping of cakes and fry up a plate of leeks. He served the king and then joined him for the supper, after which the king thanked Wang Mien for his wise advice and left on horseback.
The same day Old Ch’in returned from town and asked about the visitor. But Wang Mien never said exactly who had come, only that it was an army officer with whom he had made friends when he was in Shantung.
A few years later the king of Wu calmed the catastrophic turmoil in the world and reestablished the sacred cauldron in Nanking—symbol of the continuity of the most ancient dynastic heritage. The realm was united. The new dynasty was called Great Ming, and the emperor’s reign title was “Overwhelming Might.” All over the land the peasantry worked in peace and contentment.
In the fourth year of Overwhelming Might, Old Ch’in went into the city and returned to tell Wang Mien, “His Honor Wei Su has answered for his crimes and has been sent into exile. I brought a copy of the whole notice to show you.” Thus Wang Mien learned that after surrendering to the Ming forces, Wei Su had claimed that he had been the new emperor’s loyal vassal all along. The emperor was so furious that he exiled Wei Su to Ho-chou, where he was assigned to tend the tomb of a famous general of the Mongol reign.
Another document that Old Ch’in brought back was the regulations of the Board of Rites governing the selection of officials. As before, there would be an examination requiring formal essays on the Confucian classics every third year. “Actually,” said Wang Mien, “these rules are awful. Whenever scholars have this route to fame and glory, they do not take a serious approach to the correct principles for composition, conduct, official service, and seclusion.”
As they spoke evening came on. It was early summer, and the weather was unexpectedly warm. Old Ch’in set out a table in a clearing for threshing wheat, and the two men enjoyed a supper with a little wine. Then the moon stole up from the east, making everything glisten like an endless expanse of glass. Not a sound came from the sleeping seagulls
and resting cormorants. Wang Mien held his cup in his left hand and pointed to the stars with his right. “Look,” he said, “the constellation Shackles will cross Literary Splendor. Things will not go smoothly for this generation of scholars.”
As Wang Mien was speaking, a sudden wind sprang up and knifed through the trees with an ominous hiss, scaring the water-fowl into croaking flight. Old Ch’in and Wang Mien covered their faces in fear. But soon the wind died down, and when they opened their eyes they saw something amazing: hundreds of little stars were streaming from every direction down toward the southeast corner of the sky. “Heaven may have pity on us yet,” said Wang Mien, “sending down this troop of star-princes to maintain the fortunes of the scholars—but not in our lifetimes.” They cleared the table and went separately home.
From then on, talk was heard that the Ming government had sent orders to the Chekiang governor to draft Wang Mien into the ranks of officials. At first Wang Mien did not take the rumors seriously, but the talk only increased. And so, without telling Old Ch’in, Wang Mien quietly gathered his belongings and slipped away by night to the K’uaichi Mountains.
Half a year later the Ming court actually sent an official with an imperial summons. He was attended by many men and brought splendid gifts. He arrived at Old Ch’in’s gate and found a man now past eighty years of age, his beard and sideburns silvery white, hands gripping a staff. The imperial messenger extended his courtesies and Old Ch’in ushered him into the cottage. “Is Master Wang Mien in this hamlet?” the messenger asked. “The Imperial Grace grants him the office of Consulting Military Adviser. I have come expressly to present the imperial written command.”
“He’s from our village,” replied Old Ch’in, “but it’s been a long time since I knew his whereabouts.” Old Ch’in offered some tea and then led the official to Wang Mien’s home. He pushed open the gate. Spiders and webs filled the rooms; brambles and weeds covered the paths. The official could see for himself that Wang Mien had been gone a long time. With a sad sigh, the messenger took his document back to the capital to report on his mission.
Wang Mien lived in obscurity in the K’uaichi Mountains, taking care never to reveal his identity. Some time later, he took sick and passed on. His neighbors collected a little money and buried him at the foot of the mountains. That same year Old Ch’in also reached his mortal term. It’s strange, but these days writers and scholars speak of Wang Mien as Consulting Military Adviser, though in all honesty, when did he serve in office even for a single day? That’s why I have tried to set the record straight.
—Wu Ching-tzu
*The Mongols, who ruled China for three generations, were overthrown in 1368, when the Ming Dynasty was established and China once again came fully under Chinese rule. This book opens with the period just before the Mongol defeat, and the Chinese officials it portrays were later denounced as collaborators.
* One of China’s most famous statesman-poets, he lived in the late fourth to early third centuries, B.C. When his king did not accept his principled advice, he drowned himself in the Milo River in Hunan.
*See “The Tiger Behind the Fox,” this page.
*When the Ming Dynasty was established in 1368, it ended over two and a half centuries of political dominance by non-Chinese. In 1644 the non-Chinese Manchu dynasty, the Ch’ing, was established. It fell in the Republican Revolution of 1911. This novel was written toward the middle of the eighteenth century, that is, at the height of Manchu rule, when Ming loyalism was regarded as sedition.
*Wu was an ancient name for southeast China.
†This was the conventional way for a Chinese king to refer to himself.
Nature
The ground is held in place by the major mountains. It has the rocks for bones, the rivers for veins, and the vegetation for its coat. Its flesh is the earth—the top two and a half feet of soil that things grow in. Beneath lies the ground itself.
—Chang Hua
Civilization
In the southern corner of the extreme west is the great primitive grassland surrounded by lands unknown. There the vital forces of the universe, the yin and the yang, do not interchange, so there is no contrast of heat and cold. No light of sun or moon shines on it, so there is neither day nor night. The people do not eat or wear clothes but sleep most of the time, waking only once every fifty days. They believe that what they do in their dreams is real and what they do when awake is unreal.
The focal point within the four seas is our middle kingdom of China. Straddling the Yellow River north and south and extending over the Tai Mountains east and west, it contains many thousands of square miles. Its measure of yin and yang has been carefully determined, so it has equal seasons of cold and heat. The division of light and dark has been made with discernment, so there is equal day and night. Its people vary in intelligence. All things grow and multiply. All manner of talents and skills are found there. A king and his officers preside over them. Tradition and law sustain them. Their world is full of any number of things! They sleep and wake in regular order. They regard what they do when awake as real and what they see in dreams as unreal.
In the northern corner of the extreme east there is a land called the hill settlements, where the climate is habitually punishing. The sun and moon stay close to the horizon, and their light is weak. Most crops do not grow in the soil. The people live on roots and legumes and are ignorant of cooking. They are hard and ruthless by nature, and the stronger exploit the weaker. They honor superior force, not social ethics. Most of the time they are on the move and rarely rest. And they are always awake; they do not sleep at all.
—Lieh Tzu
A Note on the Translation and Transcription of Chinese
The selection and arrangement of the tales drawn from the following sources was done by the editor. All the translations were made by the editor with the assistance of C. N. Tay. A number of these tales have never before been translated into English, and most of the others are scattered in books now out of print or difficult to obtain.
The translating was done in two stages. First, an extremely literal version was made in an attempt to reproduce as faithfully as possible not only semantic nuances but also syntactical and rhythmic patterns. The second stage involved making, as sparingly as possible, adjustments of diction and style in an effort to achieve maximum readability. In addition, brief explanatory phrases have occasionally been brought into the text, factual information (dates, names, places) at the beginning of some tales has been simplified, and in a few cases a redundantly didactic ending has been abbreviated or omitted.
Because the material is classical, not modern, the Wade-Giles system of transcription has been used. Place names, which usually have two syllables, are spelled as one word: Chinling, Tungan. A state name usually has one syllable: Ch’i, Sung. Dynasties always have one: T’ang, Ming. Names of people are written with the last name first, and the first name hyphenated, if in two syllables: Tu Tzu-ch’un, Hsi Fang-p’ing. If the first name has one syllable: Liang Hsü, Hsüeh Wei. Only rarely does the last name have two syllables: Ssu-ma Ch’ien.
Vowels and diphthongs in Chinese are constant and easy to learn: a as in far; ai as in Thai; ao as in Mao; e as in her; ei as in weigh; i as in marine (i is sometimes written yi to avoid confusion with the English first-person pronoun I); ih like the irr in whirr; o as in door; ou as in owe; u as in flute; ü is an i pronounced with rounded lips.
Initial consonants may require a little explanation. p’, t’, k’, ch’, and ts’ come before vowels with a strong puff of breath: p’ as in pooh; t’ as in tattle; k’ as in khaki; ch’ as in chalk; ts’ as in lots of. When pronounced without the strong puff or breath, these sounds are written without the ’: p as in spot; t as in stall; k as in sky; ch like the g in gem; ts is like the ds in words; j at the beginning of a word resembles the final ih mentioned above. (Again the rr of whirr is a close approximation, but the lips are not rounded as they always are to pronounce the English r.) hs is the same as sh, coming
only before i and ü. Thus, hsi sounds like she with the lips retracted.
Other initial consonants and the final consonants are pronounced as in English.
List of Sources
The following list gives (1) the English title in this edition; (2) in parentheses, the Chinese title or titles in transcription, if the original has any; (3) the source or sources; and (4) the dynasty and in most cases the approximate date for the work.
The Cricket (Ts’u Chih), Liao Chai Chih I (hereafter LCCI), early Ch’ing, late 17th century A.D.
The Waiting Maid’s Parrot (Ch’in Chi Liao), Ying Ch’üan I Ts’ao, Ch’ing, late 18th century A.D.
Sea Prince (Hai Kung Tzu), LCCI
A Girl in Green (Lü I Nü), LCCI
Butterfly Dreams, Chuang Tzu, Chan Kuo period, 4th century B.C.
Suited to Be a Fish (Hsüeh Wei/Yü Fu Chi), Hsü Hsüan Kuai Lu (hereafter HHKL), late T’ang, early 9th century A.D.
Li Ching and the Rain God (Li Wei Kung Ching), HHKL
Jade Leaves, Lieh Tzu, Chin, late 3rd-early 4th centuries A.D.
The Wizard’s Lesson (Tu Tzu-ch’un), HHKL
The Priest of Hardwork Mountains (Lao Shan Tao Shih), LCCI
White Lotus Magic (Pai Lien Chiao), LCCI
The Peach Thief (T’ou T’ao), LCCI
Chinese Fairy Tales and Fantasies (Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library) Page 20
