The Plum in the Golden Vase or, Chin P'ing Mei

by Roy, David Tod

  When Ch’un-mei had finished drinking her tea, the young novice took the utensils away, and the abbot continued to engage her in an animated dialogue. This meant that Wu Yüeh-niang and her fellows were cooped up in their side room and did not feel comfortable about coming out. When Yüeh-niang saw that it was getting late, she sent the young novice to invite the abbot inside and told him that they would like to leave, but the abbot would not consent.

  Instead, he went back into the parlor and said to Ch’un-mei, “There is something that this humble monk would like to mention to you.”

  “Your Reverence,” responded Ch’un-mei, “Pray express yourself without constraint.”

  “Right now,” the abbot explained, “there are several sightseeing ladies here, who were engaged in looking over the premises but did not know that you would be arriving. At present, they have expressed a desire to go home, but I do not know what you may feel about it.”

  “Your Reverence,” said Ch’un-mei, “why not ask them to come out so we can meet each other?”

  The abbot hastened to convey this request, but Wu Yüeh-niang was still reluctant to come out and said, “Your Reverence, there is no need for us to meet her. It is getting late, and we would like to be on our way.”

  The abbot felt embarrassed that he had accepted their largess without doing anything adequate to entertain them, and therefore he urged them repeatedly to come out. In the end, Wu Yüeh-niang, Meng Yü-lou, and Wu K’ai’s wife felt that they could hardly refuse any longer and consented to come out.

  As soon as she saw them, Ch’un-mei exclaimed, “So it turns out to be you two ladies and Sister-in-law Wu.”

  So saying, she maneuvered Wu K’ai’s wife into assuming the position of honor and proceeded:

  Like a sprig of blossoms swaying in the breeze,

  to kowtow to her; which so affected Sister-in-law Wu that she hastened to return her salutation, saying:

  “The present cannot be compared to the past.

  You embarrass this old body to death.”

  “My good sister-in-law,” said Ch’un-mei, “how can you say such a thing? I am not the sort of person who ignores distinctions of status:

  Exalted or humble, above and below;

  This is a self-evident principle.”

  Having kowtowed to Sister-in-law Wu, she then turned to Yüeh-niang and Meng Yü-lou and proceeded to kowtow to them:

  Just as though inserting a taper in its holder.

  Yüeh-niang and Meng Yü-lou were about to return the compliment, but Ch’un-mei would not let them and helped them to their feet.

  After kowtowing to them four times, she said, “I did not know that you all were here. If I had known, I would have invited you out so we could greet each other.”

  “Sister,” responded Yüeh-niang, “since you left us, you have been a member of the commandant’s household for some time now, and I have been remiss in not coming to pay a call on you. Pray don’t hold it against me.”

  “My good lady,” said Ch’un-mei, “how could the likes of me presume to hold anything against you?”

  Then, upon noticing that the wet nurse Ju-i was holding Hsiao-ko in her arms, she remarked, “How little brother has grown.”

  Yüeh-niang thereupon turned to Ju-i and said, “You and Hsiao-yü, come over and kowtow to your elder sister.”

  Ju-i and Hsiao-yü, accordingly, came over with ingratiating smiles and performed a half obeisance to Ch’un-mei, while Yüeh-niang said, “Sister, pray accept their salutations.”

  Ch’un-mei then proceeded to extract a pair of gold-headed silver pins from her hair and stick them into Hsiao-ko’s cap.

  “Thank Sister for her pins,” said Yüeh-niang to Ju-i. “Aren’t you going to pay her an obeisance in return?”

  Ju-i thereupon, while holding Hsiao-ko in her arms, actually paid an obeisance to Ch’un-mei, which pleased Yüeh-niang no end.

  “Sister,” said Meng Yü-lou, “if you had not come to the temple today, we would not have had this chance to meet each other again.”

  “You are right,” responded Ch’un-mei. “It is only because my venerable mother was recently buried behind the temple here that I came. After all, I served under her for all this time, and she:

  Lacks either relatives or friends.33

  If I were not to express my concern for her by coming and burning some paper money on her behalf, how would I be able to live with myself?”

  Yüeh-niang said, “As I recall, your mother has been dead for quite a few years, but I did not know that she was buried here.”

  “First Lady,” said Meng Yü-lou, “you don’t understand what Sister P’ang is saying. She is referring to the death of P’an the Sixth. It was thanks to our sister that she was buried here.”

  When Yüeh-niang heard this, she was reduced to silence.

  “Who could be kinder than you, Sister?” remarked Wu K’ai’s wife. “You were unwilling to forget the favors you enjoyed from her in the past and have gone to the trouble to have her decently buried. And now, on this festival occasion, you have remembered her, and come to burn paper money on her behalf.”

  “My good lady,” responded Ch’un-mei. “I could hardly help remembering the favorable treatment I received from her. In view of the cruel manner in which she died, and the way in which her corpse was exposed and abandoned, how could I fail to arrange a decent burial for her?”

  As soon as they had finished speaking, the abbot instructed a young novice to serve them a vegetarian repast. Two large Eight Immortals tables were duly set up, and their surfaces covered with steamed shortcake, fried pastries, a variety of vegetarian dishes, and the finest golden-leaved Sparrow Tongue tea, brewed with sweet water. When they had finished eating, the utensils were cleared away. Meanwhile, Wu K’ai had also been entertained in one of the monk’s quarters, but no more of this.

  Meng Yü-lou then got up, intending to go pay a visit to Chin-lien’s grave and burn some paper money there on her behalf, in memory of the sisterhood they had shared together. When she saw that Yüeh-niang was not going to follow suit, she got out five candareens of silver and asked a young novice to go buy some paper money for her.

  “My Lady,” said the abbot, “there is no need for you to buy any paper money. I have a supply of imitation gold and silver paper money here, and you are welcome to take some of it with you to burn on her behalf.”

  Meng Yü-lou turned her silver over to the abbot and then had the young novice lead her out to Chin-lien’s grave under the white poplar tree behind the temple, where she found a three-foot-high grave mound of yellow earth, on which a few clumps of artemisia were growing.

  Inserting her incense stick into the mound and igniting the paper money, she performed an obeisance, saying, “Sister Six, I did not know that you had been buried here. But today, your sister Meng the Third, having chanced to visit this temple, has come to burn a packet of paper money on your behalf.

  May you find a pleasurable place in Heaven;

  And use the cash to cope with any problems.”

  So saying, she groped out a handkerchief and commenced to weep out loud. There is a song to the tune “Sheep on the Mountain Slope” that testifies to this:

  As the paper money burns out,

  My pearly tears drop helter-skelter.

  I call out to you, “Sister Six,

  I weep for you until,

  There are barely two breaths

  left in my body.34

  I recall how we never used to make

  distinctions between us,

  During the sisterhood that we

  shared together.

  We never allowed ourselves to get

  red in the face with anger.

  Your temperament was forceful, and I

  often gave way to you.

  But if we ever lost sight of each other,

  If you did not look for me, I would

  go looking for you.

  We were like the fish that swim in pairs,

&nb
sp; with only one eye apiece,

  Ardently sticking to one another;

  Only to be suddenly blown apart

  by a gust of wind.

  Having been accustomed to perching

  on the same tree,

  One day we were forced to fly our

  separate ways.

  I cry out to you, Sister Six, just

  try and listen to me.

  What a pity that a person of your

  great intelligence,

  Should end up today being buried

  under the ground.”

  The wet nurse Ju-i, on seeing that Meng Yü-lou had gone back to the rear of the temple, took Hsiao-ko in her arms, intending to go out for a look at the grave herself; but Yüeh-niang, who was still talking to Ch’un-mei in the abbot’s quarters, said, “Don’t take the child with you, I’m afraid he might find it frightening.”

  “Don’t worry, Mistress,” Ju-i responded, “I can handle the situation.”

  So saying, she took Hsiao-ko with her and went out to the grave site, where she looked on as Meng Yü-lou burned the paper money and wept, after which they came back inside.

  Meanwhile, Ch’un-mei and Yüeh-niang had both adjusted their makeup and put their clothing to rights, after which Ch’un-mei directed her servants to open up the food boxes, and they proceeded to lay out a selection of appetizers on the two tables, including sweetmeats, delicacies of various kinds, and partitioned boxes of assorted dainties. Wine was provided, after being strained through a cheesecloth sieve, and laid out along with silver goblets and ivory chopsticks. Ch’un-mei invited Wu K’ai’s wife, Wu Yüeh-niang, and Meng Yü-lou to sit down in the positions of honor while she played the role of host, and the wet nurse Ju-i, Hsiao-yü, and Lan-hua, the senior maidservant in the Wu household, were seated to either side. Wu K’ai was also provided with a table for himself in the monk’s quarters where he was located.

  Just as they were drinking their wine, they suddenly saw a pair of black-clad servants, who came in, knelt down, and reported, “His Honor is at his new estate and has sent us to invite the young mistress to come and enjoy the show he is putting on that includes tumblers and vaudeville acts. His First Lady and Second Lady are both there, and he would like you to come join them as soon as possible.”

  Ch’un-mei responded:

  Neither hurriedly nor hastily,

  saying, “You can go back. I understand the situation.”

  The two servitors assented and withdrew but did not venture to depart, choosing to wait outside for her to finish entertaining her guests.

  Wu K’ai’s wife and Yüeh-niang felt that it was time for them to take their leave, saying, “Sister, we don’t wish to impose upon you any longer. It is getting late, and you have something to do. We had better be on our way.”

  Ch’un-mei, however, was reluctant to let them go and, telling her attendants to proffer them large goblets of wine, appealed to them, saying, “We former members of the same household:

  Spend less time together than apart,35

  and have gone our separate ways, but we ought not to break off our relationship. I also:

  Lack either relatives or friends.

  On the occasion of your birthday, Mother, I will come to pay you a visit.”

  “Sister,” responded Yüeh-niang, “it is nice of you to suggest it, but I would not presume to put you to such trouble. Some day soon, I will come pay a call on you.”

  After drinking a cupful of wine, Yüeh-niang said, “I have had enough wine. Sister-in-law Wu does not have a sedan chair, and it is getting late enough to hinder our return.”

  “If Sister-in-law Wu does not have a sedan chair,” said Ch’un-mei, “I brought some ponies along with me and can lend one of them to her to ride home on.”

  As she prepared for her own departure, Ch’un-mei called for the abbot and had one of her servants bring out a bolt of muslin and five mace of silver, which she presented to him. The abbot bowed in thanks to her and escorted her out through the gate of the temple. Ch’un-mei exchanged farewells with Yüeh-niang and saw her, together with Meng Yü-lou and the others, into their sedan chairs, after which she got into her own sedan chair, and the two groups went their separate ways. Ch’un-mei was accompanied by a crowd of attendants who shouted to clear the way as she made her way to her husband’s new estate. Truly:

  If even the separate leaves of a tree

  may encounter each other;

  Why should people, too, not sometimes

  meet with good fortune?36

  If you want to know the outcome of these events,

  Pray consult the story related in the following chapter.

  Chapter 90

  LAI-WANG ABSCONDS TOGETHER WITH SUN HSÜEH-O;

  SUN HSÜEH-O IS SOLD TO CHOU HSIU’S HOUSEHOLD

  Blossoms open and blossoms fall,1

  open and fall again;

  Officials and commoners are wont

  to replace one another.

  Prominent families cannot count

  upon remaining wealthy;

  Poor persons are not necessarily

  doomed to remain poor.

  If you assist people, they will not

  necessarily rise to Heaven;

  If you abuse people, they will not

  necessarily end in a ditch.2

  You are urged, in all things, not to

  be resentful toward Heaven;

  Heaven’s attitude toward mankind is

  neither generous nor stingy.3

  THE STORY GOES that Wu K’ai took charge of Yüeh-niang and the group of men and women that accompanied her as they left the Temple of Eternal Felicity and continued on their way under the tall trees on the long embankment. Meanwhile, Tai-an had already selected an elevated spot in the open air before the tavern in Apricot Blossom Village, from which they could enjoy:

  The liveliness of the teeming crowds;

  and set out their wine and appetizers:

  Making a canopy of Heaven and a carpet of Earth.4

  He had waited a long time before he saw the sedan chairs of Yüeh-niang and the others approaching.

  Upon their arrival, he asked, “Why has it taken you so long to get here?”

  Yüeh-niang responded by telling him all about how they had run into Ch’un-mei in the Temple of Eternal Felicity.

  It was not long before the wine was decanted, and the group of them sat down to enjoy their drinks. As they did so, what should they see passing back and forth below the tavern in front of them but a stream of:

  Perfumed carriages with decorated hubs,

  Amid the discord of the teeming crowds.

  The chariots and horses rumbled like thunder;

  As the pipes and voices rose up tumultuously.5

  Yüeh-niang and the others, standing on their elevated spot, looked on as the:

  Mountains and seas of people,

  crowded around to watch the military instructors perform their equestrian acrobatics.

  It so happens that among them was the son of the district magistrate Li Ch’ang-ch’i, whose name was Li Kung-pi. He was about thirty years of age and was enrolled as a student at the Superior College of the National University. He had ever been:

  As romantic and dashing as can be,

  But too lazy to study the classics;

  preferring instead to engage in:

  Equestrian hunting with falcons and hounds,

  Or playing at kickball and suchlike sports.

  He was a habitué of the:

  Three quarters and two alleys,

  of the pleasure precincts, and people referred to him as Bare Stick Li. That day, he was wearing an outfit of light glossy silk, with a small palmetto hat with a golden knob on his head, while his feet were clad in dark tan boots and embroidered stockings. Along with a clerk on the staff of the district yamen named Ho Pu-wei, he was leading a group of twenty or thirty stout fellows, equipped with slingshots, blowpipes, balls, and sticks, who congregated in front of the tavern in Ap
ricot Blossom Village looking on as the military instructor Li Kuei performed his equestrian acrobatics; doing headstands on horseback, hanging on one side of his steed by grasping its belly bands, twirling his spear and flourishing his club. The considerable number of men and women gathered there were cheering vociferously.

  This Li Kuei, whose nickname was Shantung Yaksha,6 wore a flat-topped cap on his head, held in place with a hammered gold ring that floated at the back of his skull. His body was draped in a close-fitting purple gown, his waist was encircled with a gold lamé cummerbund, his shins were encased in patterned puttees, and his feet were clad in long-legged boots and variegated stockings with a flying fish motif. He rode on a steed with a silvery mane and held a gleaming vermilion-handled spear in his hand, from which there floated a commander’s standard.

  Vaulting into the saddle in the middle of the street, he went on to introduce himself in a loud voice, saying:

  Martial arts instructors such as myself

  are rare in this world;

  My name has been known on the rivers and

  lakes for a long time.

  Blows with my two fists feel like being

  hammered with a mallet;

  My two feet carry me forward as nimbly

  as though in flight.

  In the martial contests in the Southern

  and Northern Capitals,

  And those in Kuang-tung and Kuang-hsi,

  I am without a rival.

  It is clear I am an adamantly boastful

  and big-mouthed sort;

  Though the fact is that I am utterly

  devoid of any talent.

  My skill with the Shao-lin quarterstaff,

  Barely enables me to batter field frogs;

  My mastery of the Yüeh school of boxing,7

  Hardly equips me to terrify little dogs.

  When confronted with a real match,

  I scarcely dare make even a sound;

  If there is no rival to deal with,

  I am wont to utter boastful words.

  The money I manage to swindle this way

  I find hard to hold on to;

  Because I am so given to plucking the

  “willows” in the quarter.8