During the ninety coldest days of winter,
Snow fills the sky and everything is frozen.
A wild wind shakes Heaven and agitates the Earth,9
Chilling me to the point that I am frozen stiff.
My heart is palpitating,
And I find it almost impossible to contend with.
I cannot bear the hunger in my stomach;
I cannot stand the coldness of my body.
Living thus, half exposed to the elements,
It is really cold.
I cannot bear this sense of desolation,
And would like to find a way to death,
But in this flustered state, I cannot
spare my worthless life.
To the tune “Playful Children,” Paracoda One
Before I know it, the evening bell sounds;
At the evening bell people begin to rest.
Who is it that is calling for me?
It is the neighborhood head Chang Ch’eng.
He calls for me urgently,
And I respond repeatedly.
“Who is going to sound the watches for me
tonight?” he asks.
It would seem that I am in luck, for once,
For he is giving me some baked wheat cakes.
Paracoda Two
I am grateful to the neighborhood head for his
concern over my exposure,
And giving me the task of sounding the clapper
to mark the watches;
So I am willing to let him use me this way.
As long as he is able to provide me with
something to eat,
What do I care about the poor and humble
nature of this task?
I am willing to engage in shouting the hour
and ringing the bell.
Paracoda Three
When I sit for a while my hands and
feet grow numb;
When I stand for a while my stomach
begins to hurt.
The baked wheat cakes are cold, and I have to swallow
them without any tea to wash them down.
Before the third watch is over, the patrolman on night
duty demands that I light him on his way.
All I can manage is to pay him forty cash,
In order to bribe him into letting me off.
Paracoda Four
At the fifth watch when the cocks crow,
And people begin to walk along the streets,
Going hither and thither, every which way,
I happen to come upon an ailing beggar
lying beneath a wall.
I am told to keep him warm without interruption,
And it is only when I detect a warm breath
from his mouth that I can relax.
I no sooner close my eyes than I have
an intimate dream,
From which I suddenly awake and
weep until dawn.
Paracoda Five
The beggars ask me, “What are you crying about?”
And I tell them the story of my life
from start to finish.
“My ancestors, for generations, have possessed
substantial wealth.
If you were to mention the Ch’en family
that deals in pine resin,
Who would not have been awestruck at the name?
They resided among the gentry;
My grandfather dealt in salt from
the Huai region,
And my father devoted himself to forming
influential connections.
But since he gave birth to me, I have been given to
excessive drinking and fits of violence.
Paracoda Six
First I lost my grandfather, who used
to discipline me,
And later I also lost my father.
My mother doted on me,
And let me do as I pleased.
I became proficient at every kind of
drinking and gambling,
And was familiar with all the taverns
and bawdy houses.
Everything I did was of this kind.
I had no sooner married than my relatives
became implicated in a lawsuit,
And I fled to the home of my in-laws in order to avoid
a heavier risk by seeking a lighter.
Paracoda Seven
While I was residing as a son-in-law in
the Hsi-men household,
I manipulated the breeze and the moonlight,
seducing my mother-in-law.
In financial matters, I trusted someone
who took advantage of me.
I also gambled away quantities of yellow
gold and precious jade,
And provided rice and fuel to cover the
expenses of the brothels.
After having beaten my wife to
the point of death,
She committed suicide, and her family
brought a suit against me.
I had to expend a great deal of money,
Before contriving to escape with my life.
Paracoda Eight
I sold my spacious home,
And bought a small dwelling;
Moved into a boarding house,
But could no longer afford it.
I took no thought for the future, or how
to preserve what I had left.
Out of hunger, cold, and despair, my
concubine fell ill,
And eventually died in my quarters,
unable to stay alive.
Everything I possessed was utterly
cleaned out,
But I had not lost my taste
for wine and meat,
And had no alternative but to sell off
my ancestral grave sites.
Paracoda Nine
I cannot carry the light,
Or support the heavy;10
Work as a laborer,
Or engage in farming.
Rather than undertaking anything, I am
reluctant to make a move.
When at leisure with nothing to do,
all I hanker after is food;
When I fall asleep, I do not get up
until the sun is already red.
My doglike nature is as adamant
as steel.
I have grievously wronged all of my ten
relatives and nine kinsmen,11
So should I freeze or starve to death, who
will bother to care about me?
Paracoda Ten
My landlord is unrelenting in
demanding my rent,
And does not think I will be
able to stay.
His earthenware pots and broken bowls
are utterly useless;
And he has attempted repeatedly to
drive me out the door.
My frozen bones and drenched flesh
are without a refuge,
And I have felt compelled to commit
myself to a homeless shelter.
If only my luck should ever happen to
change for the better,
I would then never be able to forget the
kindness of my benefactor.
For ages I have endured privation and pain
at the death of my wife;
I have no clothes on my back12 and my mouth
is without nourishment.
My horse is dead, my slaves have fled, and
my home has been sold;
All by myself,13 I have been forced to move
into unknown territory.
In the morning, I frequent the marketplace
begging for leftovers;
At night, I sleep in the open, up against
the dilapidated walls.
Since there is no other course open to me
in the days to come;
I must live in a homeless shelter and
beat
the watchman’s clapper.”
To resume our story, Ch’en Ching-chi was reduced to spending his nights in the homeless shelter, and his days begging for food on the streets.
It so happens that inside the city wall of Ch’ing-ho district there lived an elderly gentleman named Wang Hsüan, whose courtesy name was T’ing-yung. He was more than sixty years old:
His family holdings were substantial;14
he possessed a charitable disposition; and he was:
Chivalrous by nature and open-handed with his wealth.
He had a wide circle of acquaintances, derived pleasure from his philanthropy, and devoted himself to:
Aiding the poor and rescuing the wretched;15
Enjoying goodness and respecting the gods.
His two sons had both:
Set up households and established themselves.
His eldest son was named Wang Ch’ien and had inherited the office of battalion commander of the local Horse Pasturage Battalion of the Court of the Imperial Stud. His second son was named Wang Chen and was currently a government student in the prefectural school. The old gentleman had hired a manager and set up a pawnshop on the street-front of his residence. Every day, what with:
His elegant clothing and ample diet,16
His leisure and lack of obligations,
he was free to:
Attend scripture readings in Buddhist temples,
Or discourse on the Way in Taoist sanctuaries.
When he had nothing else to do, he would situate himself at the gate of his residence and dispense medicine to the sick, or finger his rosary and recite the Buddha’s name. Because there were two apricot trees in his rear garden, he called himself the Layman of the Apricot Hermitage.
Wang Hsüan Relies on Righteousness to Help the Poor
One day, he was standing at his gate wearing a double-layered scholar’s cap on his head, and a patchwork Taoist gown on his body, when Ch’en Ching-chi happened to pass by and proceeded to go down on his knees and kowtow to him.
Wang Hsüan hastily bowed to him in return, saying, “Brother, who are you? Old and decrepit as I am, my vision is too blurred to recognize you.”
Ch’en Ching-chi, trembling and shivering, stood to one side and said, “I would not deceive you, venerable sir. I am the son of Ch’en Hung, the dealer in pine resin.”
The old gentleman pondered this for what seemed like half a day before saying, “So you are the respected son of Ch’en Hung are you?”
Noticing that:
His clothing looked disheveled, and
His countenance seemed haggard,17
he said, “My worthy nephew, how have you been reduced to such a state?”
He then went on to ask, “Are your father and mother well?”
“My father passed away in the Eastern Capital,” responded Ch’en Ching-chi, “and my mother is also dead.”
“I have heard that you were living in your father-in-law’s household,” said Wang Hsüan.
“My father-in-law is dead,” said Ch’en Ching-chi, “and my mother-in-law expelled me from the household. When her daughter died, she lodged an accusation against me, and I was forced to endure a lawsuit. I have had to sell our home and have been robbed of what capital I possessed. As a result, I have been idle for some time, and unable to make a living.”
“My worthy nephew,” said Wang Hsüan, “where are you living at present?”
Ch’en Ching-chi hesitated for what seemed like half a day before saying, “I will not deceive you, venerable sir. The case is thus and so.”
“How sad, worthy nephew,” said Wang Hsüan. “So you have been forced to beg for your sustenance. I recall that your family was originally one of considerable substance. At the time when I was acquainted with your father, worthy nephew, you were still young, your hair was done up in a topknot, and you were going to school. Since then, you have fallen into such a state. How regrettable! How regrettable! Are you without any relatives who might be able to help you out?”
“That is the case,” responded Ch’en Ching-chi. “My maternal uncle Chang Kuan has not seen fit to visit me for some time, so I would not feel comfortable approaching him.”
After questioning him for some time, the old gentleman ushered Ch’en Ching-chi into the parlor of his dwelling, ordered a page boy to set up a table and lay out some refreshments, and then urged his guest to eat his fill.
When he noticed how thinly clad he was, he got out a Taoist gown of black wool, a felt cap, a pair of felt stockings, and a pair of woolen shoes; weighed out a tael’s worth of silver, along with five hundred copper cash; and gave them all to him, saying, “Worthy nephew, these clothes, and shoes and stockings, are for you to wear. These copper cash are for your living expenses, and ought to enable you to rent half a room to live in. This tael of silver can be used to start a little business of some kind, in order to feed you, and supply your daily expenses. That would be better than living in a homeless shelter, where you will have no chance of improving yourself. When your monthly rent becomes due, you can come to see me, and I will take care of it for you.”
Ch’en Ching-chi got down on the floor and kowtowed to him in gratitude, saying, “Your humble nephew understands.”
So saying, he took his leave but neither looked for a room to rent nor tried to start a business. Day by day, he spent the five hundred copper cash in taverns and noodle shops, until they were all gone. And as for the tael of silver, he had it melted down and compounded with baser metals and then tried to peddle it in the streets but was arrested by the police, accused of petty larceny, taken to the office of the local ward adjutant, and subjected to the squeezers and a beating. As a consequence, he was not only utterly wiped out, but also left with a buttocks completely covered with welts. In less than two days, he was compelled to pawn his woollen robe and stockings in exchange for something to eat and was reduced, as before, to begging in the streets.
One day, he happened once more to pass by the gate of Wang Hsüan’s residence. Wang Hsüan, who was standing there at the time, looked on as Ch’en Ching-chi kowtowed to him and noticed that he was no longer wearing the robe and stockings he had given him, but had nothing but the felt cap on his head, that the feet in his sandals were bare, and that he appeared to be not only chilled but:
Both impoverished and emaciated.
The old gentleman addressed him, saying, “Master Ch’en, how is your business going? I imagine your rent must be due, and you have come here to get it from me.”
Ch’en Ching-chi found himself to be:
At a loss for words,
for what seemed like half a day; and it was only after he had been asked time and time again that he replied, saying, “Thus and so, I have been completely wiped out.”
“Ai-ya! Worthy nephew,” the old gentleman responded, “that is no way to support yourself. Since:
You cannot lift the light,
Or support the heavy,
engaging in some business, however insignificant, is better than having to beg for your food. That way you can avoid becoming a laughingstock to others, and bringing shame on the reputation of your ancestors. Why don’t you do as I suggest?”
So saying, he once again ushered him inside and had his page boy An-t’ung provide him with enough food to eat his fill.
He also gave him a pair of trousers, a white cotton shirt, a pair of foot bindings, a string of copper cash, and a peck of rice and said, “Take these things with you, and be sure to start up a small business of some kind. You can sell kindling and charcoal, or beans and melon seeds, in order to make a living for yourself, which would be better than having to beg for your food this way.”
Although Ch’en Ching-chi gave his verbal consent to these suggestions, took the money and rice in hand, and left the old gentleman’s residence, it did not take more than a few days for him to consume it all, sharing the ready-cooked meat and noodles with his fellow beggars in the homeless shelter. He also gambled away the
white cotton shirt and the trousers he had been given.
During the first month of the new year, he was once again out walking the streets, while wrapping his arms around his shoulders to keep warm. Although he was somewhat embarrassed at the prospect of seeing the old gentleman again, he went up to the wall under the gable of the old gentleman’s gatehouse and stood there warming himself in the sun. The old gentleman regarded him with a sardonic eye but did not speak to him. Ch’en Ching-chi then proceeded:
Hesitantly and punctiliously,
to make his way forward, after which, he knelt down on the ground and kowtowed before him.
When the old gentleman saw that he looked just as destitute as before, he said to him, “Worthy nephew, this is not a viable plan for the future.
One’s appetites are as deep as the ocean;
The days and months fly by like shuttles.18
How can one ever hope to fill up a bottomless pit? Come inside. I have something to say to you. There is a place that would not only provide you with undisturbed leisure, but also with a haven in which to stay. My only fear is that you may not consent to go there.”
Ch’en Ching-chi knelt down and wept, saying, “If my venerable uncle should see fit to take pity on me, no matter where this place may be, if it will only accommodate me, I will consent to go there.”
Wang Hsüan responded, saying, “The place in question is not far from our city. On the dock at Lin-ch’ing there is a Yen-kung Temple, a Taoist establishment dedicated to the worship of the river god Yen-kung.19 That is:
A location teeming with fish and rice,20
where river boats congregate in large numbers. The temple is amply supplied with money and provisions, and endowed with a secluded and elegant atmosphere. Abbot Jen, the head priest of the temple, is an old acquaintance of mine, and he has two or three disciples and acolytes serving under him. I propose to provide appropriate gifts and escort you there in order for you to become a disciple of his and enter the priesthood. If you were to study the sacred texts, learn to perform religious music, and thus be able to confer blessings upon people, it would be a good thing.”
“If my venerable uncle is willing to help me out that way,” said Ch’en Ching-chi, “that would really be wonderful.”
“In that case,” said Wang Hsüan, “you can go now. Tomorrow is an auspicious day. If you come here early in the morning, I will escort you there.”
After Ch’en Ching-chi had gone, Wang Hsüan promptly summoned a tailor and had him make up two sets of Taoist garments, a Taoist cap, and shoes and stockings for him.
The next day, Ch’en Ching-chi showed up as he had promised, and Wang Hsüan had him take a bath in an empty room, comb his hair, put on the Taoist cap, change into a new jacket and new trousers, don a black silk Taoist robe, and slip into felt stockings and a pair of shoes with cloud patterned toes. He also prepared four trays of preserved fruit, a jug of wine, and a bolt of fabric, and sealed up five taels of silver. He then mounted his horse, hired a donkey for Ch’en Ching-chi to ride, and, with his page boys An-t’ung and Hsi-t’ung following them, and two carriers bearing the gift boxes, set out for the Yen-kung Temple on the dock in Lin-ch’ing. It was only a day’s journey of seventy li. By the time they arrived at the Yen-kung Temple, it had begun to grow late. Behold:
The Plum in the Golden Vase or, Chin P'ing Mei Page 40
