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

by Roy, David Tod

  The image of the sun is about to sink;

  The luxuriant shade has already fallen.

  The sunset clouds, reflected in the water,

  dispense their red glow;21

  The setting sun, as it crosses the hills,

  engenders bluish mists.

  Amid the shadows of the verdant willows,22

  One hears the birds returning to the woods.

  In the villages with their red apricots,

  One sees the cattle herding into the fold.23

  Truly:

  On the banks of the streams fishermen

  head into the woods;

  On the meadows the herd boys ride home

  astride their calves.24

  Upon coming to the Lin-ch’ing dock, Wang Hsüan crossed the great bridge over the Kuang-chi lock, gazed at the innumerable boats that were moored on the canal, and arrived in front of the Yen-kung Temple, where he dismounted and prepared to go inside. Behold:

  The verdant pines are luxuriant,

  The emerald cypresses are dense.

  To either side there are peaked red walls,

  Upon the facade are three vermilion gates.

  Truly, it was an imposing temple. Behold:

  The gate of the temple soars aloft,

  Its halls and porticos rise boldly.

  Displayed on high is an imperial plaque

  in letters of gold;

  And a picture of officials, leaving and

  entering the court.25

  The thirty-foot-wide great hall,26

  Contains effigies of the twelve Dragon Kings;

  The two colonnades that flank it,

  Have images of myriads of aquatic creatures.

  Flagstaffs stretch up toward the heavens;

  The words on the flags catching the wind.

  In all four quarters and the eight directions,27

  The spring and autumn sacrifices are

  offered on schedule;

  When rains are seasonable and winds favorable,

  The common people perform sacrifices

  along the waterways.

  The efficacy of a myriad years of burning incense28

  has been acknowledged;

  In the four quarters both officials and commoners

  depend on it for peace.

  The young servants beneath the gate of the temple had spotted the arrival of the visitors and went inside to report it to the abbot’s quarters. Abbot Jen promptly adjusted his clothing and came out to receive them. Wang Hsüan directed Ch’en Ching-chi and the bearers of the gifts to wait outside.

  In no time at all, Abbot Jen ushered Wang Hsüan into the reception hall of his quarters, known as the Pine Crane Studio, where he greeted him, saying, “Venerable layman, why has it been so long since you last came to my humble temple? What good fortune has led you to deign to visit me today?”

  “It is only because I have been tied up with mundane matters at home,” responded Wang Hsüan, “that I have been remiss in paying you a visit for so long.”

  After exchanging the customary amenities, they sat down in the positions of host and guest, and a young servant presented them with a serving of tea.

  When they had finished their tea, Abbot Jen said, “Venerable layman, it is already late in the day, and you might as well stay overnight.”

  So saying, he ordered a servant to take his visitor’s horse back to the stable in the rear and see that it was fed and housed for the night.

  Wang Hsüan then said:

  “If I did not have a reason to do so, I would not

  visit the Hall of the Three Treasures.

  It is because I have a favor to ask of you that I have come to pay you this visit. But I don’t know whether or not you will agree to it.”

  “Venerable layman,” responded Abbot Jen, “what would you like me to do? Just tell me what it is. I would not presume to reject your command.”

  “At present,” said Wang Hsüan, “there is a young man named Ch’en Ching-chi, who is the son of an old friend of mine. He is just twenty-three years old, is clean-cut by nature, and is as clever as can be. The only problem is that his parents passed away too early so that he has not been properly brought up. His family was quite affluent, so he is not a person from an undistinguished background, and he came into a substantial inheritance, but lost everything as the result of a lawsuit and has been reduced to homeless destitution. Out of regard for my former friendship with his father, I would like to introduce him into your prestigious temple to become a disciple of yours. But I don’t know what you may think of this proposal.”

  “Venerable layman,” replied Abbot Jen, “whatever you suggest, I would not venture to oppose. But it has been my misfortune that, though I already have two or three disciples on hand, they are not very intelligent, and none of them are likely to succeed. This has been a source of constant annoyance for me. I wonder whether this young man is a straightforward person or not?”

  “As for this young man,” responded Wang Hsüan, “I would not deceive your reverence, but you don’t need to worry; he is always serious and content to abide by his lot. He possesses a timorous disposition and is straightforward about everything. He would make a good disciple.”

  “When do you propose to bring him here?” asked Abbot Jen.

  “He is waiting outside the temple gate right now,” responded Wang Hsüan.

  “I have also brought some paltry gifts. I humbly beseech you to accept them with a smile.”

  This flustered Abbot Jen into asking, “Venerable layman, why did you not say so before?”

  He then went on to say, “Invite him to come in.”

  Thereupon, the bearers proceeded to carry in the gifts, and Abbot Jen saw that the card accompanying them read, “Respectfully presented with a bow by your pupil Wang Hsüan: a bolt of coarse satin, a jug of insipid wine, a set of pig’s trotters, two roast ducks, two boxes of fruits, and five taels of white gold.”

  Abbot Jen promptly bowed in gratitude, saying, “Venerable layman, what need was there for you to put yourself to the trouble of presenting me with all these lavish gifts? You put me in a position in which it would be:

  Discourteous to refuse, and

  Embarrassing to accept.”

  Whom should he see at this juncture but Ch’en Ching-chi, who wore a gilt-ridged Taoist cap on his head, a black silk Taoist robe on his body, a pair of shoes with cloud-patterned toes and white socks, and a silk belt around his waist. He had:

  Clear-cut brows and sparkling eyes;

  His teeth were white and his lips were red, and

  His face looked as though it were powdered.

  On coming in, he went up to Abbot Jen, knelt down on the floor, and proceeded to perform:

  Four brace makes eight kowtows.

  Abbot Jen asked him, “How old are you?”

  “I was born in the year of the horse,” said Ch’en Ching-chi, “so next spring I will be twenty-three years old.”

  Upon seeing that he did indeed seem to be clever, Abbot Jen bestowed a Taoist appellation on him, so that he became known as Ch’en Tsung-mei.

  It so happens that Abbot Jen already had two disciples at his command. The senior disciple was called Chin Tsung-ming, and the junior disciple was called Hsü Tsung-shun. So Ch’en Ching-chi took his place with them and was known by the appellation Ch’en Tsung-mei.

  Abbot Jen called the other disciples out, and they exchanged greetings, after which he formally accepted the gifts he had been offered. A young servant then lit the lanterns, set up a table, and laid out the foodstuff, after which they fell to drinking wine. The surface of the table was covered with cups and platters, along with an assortment of foods including chicken, pig’s trotters, goose, duck, fish, shrimp, and the like.

  Wang Hsüan did not drink very much, although the abbot and his disciples took turns urging him to do so.

  After a while, he said:

  “I cannot handle the effects of the wine,”

  exc
used himself, and went to his room, where a bed had been set up for him, and went to sleep for the night.

  Early the next morning, a young servant brought water for him to wash his face in, and by the time he had combed his hair and performed his ablutions, Abbot Jen came in to offer him a serving of tea. Before long, breakfast was laid out, and they drank another two rounds of wine together.

  After his horse had been fed, and the bearers had been paid for their efforts, Wang Hsüan prepared to make his departure and called Ch’en Ching-chi over in order to instruct him, saying, “While here, you must devote yourself to mastering the scriptures, and obey your master’s instructions. I will come visit you from time to time and will see that you are supplied with new clothing and footwear at the change of seasons.”

  He also turned to Abbot Jen and said, “If he fails to obey your instructions, discipline him as you see fit. I will certainly not endeavor to defend his shortcomings.”

  He also admonished Ch’en Ching-chi in private, saying, “After I am gone,

  I want you to:

  Cleanse your heart and reform your ways.

  You must devote yourself to the task at hand. If you fail once again to live up to my expectations, I will concern myself with you no more in the future.”

  Ch’en Ching-chi assented, saying, “Your son understands.”

  Wang Hsüan thereupon said farewell to Abbot Jen, went outside, mounted his horse, left the Yen-kung Temple, and set off for home.

  From this time on, Ch’en Ching-chi led the life of a Taoist novice in the Yen-kung Temple. He observed that Abbot Jen:

  Was elderly with a ruddy nose;

  Possessed an imposing stature;

  Had a clear, resounding voice,29

  And fully bearded countenance;

  Was glib and devoted to drink;

  and concerned himself only with:

  Welcoming guests and seeing off visitors.

  All other matters, both great and small, were left in the hands of his senior disciple Chin Tsung-ming.

  At that time, the government had just completed the necessary repair work and reopened the Grand Canal. At Lin-ch’ing two locks had been constructed to control the water where the canal met the Wei River. Crew members from both government and private boats on the canal, on reaching the locks would come to the Yen-kung Temple, in order to seek the protection of the spirits, to fulfill their vows, to seek their fortunes by interpreting the hexagrams in the Book of Changes, or casting divining blocks.30 There were also those who came in order to perform good deeds, by donating money and rice, contributing incense, lamp oil, paper money, and candles, or furnishing pine resin and rush mats.

  Abbot Jen was in the habit of taking the surplus supplies from the temple treasury and assigning them to his disciples with which to set up shop on the dock, while keeping the profits from these transactions for himself. His senior disciple Chin Tsung-ming was also not one to be content with his lot. He was about thirty years old, was in the habit of maintaining singing girls from the local brothels as his mistresses, and was:

  A libertine devoted to wine and sex.31

  He also had two innocent young novices at his disposal, with whom he was accustomed to sleep at night, but as time passed he had become tired of them. When he encountered Ch’en Ching-chi and observed that:

  His teeth were white and his lips were red,

  His face looked as though it were powdered;

  that he was:

  Clean-cut, unusual, and;

  Didn’t miss a wink,

  he arranged for them to share the same room. In the evening, he would ply him with drink for half the night until he was utterly soused, and then go to sleep on the same bed with him. At first, they slept head to foot and foot to head, but he objected to the smell of Ch’en Ching-chi’s feet and had him come share the same pillow with him. But before they had been asleep very long, he complained about Ch’en Ching-chi’s breath, and had him turn over so that his bottom ended up against his belly. Ch’en Ching-chi pretended to be asleep and paid no attention to him, but he went on to manipulate his organ until it rose up as hard and straight as a stick, rubbed some saliva on the head of his glans, and proceeded to thrust it into his anus. It so happens that when Ch’en Ching-chi had been residing in the homeless shelter, the beggar boss Hou Lin, whose nickname was Flying Demon, had sodomized him, so that his anus was already enlarged. As a result, Chin Tsung-ming’s organ had penetrated him before he knew it.

  Chin Tsung-ming Opts to Sodomize a Youthful Acolyte

  As for Ch’en Ching-chi:

  From his mouth no word was uttered, but

  In his heart he thought to himself,

  “This rascal is asking for it; he is trying to take such egregious advantage of me. Who does he take me for? I’ll give him something to savor in return and thereby make him pay for his fun.”

  Ch’en Ching-chi, thereupon, made a show of crying out in protest, and Chin Tsung-ming, fearing that Abbot Jen would hear him, promptly put his hand over his mouth, saying, “Good brother, be quiet. Whatever you demand from me, I will agree to.”

  “If you want to have a fling with me,” responded Ch’en Ching-chi, “and don’t want me to reveal it, you’ll have to agree to three conditions.”

  “My brother,” responded Chin Tsung-ming, “not to mention three conditions; even if you impose ten conditions, I’ll agree to them all.”

  “The first condition,” said Ch’en Ching-chi, “is that if you want to carry on with me, you will no longer sleep with those other two novices. The second condition is that I be given control over the keys to all the doors on the premises, both large and small. The third condition is that you will not raise objections to my going anywhere I want. If you agree to all these conditions, I will let you do what you wish with me.”

  “That’s no problem,” said Chin Tsung-ming. “I’ll agree to everything.”

  That night the two of them proceeded to:

  Tumble and toss this way and that,32

  for fully half the night. Ch’en Ching-chi had been a habitué of the world of breeze and moonlight ever since his youth, so there wasn’t much he didn’t know about anything. On this occasion, what with:

  Vows under the covers to be as faithful as the hills,

  Promises by the pillowside to be as true as the seas;

  Obscene noises and lascivious words,

  Sucking at this and toying with that;

  he managed to please Chin Tsung-ming to the point that:

  His delight knew no bounds.

  The next day, as promised, he turned over the keys to Ch’en Ching-chi, and he no longer spent the night with the other two novices, but slept on the same bed with him every day.

  As time passed:

  One day became two,

  Two days became three.

  One day, it so happened that Abbot Jen and his two disciples were scheduled to go to someone’s home to pray for blessings and perform good works, and the abbot chose to leave Ch’en Ching-chi behind to look after the temple as a crafty means of testing his integrity.

  Abbot Jen thought to himself, “The venerable layman Wang Hsüan said that he was conscientious, and I would like to see whether he is conscientious or not.”

  As he was about to go out the gate, he instructed him, saying, “You stay here and look after that flock of chickens I am raising in the backyard. They are actually phoenixes, and, before long, when I have:

  Achieved merit and fulfilled my tasks,33

  I hope to ascend to Heaven upon one of them, and pay court to the Jade Emperor. Those crocks that are secreted in one of the rooms contain liquid poison. If any one of my disciples should commit a serious offense, I would not beat him, but merely give him a dose of this liquid poison to drink, which would cause him to pass away on the spot. You must conscientiously look after everything, and when I return after the midday repast I will bring you something to eat.”

  When he had finished speaking, the abbot and his discip
les left the temple.

  Ch’en Ching-chi closed the door behind them and laughed to himself, saying, “How could he think that I would not see through these things; claiming that those crocks of glutinous millet wine are actually liquid poison, and that those few chickens in the backyard are phoenixes, on which he hopes to mount to Heaven?”

  Thereupon, he proceeded to kill one of the fattest chickens, pluck it clean, and cook it in a pot; and then used a basin to dip up some of the wine and heat it on the fire. After which, pulling apart the limbs of the chicken with his hands, and dipping the flesh into a mixture of garlic and vinegar, he feasted until he might well have ejaculated:

  “Is it not delightful?”

  As he ate, he uttered four lines to describe his pleasure:

  With a brass basin I scoop up

  the clear wine,

  Like mist veiling the bright moon;

  I dip the slow-cooked chicken

  in garlic sauce,

  Like wind sweeping away the clouds.

  While he was eating, he heard his master Abbot Jen calling for him outside the gate, upon which, he hastily cleared away the utensils and went out to open the door for him.

  Abbot Jen noticed that his face was red and asked him what had happened, but Ch’en Ching-chi merely hung his head in silence.

  “Why don’t you speak?” Abbot Jen asked him.

  “I will explain the situation to you, master,” said Ch’en Ching-chi. “After you left, one of those phoenixes in the backyard managed to fly away somehow, which left me in a state of panic. I climbed up onto the roof to look for it for what seemed like half a day, but could not find it. Fearing that when you came back you would give me a beating, I thought of slitting my throat with a knife but was afraid of the pain it would cause. I thought of hanging myself but was afraid the rope might break and I would fall down. I thought of jumping into a well but was afraid the mouth might be too small and would catch me by the neck. Unable to think of any viable alternative, I ended up by dipping out two bowls worth of the liquid poison in those crocks of yours and drinking them down.”