my dormant feelings;
Causing such desolation that my
two eyes shed tears.
Ever since he elected to go his way,4
I can’t forget him.
Who would have thought you could betray
my love and abandon me?
“My Lady,” said Ch’un-mei, “you should get your sister-in-law to drink a cup of wine.”
“My sister-in-law is not much of a drinker,” responded Yüeh-niang. “But I’ll have her down a small cup to keep you company.”
She then said to Hsiao-yü, “Pour out a small cup of wine for my sister-in-law.”
The two singing girls then continued to sing:
My lover, on your account I am suffering from
a bout of depression.
I long for you as I sit, yearn for you as I walk,
and sorrow both day and night.
My fragrant flesh has become emaciated,5
and my geniality has declined.
Heaven!
I long to see you, but I am
unable to do so,
Which causes me such grief that my
two eyes shed tears.
Originally we were inseparably attached
to each other.
Who would have thought that this time
you could abandon me?
At this juncture, Ch’un-mei saw that Hsiao-yü was standing in front of her, and proceeded to pour out a large cup of wine for her to drink.
“Sister,” remarked Yüeh-niang, “she can’t handle it.”
“My Lady,” responded Ch’un-mei, “she can handle two or three cups. Have I not enjoyed drinking with her when I was a member of your household?”
Thereupon, having poured out the wine, she urged Hsiao-yü to drink it. The two singing girls then continued to sing:
My lover, on your account I am suffering
from idle grief.
As I lie on the pillow of my sickbed,
it never seems to end.
With a breastful of sorrow, I cannot help
puckering my eyebrows.
Heaven!
Though I try to forget, my memories
always return.
Upon the sides of my cheeks, my
two eyes shed tears.
Originally the two of us were
indivisibly united.
Who would have thought that for over a year
you would opt to abandon me?
Gentle reader, take note: At this juncture, why did Ch’un-mei choose to have the singing girls perform this particular set of songs? For some time she had been preoccupied by the thought of Ch’en Ching-chi, who was still at large, so that:
There was no way for them to get together.6
The seeds of passion and sprouts of ardor,
Inevitably have an effect on the feelings,
And are commonly given melodic expression.
She had also observed that the two singing girls performed sweetly and cleverly and was:
Delighted in her heart,
by the way they waited upon her assiduously, addressing her as “Mistress this,” and “Mistress that.”
She therefore summoned her servant Chou Jen and had him take out a pair of gift packets containing two mace of silver apiece and awarded one to each of them. The two singing girls responded by putting aside their musical instruments, and kowtowing to her:
Just as though inserting a taper in its holder,
in order to express their gratitude for her largess.
In a little while, Ch’un-mei got up to leave, and Yüeh-niang was unable to persuade her to stay any longer. Accompanied by her attendants, bearing lanterns, she said good-bye, went out the gate, and got into her large sedan chair. The servants’ wives who had come with her also got into their smaller sedan chairs, and they went their way, with four lanterns in front and behind them, and with soldiers shouting to clear the way. Truly:
When fortune comes, even the crudest iron
looks shiny;
When luck departs, even the brightest gold
lacks luster.
There is a poem that testifies to this:
Daubing her lips with crimson rouge, she
flaunts her jadelike beauty;
Like the phoenix flying down in response
to the playing of the flute.
In front of the hall the speckled bamboo
blinds are rolled up high;
Revealing the swallows as they return to
reoccupy their former nests.
To resume our story, after coming home from her visit to Wu Yüeh-niang’s residence, Ch’un-mei longed to see Ch’en Ching-chi but did not know where he had gone. All day long she took to her bed and was not in the best of moods.
Upon finding out what was bothering her, the commandant said, “I imagine you must be worrying that your cousin:
Has not been able to find a place for himself.”7
He then called in Chang Sheng and Li An and admonished them, saying, “I entrusted you some time ago with the task of locating the whereabouts of your mistress’s cousin. Why have you failed to exert yourselves in order to find him?”
“We went looking for him all over the place some time ago,” the two of them responded, “but were unable to find him. We have already reported this to our mistress.”
“I will set you a time limit of five days,” the commandant said. “If you fail to locate him during that period, you will have to answer for it.”
Chang Sheng and Li An, upon receiving this command, wore worried expressions as they proceeded conscientiously to:
Reconnoiter the streets and explore the alleys,8
looking everywhere for him. But no more of this. At this point our story divides into two.
To resume our story, when Ch’en Ching-chi had been beaten and let go from the commandant’s yamen, he intended to return to the Yen-kung Temple, but someone told him, “Your master Abbot Jen, upon hearing that you had been sleeping with a prostitute and had been beaten up and taken to the commandant’s yamen, went to check the contents of his strongbox and found it to be empty, which gave him such a shock that, later that night, he passed away. If you have the nerve to venture into the temple, his disciples are likely to kill you.”
Ch’en Ching-chi was frightened by this and did not dare to enter the temple. He also did not have the face to go once again to appeal to the elderly Layman of Apricot Village, Wang Hsüan. By day, he drifted about scrounging for whatever he could pick up, and at night, he sought refuge in a homeless shelter.
One day, it was one of those occasions when:
Something was destined to happen.
Ch’en Ching-chi was standing in the street when he caught sight of the Iron Fingernail, Yang the Elder. He was wearing a new silk cap on his head, a white satin jacket on his torso over an undergown of jet-black damask, aloeswood-colored stockings, and a pair of shiny white loafers, and was riding on a donkey with ornate silver trim on the saddle and bridle, as he came down the street, with a page boy in attendance.
Perceiving that it was Yang Kuang-yen, Ch’en Ching-chi stepped forward, took hold of the donkey’s bit with his hand, and addressed him, saying, “Brother Yang the Elder, it is some time since we have seen each other. The two of us were friends and went down river together to purchase piece goods for our business. But, while our boat was docked at Ch’ing-chiang P’u, I made a side trip to Yen-chou prefecture to visit a relative and was entrapped and taken to court. But you did not wait for me to return and absconded to who knows where with half a boatload of my goods. When I went to your house to ask after you, with the best of intentions, your younger brother Yang Erh-feng scratched open the skin on his head with a shard of tile and chased me all the way home, where he pounded on my gate. As a result, today, I have been reduced to the point of being:
As poor as though I have been utterly cleaned out,
while you are able to swagger about and show off your wealth.”
/> When Yang the Elder saw that Ch’en Ching-chi had been reduced to beggary, he laughed disdainfully, saying, “It’s just my luck on this occasion to venture outside only to encounter a pestilential ghost. You lousy death-defying starveling of a beggar! Where on earth would the likes of you get half a boatload of goods for me to abscond with? If you don’t let go of the bit, I’ll subject you to a good whipping with my riding crop.”
“At present,” responded Ch’en Ching-chi, “I am impoverished, while you are loaded with silver. Give me something to sustain me or I will take you to court.”
When Yang the Elder saw that he would not let go of the bit, he jumped off his donkey and gave him a few strokes with his whip, while shouting to his page boy, “Drag this death-defying beggar aside for me.”
The page boy, exerting all his strength, managed to push Ch’en Ching-chi onto the ground, whereupon, Yang the Elder stepped up and gave him a number of kicks with his foot, until he started to howl outlandishly. In no time at all, they were surrounded by a crowd of onlookers. At this point, a man emerged from the sidelines, who wore a high hat on his head, held in place with a kerchief, and was carelessly draped in a purple jacket, over a white cotton tunic. His two bare feet were clad in rush sandals. He had sunken eyes, broomlike eyebrows, an oversized mouth, and a three-pointed beard. His countenance was adorned with:
Bulging lumps of purple flesh;
while his wrists were lined with:
Swollen rows of blood vessels;
Yang Kuang-yen Abuses Ch’en Ching-chi Brutishly
and he was stupefied with drink.
Raising his fists, he approached Yang the Elder and berated him, saying, “Brother, how can you be so unreasonable? He is only an impoverished youngster, so why are you bent on beating him this way? It has always been true that:
An angry fist does not strike a smiling face.
Moreover, he has done nothing to offend you. If you have the means to do so, give him something, out of consideration for your past relationship. If you lack the means, so be it. But there is no reason for you to continue beating him. It has always been true that:
When an injustice is witnessed on the road,
Someone will always try to shed light on it.”
“You don’t understand,” responded Yang the Elder. “He falsely accuses me of absconding with half a boatload of his property. It is obvious that no one as impoverished as he is could have had half a boatload of property to begin with.”
“I imagine,” opined his interlocutor, “that he may originally have been the scion of a well-to-do family, who has since suffered the misfortune of becoming thus impoverished. Since you, Sir, are such a rich gentleman, I hope that you will comply with my request. If you have the means of doing so, give him something with which to support himself.”
When Yang the Elder had heard him out, he actually unfastened the handkerchief in his sleeve, which contained an ingot worth four or five mace of silver, and handed it to Ch’en Ching-chi; after which he raised his hand in farewell to his interlocutor, mounted his donkey, and went nonchalantly on his way.
When Ch’en Ching-chi scrambled to his feet and looked at the man in question, he saw that he was not a stranger, but was the beggar boss, known as the Flying Demon, Hou Lin, who was currently the foreman of a gang of construction workers, and with whom he had formerly shared a bed when he was living in the homeless shelter. At present, he was in charge of a gang of fifty workers, who were engaged in repair work on the sanctuary of the Buddhist monastery outside the south wall of the city known as the Shui-yüeh Ssu, or Water Moon Monastery, presided over by Abbot Hsiao-yüeh.
Taking Ch’en Ching-chi by the hand, Hou Lin addressed him, saying, “Brother, had it not been for the few words of protest I confronted him with, he would hardly have come up with those five mace of silver for you. Louse that he is, at least he knew when to concede. If he had refused to concede, for better or for worse, I would have given him a drubbing with my fists. Come along with me. Let’s go to a wine shop and have a drink.”
They then made their way to a small meat-eating wine shop, sat down at a table, and ordered the waiter to bring them four dishes to go with their drinks, and two large flagons of wine. Before long, after the waiter had wiped their table clean, he laid out a selection of appetizers on four platters and four saucers, and two large jugs of the olive wine that was in vogue at the time. They were not provided with small cups but with large porcelain goblets.
Hou Lin then turned to Ch’en Ching-chi and asked, “Brother, would you rather eat noodles or rice?”
“The noodles are boiled in hot water,” explained the waiter, “and the rice is polished white rice.”
“I’ll take the noodles,” said Ch’en Ching-chi.
Before long, enough boiled noodles to fill two or three bowls were placed on the table. Hou Lin ate only one bowl of them, and Ch’en Ching-chi ate the other two. Only after that did they begin to drink the wine.
“Brother,” said Hou Lin to Ch’en Ching-chi, “today you can come with me and spend the night at the establishment where I am staying; and tomorrow I’ll take you south of the city to the Water Moon Monastery, presided over by Abbot Hsiao-yüeh. Repairs are under way there to the sanctuary and the two corridors of residence halls, and I am in charge of the fifty workers employed on the project. If you come there, you will not be given any heavy work to do, but merely put to carrying a few baskets of soil. You will be counted as one of the workers and will earn four candareens of silver per day. I can rent space in a side building outside the monastery where the two of us can sleep at night and prepare food for ourselves. I will entrust the lock to you and put you in charge of the place. How would that be? It would surely be better than having to reside in the homeless shelter while ringing your bell and sounding your clapper in place of that beggar of a night watchman, and it would be more respectable to boot.”
“If my brother is prepared to show such favor to me,” said Ch’en Ching-chi, “I will be happy to accept. But I don’t know how long this construction project is likely to last.”
“It has only been going on for a month so far,” responded Hou Lin, “and it may go on until the tenth month, or later, for all I know.”
As the two of them talked together, what with:
First a cup for you,
Then a cup for me,
they managed to finish off the two large jugs of wine. The waiter calculated the bill to be one mace and three and a half candareens.
Ch’en Ching-chi offered to pay the tab and produced his ingot of silver to be weighed, but Hou Lin pushed it aside, saying, “You silly younger brother! Do you think I would let you pay for it? I’ve got the silver for it right here.”
So saying, he pulled out his wallet and weighed out one mace and five candareens of silver for the manager, receiving one and a half candareens in change, which he tucked into his sleeve. He then leaned on Ch’en Ching-chi’s shoulder as they made their way to the place where he was staying, and they spent the night together.
The two of them were both drunk, and during the night, Hou Lin enjoyed plucking the flower in Ch’en Ching-chi’s rear courtyard all night long, exclaiming, “Dear brother! Dear daddy! Dear man! Dear father!” There were no endearments they did not lavish on each other.
Early the next morning, as he had promised, Hou Lin rented half of a side building outside the Water Moon Monastery south of the city, which was supplied with a heated k’ang and a wood-burning stove. He also bought all the cups, bowls, and other utensils that were needed. Later that morning, they reported for roll call at the construction site.
When the other workers saw that Ch’en Ching-chi was no more than twenty-three or twenty-four years old, and that he had a white face and was:
Bright-eyed and clean-cut,
they realized that he was a catamite of Hou Lin’s and teased him outrageously.
One of them asked him, “Youngster, what is your name?”
Ch’en Ching-c
hi responded, “My name is Ch’en Ching-chi.”
“If your name is Ch’en Ching-chi,” the worker continued, “I guess you are accustomed to being squeezed into.”9
Another worker remarked, “As young as you are, even if you go in for such things, it’s a wonder you can accommodate a pole of that size.”
Hou Lin responded to this by shouting at them to leave him alone, saying, “You crazy beggars, what are you teasing him for?”
He then proceeded to distribute spades and shovels, baskets and carrying poles, to the assembled workers, who went about their respective tasks; some of them carrying earth, some of them mixing mortar, and others working on the foundations.
It so happens that Abbot Hsiao-yüeh had appointed a Buddhist follower known as Yeh the Ascetic as the chef in charge of cooking food for the workers on the construction project. This Yeh the Ascetic was about fifty years old and was blind in one eye. He was dressed in a long black gown, his feet were bare, and he wore a ragged woolen sash around his waist. He was incapable of reading the scriptures but was given to reciting the Buddha’s name and was good at the physiognomic techniques of the Hemp-robed Master.10 People referred to him as Adept Yeh.
One day, after their morning work was finished, and the laborers had eaten their lunch, they were sitting, standing, or squatting about at their leisure, when they saw Ch’en Ching-chi come up and ask Yeh the Ascetic for some tea, to which he merely responded by looking him over from top to toe.
“Adept Yeh,” one of the workers said to him, “this youngster is a newcomer. Why don’t you physiognomize him?”
“Go ahead and physiognomize him,” another said. “He looks like a catamite to me.”
“I’d say he looks more like a hermaphrodite,” said another.
Yeh the Ascetic asked him to step forward and looked him over for a while before saying:
“Your demeanor, I fear, is too tender,
as well as seductive;
Your seductive voice and tender nature
may prove your undoing.
If your demeanor is tender in old age
it invites trouble;
If your demeanor is tender when young
it will not endure.11
You are bound to suffer because of the tenderness of your demeanor, though during your whole life it will prove attractive to women.
The Plum in the Golden Vase or, Chin P'ing Mei Page 49
