by Pu Songling
Chen bowed to her with his hands clasped and replied, “We’ve lost our way, but fortunately you can help us out.”
“Did you happen to pick up a red scarf?” she asked them.
“Yes, I have it,” Chen told her. “But I’m afraid that I’ve written on it, so what shall I do about that?” Then he took out the scarf.
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What kind of person . . . to the Ninth Heaven: Chen’s four-line poem, composed of seven characters per line, is an example of a “curtailed” poem, depending upon “some use of parallelism and fixed tonal positionings” (Yip 172).
Moon Palace: Home of the goddess Cheng’e, who “sought refuge there when she fled from her husband with the drug of immortality, which she had stolen from him” (Willoughby-Meade 321).
Ninth Heaven: Buddhists and later Daoists conceived of “successive gradations, or sphere above sphere” (Mayers 366) of the heavenly realm. The ninth is the most exalted division.
Quite upset, the girl exclaimed, “There can be no other result for you but to die! The princess often wears this, but what’s to be done now with all this scribbling on it?” Chen turned pale, and implored the girl to help him out. She told him, “Spying on what goes on inside the palace is an unforgivable crime. I thought that since you wear the cap of a scholar, you’d be cultured and refined, and hence I wanted to help you secretly; now that you’ve proven yourself guilty, how can I do anything for you!” Then she anxiously took the scarf and left.
Chen was so scared his muscles trembled, and regretting that he had no wings so he could fly away, he could do nothing but wait for his inevitable death. After a long time passed, the girl returned, and confided congratulations to him: “There’s still hope to save your life! The princess read what you’d written on the scarf, three or four times, smiling rather than looking angry, so perhaps she’ll actually allow you to leave. Meanwhile you should just accept being here—don’t try to climb any trees or dig under any walls to escape, or she’ll find out and then she won’t pardon you.”
With the day already advanced towards dusk, it was unclear whether things would turn out fortunately or unfortunately for Chen and his servant; moreover, they were so hungry and agonized by worry that they wanted to die. Not much later, the girl arrived, carrying a lantern. Then she brought them a jug and a tray of food, and proceeded to pour out some wine to entertain Chen.
He anxiously asked her for news regarding their situation, and the girl told him, “When the moment was right, I seized the chance to say, ‘That xiucai in the garden is so hungry that he should be released; otherwise, he might just die.’
“The princess pondered this, then asked, ‘Where would you suggest that he go in the middle of the night?’ Then she sent you this food as a gift. It’s not a bad sign.”
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Xiucai: A successful candidate in the imperial civil service examination held at the county level.
Chen paced nervously all night long, feeling endangered and unable to relax. With the arrival of the morning, the girl came again to entertain him. Chen begged her to intercede for him, and she replied, “The princess didn’t say to kill you or to release you. I’m just a servant, so what would I dare say to her?”
Later, as the sun began to set in the west, they kept watching intently, till the girl, gasping for breath, rushed in, saying, “You’re in great danger! Some gossiping busybody leaked the matter to the queen; when she spread out the scarf and saw what was written there, she threw it on the ground angrily, so your destruction can’t be far off!” Chen was terrified, his face pale as ashes, and knelt to entreat the girl for help.
Suddenly they heard the voices of people coming to seize Chen, so the girl shook off his hands and ran away. Several people entered aggressively, bringing ropes with them. One of the maidservants scrutinized Chen and declared, “Just a second, aren’t you Master Chen?” She stopped the people with the ropes and told them, “Don’t do it, don’t do it—wait till I’ve gone to see the queen.” Then she hastily left.
In a short while she reappeared, saying, “The queen has summoned Master Chen.” Trembling and alert, Chen followed her.
After passing through several dozen gateways, they arrived at a great hall containing blue-green bamboo screens with silver hooks. A beautiful woman then moved aside one of the screens and loudly announced, “Master Chen has arrived.” The queen sat there, wearing a seductively dazzling robe.
Chen prostrated himself and kowtowed, saying, “I’m a public servant from far away, and I hope you will spare my life.”
The queen quickly stood and pulled Chen to his feet, saying, “If not for you, I would not be what I am today. My maidservants didn’t know this, and were unkind to you, so something must be done to redeem this egregious error!” Then she had a fabulous banquet prepared for him, and wine poured into an engraved cup.
Chen was at a loss in terms of understanding why she was doing this. The queen explained to him, “Having been given a new lease on life thanks to your kindness, I’ve been frustrated by not having a way of showing my gratitude. My daughter received the poem you inscribed on her scarf, and your love, so I think it must be a predestined relationship, and tonight I will send her to serve you.” This exceeded Chen’s wildest desires; he didn’t know what to make of all the generosity.
Near sundown, a maidservant came to Chen and reported, “The princess is dressed and ready.” Then she led Chen to the wedding chamber. Suddenly pipes began playing, and the stairs were completely covered with flower-design carpets for him to walk on; lanterns were everywhere, decorating the entrance, hall, portico, and even the toilet area. Several dozen seductively attractive women accompanied the princess, who exchanged ceremonial bows with Chen. The hall and courtyard air was infused with the scent of musk.
Together they consequently passed through the curtain to their wedding bed, where the two were joined in lovemaking. Chen told her, “Though I’m a traveler, never in my life have I ever failed to offer my respects and service. I messed up your lovely scarf, and was able to avoid the executioner’s block, which should have been my punishment; instead, I’ve been married to a wife as wonderful as you, which truly I could never have forseen.”
“My mother,” the princess replied, “the concubine of this lake’s lord, is the daughter of the King of the Yangzi River. Last year she returned home to visit her parents and happened to be swimming on the surface of the lake there when she was hit by an arrow. Without hesitating, you helped her escape, and applied some medicine to her wound, so my family honors and admires you for this, and will never forget you. Please don’t treat me with suspicion, though I’m not human like you. I was the disciple of a dragon lord, who taught me the secret of achieving longevity, and if you wish, I’ll share it with you.”
Chen then realized she was a fairy, so he asked her, “How did the maidservant recognize me?”
“When you were in the boat on Dongting Lake,” she replied, “and there was a small fish biting onto the alligator’s tail, she was the little fish.”
Then he asked, “Since you didn’t want to see me executed, why did you delay granting my release?”
Laughing, the princess answered, “I really valued your talent, but I couldn’t make the decision myself to marry you. I restlessly worried day and night that no one else realized what I was feeling.”
Chen sighed and said, “At least you knew the real me. But who brought me the food and drink?”
“That was A-Nian,” the princess replied, “a trusted servant.”
“How can I ever repay your kindness?” asked Chen.
With a smile, the princess said, “Since we’ll now be living together, we’ll have plenty of time to figure that out.”
He asked her, “Where’s the king?”
“He’s with Lord Guan,” she explained, “on a military campaign against Chi You, and hasn’t returned home yet.”
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Disciple of a dragon lord: In Chinese folklore and mythology, the dragon lords are monarchs of the seas; the natural amphibian/ reptilian affinity of alligator and dragon further makes this a logical connection for the princess to have established. See Pu’s story, “The Alligator,” in volume one, where he compares the two.
Lord Guan . . . Chi You: Guan Yu, the Three Kingdoms-era hero later deified as Guandi or Guangong, was one of the three famous “peach garden oath brothers,” along with Zhang Fei and Liu Bei (See Sondergard and Collins). Chi You, an archetypal rebel in Chinese legends, tried unsuccessfully to overthrow the rule of the Yellow Emperor (Mayers 38-9).
After he’d been living there several days, Chen began to consider that his family would be worrying about him, quite concerned over his absence, so he first wrote a letter informing them that he was safe and sound, then dispatched his boy servant to deliver it for him.
Chen’s family had heard about his boat capsizing on Dongting Lake, so his wife had been wearing mourning clothes already for more than a year. When the boy servant showed up, they began to realize that Chen wasn’t dead; but they tried not to think about the message, fearing his new circumstances would make it difficult for him to return home.
Six months later, Chen suddenly arrived, displaying all the signs of great wealth, his bags full of precious jade. From that point on, his family became enormously wealthy and lived in luxurious indulgence, unmatched even by the lifestyles of aristocratic families. Seven or eight years passed, and Chen fathered five sons. Every day he invited guests to attend banquets with him, lavishly offering food and drink to everyone who came to his home. Whenever someone happened to ask him about his encounter with the fairies, he would say little about the whole story.
Chen had a childhood friend named Liang Zijun, who’d been working in the southern regions for more than a decade. When Liang passed Dongting Lake on his way home, he saw a brightly-painted pleasure boat with carved railings and vermilion windows, from which a distant, delicate music emerged as the boat floated gently on the lake. At times, beauties inside the boat opened the windows to peer outside.
As Liang stared at the boat, he saw a brave-looking young man, whose hair was coiled up on top of his head; a pretty sixteen-year-old sat nearby, massaging him. Liang figured that the man must certainly be the assistant of some high-ranking official, serving as the escort of some young master. But when he focused his eyes carefully on the young man, he realized it was his friend, Chen.
Before Liang knew what he was doing, he leaned over the railing of his own boat, excitedly yelling to him. When Chen heard Liang’s shouting, he called for his boat to stop, stepped out to the prow, and invited Liang to come aboard his boat.
Liang saw the remnants of many dishes spread out on a table, and the aroma of wine was still in the air. Chen stood and ordered the dishes to be removed. Instantly, a number of beautiful maidservants brought out wines and teas prepared from precious ingredients that Liang had never seen before.
In amazement, Liang exclaimed, “I haven’t seen you for ten years, and you’ve become a man of this kind of wealth and rank!”
Laughing, Chen said, “What, you don’t think a poor scholar can achieve fame and fortune?”
“Who was that drinking with you?” asked Liang.
“That was my wife,” he replied. Liang also found this quite surprising.
“Where are you traveling with your family?” he inquired.
Chen answered, “Just to the west side of the lake.”
Liang wanted to ask him some more questions, but Chen quickly called for the beauties to sing and urged Liang to have more wine. At his request, thunderously loud music and singing roared in their ears, so they could no longer hear each other talking and laughing. Liang saw all the beauties standing before them, and since he was pretty drunk, he boisterously cried, “If you’ll permit me to ask, sir, could you command one of your lovelies to make me deliriously happy?”
Chen laughed and told him, “You’re drunk! However, I have a sum of money for buying a beautiful concubine, and I can certainly offer that to an old friend.” Thus he directed a maidservant to bring over a bright pearl, and told Liang, “There’ll be no problem making the purchase with this green pearl, proof that I’m no miser.” Then he explained, “There’s a certain matter that requires my attention, so I’m afraid I won’t be able to entertain you any longer.” He accompanied Liang back to his boat, removed the mooring rope that had connected them, and the boats went on their way.
When Liang returned home and went to Chen’s house to find out all about him, Chen was already there, drinking with some guests, which Liang found very confusing. Hence he demanded, “You were on Dongting Lake yesterday, so how’d you get back so fast?”
Chen replied, “I wasn’t there.” Liang then described what had taken place at the lake, and what he’d seen, to the astonishment of the guests sitting there. Chen laughed and told him, “You’re mistaken, for how could I have some kind of magical double?” Everyone thought this strange, but in the end they were given no other explanation.
Later, Chen died at the age of eighty-one. Just before he was to be buried, family members noticed that his coffin felt light; when they opened it, they found the coffin empty.
The collector of these strange tales remarks, “A bamboo basket that doesn’t sink, a red scarf with a poem enscribed on it—these are the possessions of supernatural spirits; yet the only thing required in order to connect with them is empathy. Chen had a wife in his hometown and a concubine in the West Lake palace, giving him double happiness with their two bodies. In ancient days, there were people who wished for pretty young wives and beautiful concubines, honorable sons and filial grandsons, and also wished to live forever—yet their wishes only comprised half of Chen’s experience. But isn’t it also the case that Fen Yang and Jin Jilun seem like immortals?”
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Fen Yang and Jin Jilun: Examples of long-lived, prosperous individuals, and hence as uniquely fortunate as Chen. Fen Yang was conferred the highest rank of nobility below that of prince by the first Tang emperor, Suzong (756-62), achieving riches, longevity, and a multitude of descendants. Jin Shichong, whose courtesy name was Jilun, was similarly blessed with age and riches. See Zhu (1:650n57).
187. The Filial Son
Zhou Shunting, who lived at the base of Mt. Xiang in Qingzhou, was renowned for being exceptionally filial to his mother. When his mother developed a large ulcer on her thigh, the pain was so great that she couldn’t bear it, and she moaned in distress all the time. Zhou massaged her body, treating the ulcerated flesh with medicine, and neglected to sleep or eat while attending her.
After several months, it still hadn’t healed, and Zhou was so agonized with worry that he didn’t know what to do. He dreamt that his father came to him and told him, “Your mother is completely dependent upon your unselfish filial devotion. However, her wound cannot be healed unless human fat is applied to it, so all of your anguish about her condition is futile.” Upon awakening, he reflected upon the strange message.
Then he got up, took a sharp knife and cut some flesh from his side; as the flesh fell off, he felt very little pain. When he quickly took some cloth as a bandage and wrapped it around his waist, his blood didn’t soak through it. Thereupon he took the flesh and cooked it to render out the fat, then applied the fat to the place where he mother was afflicted—and her tormented suffering suddenly ceased.
Overjoyed, his mother asked, “What medicine achieved this miraculous effect?” Zhou avoided telling her the truth. Subsequent treatment helped his mother’s sore to heal.
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Qingzhou: A prefecture located in modern Shandong province’s Yidu county.
Zhou managed to keep the place where he’d cut off his flesh covered up, and even his wife didn’t know about it. Once the wound was healed, it left a large scar the size of a handprint. When his wife asked about it, he finally
explained how it came to be.
The collector of these strange tales remarks, “Cutting off one’s own flesh is a matter of self-mutilation, an act in which a gentleman will not engage. How could the couple delude themselves into not recognizing that cutting one’s own body is a betrayal of one’s parents? Zhou simply acted upon his feelings because he couldn’t stop himself from doing so. There really are such people in the world, who know their duty like this filial son. Those official scribes who keep track of human custom and tradition don’t have time to promote this philosophy, due to their many official duties, which is why I’m elaborating the true meaning of this story with my own shallow words.”
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A betrayal of one’s parents: Curiously, Zhou’s self-sacrifice is open to criticism from the traditional position, supported by Confucius (see, e.g., Analects 17.21), that a child is given life/ flesh by the parents, and hence has no right to harm that gift. But we can tell that Pu’s statement is an ironic one, since he proceeds to praise Zhou for his selfless filial piety.
188. The Lion
There was once a lion received in tribute from Siam. Wherever it stopped, a wall of people would crowd together to watch it. The appearance of this lion was quite different from that of the images passed from generation to generation through embroidery and paintings, for it possessed black and yellow fur that was several cun in length.
If someone happens to throw a chicken to a lion, the lion will roll the fowl into a ball with its claws and blow on it; with one puff, the chicken’s feathers all fall out at once, for reasons too strange to fathom.
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Siam: Pu’s term is xianluo, for Siam, rather than the modern taiguo, for Thailand.
