《跨天虹》Vol. 2

"What a disgrace, for a young lady of wealth to end up in the form of a beast!" The tiger wept as it faced the Daoist priest, its whole body trembling. The priest understood that the tiger was only acting this way because it could not get the tiger skin off its body.

Jin Yu said to the priest, "I don't understand what you meant, Master. Please explain it to me."

The priest then told him in full about the young lady's background and how she had come to wear the tiger skin.

Jin Yu said, "No wonder I have been living with this tiger, and every night a beautiful woman has come to sleep with me. Now I beg you, Master, to remove this tiger skin from her. I would be deeply grateful."

The priest replied, "If the tiger skin were on me, I could take it off. But on her, how would I go about it?" He thought for a while, then asked, "Does this woman still come at night?" Jin Yu answered, "Not a single night has she failed to come." The priest said, "Then there is nothing for it but to do it this way." Jin Yu asked, "Master, do you have a clever plan?" The priest said, "Let us finish our wine first, and then discuss it at your home."

The two of them drank a few more cups. When the priest rose, Jin Yu paid for the wine, and they went out together and returned home. Once they were home, the priest said to Jin Yu, "I will teach you an incantation for shedding a skin. If she comes tonight, teach it to her."

That night, Jin Yu taught the young lady this incantation. Early the next morning, ……

That night, Jinyu taught the young lady the incantation. The next morning the tiger gurgled in its throat, rolled once across the ground, and its tiger skin peeled off on its own. The young lady rose, smoothed her clothes and fastened her sash, dignified and beautiful as Chang'e. Jinyu was both astonished and overjoyed, and smiling, he said to her, "Coming every night, □□□□, is it?" The young lady blushed and did not answer.

The Daoist told Jinyu and the young lady to □□□□□□ act as go-betweens and hold the wedding again. The Daoist carried □□□□□□□□ on his person, chanted sacred incantations, leapt out the gate, and went straight toward the deep mountains.

Little did anyone know that this mountain was fated to suffer calamity. Once that creature came into being, anyone who met it, man or woman, young or old, was devoured. In less than half a year, the wild beasts of the mountain and the villagers of the surrounding area had been eaten clean. Later it even took on the forms of men and ghosts, lured people within reach of its jaws, and grew ever more ferocious. As the saying goes:

A tiger that enters the marketplace is no longer a tiger;
A man who dwells in the mountains is no longer quite a man.
When all manner of strange events arise in the world,
It is only because the household has lost its bonds of order and its sense of justice.

Let us set this matter aside for now.

To return to Immortal Guo: after his daughter was eaten by the tiger, and after the calamity of the □ on duty in the Moon Palace, he was deeply melancholy. Some time later, he received a letter from the capital. Opening it, he found that Zhang Cunshu, who had passed the examinations in the same cohort, had recently been promoted to Minister of Personnel. Learning that Immortal Guo's period of mourning had ended, Zhang had specially invited him to come to the capital and take up an official post. Immortal Guo was delighted. He wrote a reply, sent the messenger back, then packed his belongings and hired a boat for the capital.

Within a month, Guo Xiangong had arrived in the capital and went to pay his respects to Mr. Zhang. After the formal greetings, Zhang said, "Elder brother (a respectful term for a friend of the same examination year or a peer) dwells in his thatched hall with pure contentment, keeping the white clouds as his companions. Truly, he is an outstanding figure among those who cultivate the Dao. I have received the post of Minister of Speech in vain, and I am unworthy of the earlier worthies Du and Zheng. I feel deeply ashamed."

Guo Xiangong replied, "Honored elder, you hold high office and are looked up to like the Big Dipper, and the court has chosen your talents to enter the Central Secretariat (the central government office). Now that the world is at peace, it is a fitting time to keep one's talents in one's sleeve and to write and compose works. Your breadth of mind accords with the Way of Heaven. You recommend the worthy and advance your peers without fear of suspicion..." Zhang sensed in these words a hint of a wish to take office, and said, "...I have long kept your name in my heart, and so I have specially sent someone to... recommend you for appointment."

Guo Xiangong declined with modesty and then took his leave. The next day Zhang came to return the visit, and the two discussed memorializing the throne to recommend an official post for him. Once the imperial edict was issued, the responsible department learned that Guo Xiangong had been appointed Prefect of Fuzhou. Guo took leave of Zhang, left the capital, and returned home, and the journey passed without incident. Back home, he began preparing to take up his post and chose an auspicious day... In a little over a month he reached his post. After completing the xinghang (the rite of burning incense to the spirits to pay respects upon taking office), he opened his gates to receive the common people who came to present their grievances.

Magistrate Guo (Guo Xiangong) was so incorruptible that he was as clear as water, but that matter can wait. His son, Guo Zongxian, had served in office for a year when his superiors allowed him to return home to sit for the imperial examinations. After completing the suishi (annual examination) at home, he set out for his post again. Passing through the Chuzhou region, he was caught on the road by sudden dark clouds, thunder, and lightning, and could not go on. The young master said to his steward, "Wind and rain are coming down together. Let us first take shelter in this temple."

Once through the temple gate, the young master looked up and saw that the altar was dedicated to the Great Emperor Who Subdues Demons (Fumo Dadi), a Daoist divinity usually identified with Guan Yu. He bowed four times before the image, then sat down on a prayer mat, intending to continue once the rain stopped. The rain only grew heavier and did not let up until dusk. The young master asked his steward, "How far is it from here to the inn ahead?" The steward replied, "More than ten li." The young master said, "It seems we must spend the night here." He then asked the temple keeper to prepare the evening meal. After everyone had eaten, they rested in the temple.

At the second watch (roughly nine to eleven at night), the young master saw golden blades gleaming in the hall and iron armor glinting in rows. A venerable deity stood beside his head and spoke to him: "Guo Zongxian, listen to my command:

A filial widow weeps in the graveyard fields; at the hours of xu and hai, you must shoot three thousand arrows.

If you wish to learn the origin of the matter of the 'Zhaosheng' (the light-bearing carriage pearl), then when the chicken flies by the water's edge, word will come to you."

When he finished speaking, Young Master Guo woke with a start, repeating, "How strange, how strange!" The steward woke too. Young Master Guo said, "Just now Lord Guan (Guan Yu) clearly told me to recite a seven-character poem, but I truly cannot make sense of its meaning." The steward replied, "I heard it in my dream as well, but I couldn't remember a single character." Young Master Guo then recited it to him line by line. Having listened, the steward said, "That's right, that's right." Young Master Guo pondered for a long while, and before he knew it, dawn had broken. After breakfast, the company thanked the abbot of the temple and set out on the road.

Along the way, Young Master Guo thought to himself: "'Must take the arrow of dog and pig'. Could it mean that one should smear the blood of dogs and pigs on the arrow? 'The filial widow weeping at the graveyard fields'. Could it mean that one should shoot an arrow at that dutiful woman?" He went on: "'If you wish to know the origin of the matter of the shining carriage.' The 'shining carriage' refers to a pearl. Ah, how strange! My younger sister was named Pearl, and she has already been eaten by a tiger. Could it be that here I might learn her origins?" The final line he never could understand. As he hesitated, before he knew it, they had reached the door of the inn, and the party dismounted.

At noon, ……

At midday, a group of hunters hurried past the inn. The young gentleman asked the innkeeper, "Who are these men, and why are they in such a panic?" The innkeeper replied, "They are hunters. There must be another tiger sighted up ahead, and everyone is going to give chase."

The young gentleman asked, "Why would a tiger come into the town?" The innkeeper said, "Sir, it's a long story. This tiger is extremely fierce, and it can turn into a man or a ghost. It has devoured everyone in the mountains, and judging by the look of things, it has now come as far as our town. A few days ago, my neighbor Wang Xiao'er was gathering firewood at the foot of the mountain when he saw a child crying there. He thought the child had lost his way and wanted to take him home. He had not gone more than a few steps when the child suddenly flipped over and leapt up, turning into a tiger that dragged Wang Xiao'er off and ate him. When the crowd saw this, they rushed after the beast, but could not find a trace of it.

"Later, the villagers ran into a woman racing toward them with all her might, who said her son, Xiao'er, had been carried off by the tiger. She wept as she searched for his bones, and she asked everyone for news. Before anyone could answer, the woman turned into a tiger herself and dragged off two people in one go. The crowd scattered in terror. As a result, every household now lives in fear. Sir, you sit here talking with us, but who knows whether you are a tiger or a man? Whenever we meet a stranger, we must be especially on our guard."

Hearing this, the young gentleman thought to himself, "The poem the god gave me in my dream was clearly pointing me toward ridding this menace that has long been causing harm." He did not say so aloud. He only told his steward, "We will stay here a day or two before continuing on." He then had the steward go into the city to buy bows and arrows, and asked the innkeeper to buy pig's blood and dog's blood, which were smeared on the arrows. He also prepared several thousand spray tubes (a device for shooting out the liquid held inside) and had the blood loaded into them. The young gentleman readied his own waist-sword, and his household, carrying the spray tubes, bows, and arrows, set off together into the mountains.

A grave stood there, with ancient, dense trees growing over it and moss creeping across its surface. On the stone offering platform sat three or five bowls of food. Beside the grave sat a woman of about twenty, dressed in mourning clothes. Her weeping rose and fell, as though she were wailing up to heaven and also pleading with someone.

The young master thought to himself, "This woman has come to sweep the grave, yet she has no incense or paper money." He approached slowly and saw that the food in the bowls was dried venison and monkey-meat broth. He remembered what the innkeeper had said the day before, and so he instructed his attendants to make ready.

When the woman saw the young master, she rose and bowed, and he returned the bow. She said, "I am unfortunate. I lost my husband while still young. He told me while he was alive, 'After I die, if you meet a young man while sweeping my grave, you are to entrust yourself to him.' Today I am fortunate to meet a noble gentleman, which fulfills my late husband's words. Please come to my home, and let us become husband and wife."

The young master said, "Is there such a principle? In this remote wilderness, how can a marriage be arranged face to face?" The woman came up to his side and, with bewitching words, seemed about to change into the form of a tiger. The young master hastily ordered his men to shoot. They fired a volley of blood-arrow sprayers. The woman was struck by seven arrows. Foul blood streamed over her body, and she leapt and hopped wildly toward the sky. Her tiger skin had already been pulled off, but she could not put it back on.

The young master ordered his steward to bind the woman with rope and to carry the tiger skin to the marketplace. The onlookers crowded in like ants. The local residents pressed their palms to their foreheads and thanked the young master for ridding them of this fierce beast. The young master said, "This demon must not be □□ for a moment. Quickly carry her into the city and hand her over to the authorities for trial." The crowd, hungry and exhausted, □□ said, "Let us first go to the inn for some wine and food, and then continue on our journey."

The young master walked into the inn, and upon seeing the fearsome beast, said, "This demonic creature must not be delayed. Quickly have it carried into the city and handed over to the authorities for investigation." The group had been travelling all the way and was now hungry, so they said, "Let us first eat some wine and food here at the inn before resuming our journey."

The young master took the seat of honor in the inn. The waiter brought out the dishes, and after everyone had eaten, they settled the bill. Just then, a young woman inside the shop, hearing the commotion of voices outside the door, lifted the curtain and peered out. She met the young master's gaze and immediately drew back again and again into the room. The household servant, seeing this, said, "Master, that is a young lady. How could she be here?" The young master replied, "I thought she looked somewhat familiar, but perhaps she only resembles her. She may not be who I think." The woman then actually came out and said, "Oh my! Brother, how did you come to be here?" The young master looked closely, and indeed...

Volume Four, Story Four: The Woodcutter Meets Trial and Reunion

Master Guo, accompanied by many attendants, wrote out a formal petition and sent a servant to deliver it to the prefect. When the prefect convened his court, he subjected the woman to severe torture, and she confessed everything in detail. The authorities then promptly escorted her to the crossroads, where she was beheaded and her body displayed as a warning, and the tiger skin was awarded to Master Guo as recompense. The young master sent a servant to the inn to settle the meal expenses and pack up the luggage, then took Miss Pearl with him toward his new post in Fuzhou. The remaining events need not be recounted in detail.

Xiao Daoyan sat upon Iron Mouth Cliff when, all at once, he was seized by a violent pain throughout his body, as though boiling oil had been poured over the crown of his head, and he let out a great cry. When he opened his eyes, the grass beside him had grown to three feet in height. He said, "For a single moment I gave rise to an evil thought, and the demon seized the opportunity to come forth. Without my realizing it, I sat with my eyes closed, and in that time I had committed two years' worth of transgressions. Considering it all from beginning to end, it is truly terrifying. Could all of this have been nothing but a dream? Have the people of the world truly been harmed by me?"

He went to the villages and towns, questioning everyone he met and making inquiries in every direction, and found that the matter was indeed exactly as he had seen it in his dream. He returned to the mountains, filled with deep remorse: "I have caused the deaths of thousands of lives. How could I still attain the fruit of perfection? Beneath Iron Mouth Cliff lies a deep pool, ten thousand feet down. I had better leap into it, shatter my body into dust and bones, and thereby atone to Heaven."

He threw himself down, but in midair a white cloud caught him, bore him up into the high heavens, and he ascended in broad daylight. Only then did Xiao Daoyan understand that those who had been harmed by the tigers had all been destined by fate. He reasoned, "Heaven has merely borrowed my body to bring their ends about; this has nothing to do with me." And so he departed, carefree and unbound.

Later, this tiger skin went on to bring about the reunion of the couple Jin and Yu, but that is a story for another time.

Pearl Miss was fortunate that the Daoist priest helped her remove the tiger skin, and so she was able to become Jin Yu's wife. Jin Yu had some savings but no income, and his wealth dwindled day by day, so he was forced to open a small food and wine shop in front of his house.

One day, Jin Yu went outside the city to collect a debt. When he returned in the evening, he found that Pearl Miss was gone. He asked the neighbors, and they all said that Pearl Miss's elder brother had taken her away. Jin Yu thought to himself: "She has always said that her father is the prefect and her brother is a scholar. Even if I knew where she had been taken, I would have nowhere to search. We were never joined through a matchmaker or formally betrothed. Even if I found her, her family would not return her to me, and I would have no way to act. Perhaps the young lady has not forgotten my kindness, and there may yet be a chance for us to meet again in the future." Jin Yu wept all day long, but let us set this matter aside for now.

Gentleman Guo Zongxian had captured the tiger demon, found his younger sister, and obtained the tiger skin. These three achievements were all unexpected blessings, so the whole party set out together on the road home. Along the way, the gentleman reflected that Master Guan's verse had carried a deeper meaning, one that became clear only once events had unfolded to fulfill it: the line at its end, "water's edge, chickens fly," when combined, forms the character for "wine" (jiu). His sister had indeed been reunited with them at a tavern, which proved remarkably accurate, and everyone was delighted.

Only Miss Pearl felt remorse. She had assumed her parents were nearby, and that once she returned with her brother for a single visit, she could go home. She had not expected that more than ten days of travel would still not bring them there. Had she known the separation would last so long, she should have told her husband, and the chests and boxes at home had not even been locked. Hesitating all the way, she did not know what to do. Before she realized it, the party had reached the prefectural gate, and the gentleman entered the yamen together with the others.

Her parents, seeing their daughter again, were overcome with both sorrow and joy. Miss Pearl recounted her encounter with the tiger demon at the Moon Palace, and the gentleman told his parents how he had set about capturing the demon on the way. Everyone who heard them was greatly astonished.

A Scrutinizing Secretary of the Board of Personnel named Zhu Jinchen had a wife, née Tao, who was over fifty years old. They had two sons and a daughter. The eldest son was Zhu Yu, and the second son was Zhu Jue. When Zhu Jinchen first took office, he was selected and sent to Qingzhou as a judicial commissioner. On the road, the family encountered bandits, and in the fright they scattered. Zhu Yu was never seen again.

At that time, Zhu Jue was arranging his marriage. Guo Xiangong had already betrothed Miss Zhenzhu to Zhu Jue. The six betrothal rites (liuli) had been completed, the matchmaker had confirmed the arrangements, and they were only waiting to choose an auspicious day for the wedding. The text then turns to a conversation between Miss Zhenzhu and her family, but many passages are missing. What survives indicates that she repeatedly pleaded her case before her parents, and that the family sought a way out of the predicament. Later, one night, the young lady feigned a heart pain so severe that she seemed to be in great agony. When her family asked about it, she said, "This is an old ailment I brought from my time as a tiger. It will stop hurting if a tiger skin is laid over me." Madam then brought a tiger skin and covered her with it, and only then did her cries of pain cease. From that time on, she often kept the tiger skin close at hand.

The auspicious day arrived. The bridal sedan chair had been made ready, and Miss Zhenzhu had been dressed in her finery. Madam spread a tiger skin inside the chair. Miss Zhenzhu boarded and set out, escorted by Immortal Guo, and they traveled all the way to the Zhu household. She put on the tiger skin, chanted a divine incantation, and waited for the officiant to call out the wedding rites. When the relatives and friends lifted the curtain of the sedan chair, Miss Zhenzhu suddenly leapt out, bounding several times like a tiger, and rushed out the gate to flee. The guests were too slow to dodge, and all were so startled they could not speak. Immortal Guo had no way to respond either, and the crowd looked at one another in dismay.

Others did not know the reason behind it, and Immortal Guo could not easily reveal the inside story, so he, like everyone else, pretended not to understand what had happened. The banquet was not continued. He had the sedan chair carried back to the yamen, and the relatives and friends, not daring to press them to stay, took their leave. Zhu Jinchen said, "This is clearly Old Guo deceiving me! I must find a way to submit a memorial impeaching him, or I will never vent this anger." The relatives replied, "Other matters might be faked, but how could a tiger possibly be faked?" Mr. Zhu turned the matter over again and again but could not work out the principle behind it, and so he let it drop.

As for Miss Zhenzhu, after escaping from the Zhu household she leapt over the city wall and ran swiftly, and within a few days she reached Chuzhou. She took off the tiger skin and came to the entrance of her own home. Jin Yu saw the young lady from inside the shop, hurried out to greet her, and was overjoyed. After she returned home, she recounted everything that had happened. Jin Yu said, "Such deep and steadfast affection is truly rare. Yet I am of humble station and mediocre talent and looks, and I am not worthy to become the son-in-law of the Huangtang prefect (the local magistrate). What am I to do?" Miss Zhenzhu replied, "Since we have already pledged to grow old together, why should we dwell on rank and lowliness!" As the saying goes, a reunion after long separation surpasses a new marriage. That night the two of them rejoiced together to the fullest, and what followed need not be recounted.

After Immortal Guo returned from escorting the bride, he was so angry that he nearly fainted. Seeing that his daughter had still turned into a tiger, Madame Guo wept in sorrow. Their son urged his parents not to worry: "Let us send a household servant to the wine shop in Chuzhou to look for her. Perhaps she does not wish to remarry and would rather return to her original husband. That is not impossible."

The servant set out and, without incident along the way, soon arrived at the wine shop, where he inquired of the proprietor about the young lady. The young lady heard him from within, called the servant inside, and asked after her parents' well-being and what had happened since they parted. The servant reported everything in turn. She had the kitchen prepare wine and a meal to entertain him, and the next day she sent him home.

Back at the estate, the servant reported all of it in detail. Immortal Guo had no further plans, so he consulted with Madame Guo and they resolved to send a servant to accompany their son to bring their daughter home, hoping the family could be reunited and that she would be spared the hardships of poverty. Madame Guo was delighted, and she immediately summoned Guo Zongxian and told him of the matter. The young master set out at once.

When he reached the home of Jin Yu, the young master saw his sister, and Jin Yu came forward to pay his respects to his brother-in-law, and the two were received with warm hospitality. The young master related his parents' wishes to them one by one. On the second day, Jin Yu closed up the wine shop, stopped pressing for the outstanding debts, packed his belongings, hired horses and a carriage, and set out immediately; the journey is not described further.

After learning Miss Guo's background, Zhu Jinchen sent out many household servants and attendants within a few days to block the road and seize her. Sure enough, when Guo Zongxian, the young master, was escorting the carriage back, the Zhu household steward stopped them and snatched away both Jinyu and the young lady. Young Master Guo led his men in pursuit to Zhu Jinchen's gate, but by then they had already carried the two inside. Furious, he had no choice but to hurry home and report.

Guo Xiangong said to the others, "Don't panic yet. If your younger sister is willing to go with him, then let it be. If she is not willing, he will turn back into a tiger and walk out on his own. Then we will demand her back and see what he does!" Everyone agreed on this plan and stopped speaking of the matter.

Meanwhile, the Zhu household hid the young lady in an inner bedroom, wrote a visiting card, and sent Jinyu to the county yamen with a demand that the magistrate have him executed at once. The servants brought Jinyu to the yamen. After the magistrate took his seat in the hall, the servants presented the visiting card and reported the course of events. The magistrate asked Jinyu, "Are you called Jinyu?"

Jinyu replied, "This humble one was originally named Zhu Yu. I have now recalled my father's name, which is Zhu Jinchen. My father was at first selected and appointed as Lixing (an official in charge of judicial and penal affairs) in Qingzhou Prefecture. On the journey to take up the post, our household encountered bandits. It was dark, everyone scattered, and this humble one was lost in the area of Yanzhou Prefecture. Later I was adopted by a family surnamed Jin, and so I came to be called Jinyu."

The magistrate asked, "How old were you then?"

Jinyu answered, "Then I was six. Now I am twenty-three."

When the magistrate heard these words, he felt that the matter did not add up, and in his heart he kept thinking of Jinyu...

The magistrate did not know how to respond to this for a moment. He thought, "This old Mr. Zhu is talking nonsense again. He wants me to take the life of his own son. I had better have the steward come and ask about the particulars." He then asked the steward, "Did your master encounter bandits seventeen years ago?"

The steward thought for a moment and said, "There was such an incident. Seventeen years ago, my master was appointed Judicial Commissioner of Qingzhou Prefecture. When the household arrived at Yanzhou Prefecture in Zhejiang, the eldest young master was missing. Everyone assumed he had fallen into the river and drowned."

The magistrate pointed at Jin Yu and asked, "Do you recognize this man?" The steward rubbed his eyes several times and looked closely. He thought the face bore some resemblance, and he cried out, "Could you be our eldest young master, Zhu?" Jin Yu also recognized the steward, Zhu En, and gave a cry of surprise and joy. Zhu En immediately embraced him. The magistrate then told Zhu En to take Jin Yu back to meet their master.

Zhu En returned... (lacuna in the original text)

...reunions with long-lost kin, and partings that bring sorrow, are all fated by destiny, and people can do nothing about them. Only the spirit verses of the Great Emperor Who Subdues Demons (the title of Guan Yu) have, one after another, all come true." Before he had finished speaking, moonlight had already entered the western corridor, the first light of dawn had appeared in the east, and the banquet broke up.

As the saying goes:

Once you grieved over the monsters' wicked havoc,

Now you have brought about a fine marriage bond.

From then on, Zhu Yu and his two brothers engaged teachers and studied diligently. In the end they became renowned scholars, passed the imperial examinations as jinshi, and placed their names on the golden list. The moonlight shone on the western corridor, the east showed the first light of dawn, and the banquet dispersed.

As the saying goes:

Once you grieved over the monsters' wicked havoc,

Now you have brought about a fine marriage bond.

The Old Fisherman Dwelling on the River □□

After this, Zhu Yu and his brother engaged tutors and studied diligently, and in time they became renowned scholars who passed the jinshi examination and took office overseeing the selection of officials. Pearl was granted the rank of First-Rank Lady. Guo Zongxian and Zhu Jue also passed the provincial examination and entered government service. Both families had children and grandchildren who flourished for generations and rose to high office.

Only the tiger skin remained, which Miss Pearl had always treated as a charm for protection. Yet after it had been stored for three years and was taken out, it looked like mangy dog hide, its fur entirely shed. What had been regarded as a priceless treasure proved to be worth nothing at all, and it became a laughingstock for later generations. As the saying goes:

If one meets a strange thing and does not make a great fuss over it, the strange thing will collapse of its own accord.

Earlier we spoke of the real state of affairs in which the Dao of Heaven (Tiandao) was not impartial, and later we told of a ruler's Dao (Jundao) that was not upright. This biography tells of a story in which the proper order of human relations was disrupted and strange events arose within the household. Had Miss Pearl's parents treated their daughter as an ordinary person, she might have lived in obscurity. Why, then, did they liken her to Chang'e and build for her a dwelling like the Palace of Broad Cold deep in the mountains? As a result, she fell in with a demonic Daoist priest (daoshi) and could not escape his net. Fortunately, after many years of hardship, she did not fall into the hands of wicked people. This too was because her fated marriage had been arranged from the start, so that the couple were at last reunited. The meeting seemed accidental, yet within these strange events it brought about the ending.

The story told in this chapter may seem too far-fetched. Su Dongpo once said, "Tell it as if it were idle talk, and listen to it as if it were idle listening." Let us simply tell it casually, and let everyone listen casually.

Poem:

Bees and scorpions that sting people can still be treated with medicine,

but a woman's jealousy is hard to cure.

Since ancient times, how many proud men of spirit

have in the end bowed their heads before a woman behind the curtain.

Among the nameless grasses and insects of the world, some carry poison in their bodies and now and then sting a person without warning. They rely on their claws and stingers only to protect their lives. This is simply their nature, and they have no intention of harming anyone. Some women, however, have minds so cunning and ever-changing that they are harder to predict than these venomous creatures. In places no one would expect, they hide filthy and malicious intentions, and when they harm others, the damage is the most miserable and the most cruel. If they harm people deliberately, is their venom not more potent than that of vipers and scorpions? These words were spoken by someone who had suffered a grievous wrong at the hands of a woman, and they express an indignation that found no way to be defended.

A woman's nature is yielding and yin (Yin-Yang), and yin softness can restrain yang firmness. Thus even the most unbending man, when he faces a woman, unconsciously lays down his sharpness and becomes mild and compliant. A woman who understands reason, seeing such a man, becomes all the more humble and courteous and cautious in everything she does. When husband and wife live in harmony and accord with each other, such a woman may truly be said to possess De (Virtue).

An unvirtuous woman, by contrast, deliberately puts on airs, acts spoiled and willful, and lets everything follow only her own wishes. At the slightest displeasure, she refuses food and tea and broods in silence day and night. In a quarrel, she insists that she is in the right and will not easily yield. She then finds words to close the matter, strikes one pose after another, and only stops after a lengthy display.

At that time, there was a woman who, disliking her husband's poverty and hardship, developed other ideas and began singing a different tune. She had a phoenix crown set with the Eight Treasures and a five-colored rosy cloud robe (xiapei), both already on her head and body, and she gently took them off and cast them aside. What a pity! This refers to Cui, the wife of Zhu Maichen of Lanke Mountain. She resented her husband's poverty, since he survived only by selling firewood, and by the time she reached forty-nine she would no longer wait patiently. She took another man and barely secured warmth and food. Some say her temperament was fickle and her mind had no firm purpose. Others hold that her family had not disciplined her properly, which allowed the nun Tang to come to the house and stir up trouble, bringing about the disaster. Still others claim that Cui was born under the "iron broom," an old term for a destiny believed to bring poverty, and that if she had not left Zhu Maichen, he would never have prospered in his life. Although the world holds these views, remaining loyal to one's husband in poverty is ultimately the right course. Let us set these old matters aside. Now I will tell of an extremely wicked woman who deceived everyone, secretly made a pact with a monk, and killed her husband, only to meet with retribution in the end. Her wickedness far exceeded Cui's.

This happened during the Zhide era of the Yuan dynasty. In Fushun County, Sichuan, there was a scholar named Zhang Fei. His father, Zhang Lü, was well off, but both parents died early. Zhang Fei was young and did not understand how to manage a household, so for years he lived off the family property until he had squandered all of it. His wife, surnamed Liu and called Chunniang by her childhood name, came from a modest family. She was unusually fierce and cruel by nature, and she was greedy for food and lazy. Zhang Fei coveted the dowry she had brought, and the Liu elders, for their part, valued Zhang Fei's status as a scholar, so the two families became related by marriage. Less than a month after the wedding, the couple were already quarreling over many petty matters, but I will leave those aside for now.

At that time, the land had only just begun to settle after a period of population upheaval and war. Then, on top of this, a year of famine struck. Do you know when that was? It was just the time when...

As the silkworm rearing and mulberry gathering came to an end, the fields still needed planting, and no one in the household, young or old, had a moment to rest. In the plum-rain season, torrential rain fell for several days in a row, and as far as the eye could see, the plain was a vast sea. You ask when this was? It was just such a time:

After the silkworm rearing and the mulberry harvest were done, the fields still had to be planted, and everyone in the family, young and old, had no time to idle. In the plum-rain season, heavy rain fell day after day, and the level plain before our eyes became a boundless sea that left people bewildered and sorrowful.

This flood was fiercer than the floods of the primordial age of antiquity. The waterfall at Longmen seemed to have turned into a plain, and the high ground and hills had all become deep valleys. The rain fell for two full months before the sky finally revealed itself again. After the floodwaters receded, the millet fields yielded no harvest, and the water lingered stubbornly. Farmers craned their necks in watchful waiting and hunched over in worry, truly unable to devise any remedy. Only around the beginning of autumn did the floodwaters finally recede.

The county magistrate feared that the land tax and grain levies could not be collected, so he went down to the countryside to encourage farming. Each household exerted itself to the utmost, and of the vast fields the flood had submerged, nearly nine-tenths were replanted with crops. The seedlings gradually grew tall and put forth fresh green, and the farmers, full of hope, were overjoyed.

Yet Heaven once again sent calamity, as if the common people were fated to meet misfortune. At first, when the weather should have been clear, it rained; now, when the crops needed rain, the sky stubbornly cleared. By rights, late summer and early autumn is exactly the season when rain falls like pearls and jade to nourish the fields. The field ditches had dried up, and one could still hope for river water to irrigate them. But the weather grew drier and hotter day by day. Bamboo and banana leaves looked as though they were coated with ash, and fish surfaced in the rivers, seeming to smolder with ash. At this point, there was not even a water source from which to lift water for the fields. The fields cracked like a tortoise's back, and the fish on the ground were baked until their bellies turned up. This year's autumn harvest was clearly hopeless.

In such a year, rich households shut their granaries and hoarded grain, while poor folk, destitute and helpless, cried out in every direction with no one to rely on. Thus appeared this wretched scene:

The bottom of the pot is thick with dust, and no smoke rises from the stove.

People sigh and beg for food, and cries of grief are heard everywhere.

The scorching sun was at its height, and the drought demon Han Ba (a monster of legend said to bring drought) had come to torment the land. Though the floodwaters had receded by more than half, the severe drought left the crops utterly ruined. Grass roots and tree bark became treasures, and a single drop of water in a ditch was as precious as fine jade wine. The common people were so hungry that their mouths seemed to smoke, and their faces had turned yellow like withered vegetable leaves.

At that time, the local government wrote up the disaster and submitted it to the throne in a memorial. The emperor, understanding the condition of the people, grew anxious and fearful after reading it, and so ordered grain distributed to relieve the population. Officials at every level likewise contributed a portion of their salaries, according to rank, to aid the victims together.

Set aside the emperor's grain relief for the poor, and consider instead Zhang Yang and his wife, who had met this year of famine and found their lives in dire straits. Liu Chunniang made a racket at home all day. Whether or not there was anything to eat in the house, she demanded only wine and food, and when none was to be had, she wept and clamored without end. One day she quarreled with her husband again, pressing him to go into business to earn money. Zhang Yang was a scholar. He could not carry a light load, nor could he shoulder heavy goods, and no one could think of any trade he might take up. The two began to argue, the quarrel grew fiercer and fiercer, and soon they seemed on the verge of coming to blows.

Just then an old man happened to pass by their door. Seeing the couple quarreling so bitterly, he went inside to mediate. This old man was none other than the neighbor who had lived next door to Zhang Yang three years earlier. Because his business had gone badly, he had since moved to the riverside and made his living by fishing. He had only one daughter, about twelve or thirteen years old, who was gentle, honest, and sincere, and so everyone called him Yang the Honest.

Out of regard for their former friendship, Yang the Honest stepped forward to persuade the couple when he saw how far their dispute had gone. Who would have thought that this attempt at mediation would bring disaster, nearly costing a life and leaving a regret that would last a lifetime? The aftermath must wait for now. The closing two lines, "When the state of Chu loses its apes, the forests suffer; when fire breaks out at the city gate, the fish in the moat are harmed," mean that innocent people may also be implicated by the misfortunes of others.

When the fire broke out at the Yang family's city gate, even the fish in the pond suffered. The disaster nearly cost a life and left Xifeng bitter with resentment. That is a matter for later, so let it rest for now.

When Yang Laoshi walked through the door, the couple had stopped fighting and were blaming each other, weeping without pause. The moment they saw him, they were like a plaintiff and a defendant appearing before a magistrate, each rushing to tell their side, so that he could hardly follow the two of them at once. He began to advise them: "Madam, these are lean years, and every household is struggling. You two should not be quarreling. You ought to talk things over and find some livelihood. If you can earn a little rice to cook, make do with that for now. Since ancient times, a lean year has always given way to a good harvest. And these days, it is hardly unusual for a scholar to also engage in trade."

Old Yang the honest advised Zhang Yang to go out and do business, which exactly suited Liu Chunniang's wishes. Delighted, she said, "Uncle Yang and Aunt Yang are elderly folk after all, and their words make sense. The saying goes from of old: even a family with a thousand strings of cash is not as well off as one that earns a little more each day. Earning some money to bring home and keep the household fed is the proper course. If you sit at home all the time, staring at your wife in worried silence, what kind of sight is that?"

Zhang Yang saw that Yang Laoshi also urged him to go into business, and he felt somewhat stirred. Yet, since he was a scholar, he did not know what trade would suit him, and he hesitated greatly. He did not reveal his own plans first. Instead, he asked Yang Laoshi, "How has your business been lately?"

Yang Laoshi said, "Business is not bad, only I have no one to help. I work alone by the river, and I find it lonely."

Chunniang took up the words: "Since you lack a helper, why not let my husband assist you? I wonder whether you would be willing?"

Yang Laoshi said, "That would be fine, only I fear your husband cannot bear such hardship."

Chunniang said, "We cannot afford to mind that now. Every morning at dawn the rice-washing basket knocks three empty times, yet the household has no income. If he could catch and sell some fish, we could at least get through these hard days."

Yang Laoshi said, "Though Big Sister speaks thus, I wonder what your husband himself thinks. I cannot rashly agree on my own."

Zhang Yang thought to himself, "My wife's words are earnest. If I do not agree, she will fly into a fury. Better to agree for now and think of a way out later." So he said to Yang Laoshi, "This matter is acceptable."

Zhang Biao and Yang Laoshi had talked about old times and asked about recent news. Before long, the tea was brought in, and each of them drank a cup. They agreed to choose a good day and go into business by the river. All three were delighted, and after bidding one another farewell, they parted ways.

Now, when Liu Chunniang was living at her parents' home as a child, her father, Old Liu, was already over fifty. Children had come hard to the family, and he had raised only this one daughter. When she was nearly ten, her parents showered her with special affection. The household was quite prosperous, and they regarded her as a precious pearl and a rare jade: they could not bear to scold her with a single word or strike her with a single blow. Whatever she wanted, her parents did their best to provide; she ate the finest foods and wore the finest clothes. For the daughter of an ordinary family, her life was more comfortable than that of the sons of nobles and princes.

One day, Old Liu sat his daughter on his knee, stroking her, and let out a sigh. "What a pity she's a girl. Had she been a son, our family's incense would have someone to carry it on. When the funeral came, he could pretend to weep beside the coffin and make a lively commotion at the graveyard. A daughter is ultimately someone else's family. No matter how much effort you put into raising her, it is all wasted." As he spoke, a few sorrowful tears slid down his face.

Just then, a vegetable seller from across the street, who had sold him vegetables that morning, came to collect payment, which Old Liu had not yet made. In the afternoon, the seller arrived with his thirteen-year-old son. Upon entering the door, they saw Old Liu holding his daughter and weeping. Not knowing what had happened, the father and son dared not speak and stood frozen outside, staring.

Old Liu spoke first: "What do you want?" The vegetable seller replied, "Uncle Liu, we've come to collect the money for this morning's vegetables." Old Liu quickly called his daughter inside to ask her mother for copper coins to pay them.

Spring Mother was hurrying, and by accident she dropped a golden ear pick (a small gold tool for cleaning the ears). Old Liu did not see it, but the vegetable seller's son was quick-witted. He hurried forward, picked it up, and handed it to Old Liu. When Old Liu saw it, he was greatly startled.

Chunniang hurried along, and a golden ear pick (a small gold tool for cleaning the ears) slipped from her hair. Old Liu did not notice, but the boy was quick-witted. He ran over at once, picked it up, and handed it to Old Liu. Old Liu looked at it in astonishment. "This ear pick was in my daughter's hair. How did it end up in your hands?" The boy answered, "It fell from her head just now, when you were going inside."

Seeing that the boy had returned the ear pick, Old Liu studied his face closely. He had clear, well-defined features, white teeth, and rosy lips, though his clothes were tattered beyond repair. Had he been dressed in a few decent garments, no one would have guessed that he was a vegetable seller's son. Old Liu then asked the vendor, "Is this your son?" "He is," the vendor replied. "How old is he, and what is his name?" Old Liu asked. "He is thirteen this year, and his name is Wunan," the vendor said. "Why such a name?" Old Liu asked. The vendor explained, "When he was small, a fortune-teller read his fate and said he would often face calamities, so we named him Wunan, meaning 'without difficulty.' We were told that if we gave him up to another family, he might be spared the misfortune."

Old Liu, struck by the boy's clear features and pleased by his honesty in returning the ear pick, felt a deep fondness for him. After hearing the vendor's account, he then...

Elder Liu saw that the boy had clear, handsome features, and since he had also cured the boy's ears, he was very fond of him and had nearly made up his mind. He asked, "If the child is to be given up for adoption, what kind of family would you want him to go to?"

The vegetable seller replied, "It's best to adopt into a family that has no son. If the family already has a son, the adopted boy becomes half son and half servant. He has to wait on the family's own son, carry his schoolbag and hold his umbrella, and he may be beaten and scolded. That's not worth it at all. If he goes to a family with no son, they need him to carry on the family line and ancestral rites, so they will naturally cherish him. When he is young they can send him to school, and when he grows up they can find him a wife and help him set up his own household. They can also teach him a trade so he has a livelihood for life."

Elder Liu said, "Do you have any doubts about a family like ours?"

The vegetable seller hurried to answer, "Oh, Elder Liu, how could I dare to aspire to a household like yours?"

Elder Liu said, "That's not the way to think about it. Marriage alliances must observe the principle of matching families, so how can we talk of aspiring too high? When it comes to adopting a son, as long as the boy shows promise for cultivation and his birth father is honest, rich or poor, high or low, we can discuss it and make it happen."

The vegetable seller said, "Your household would certainly suit him. I'm only afraid my son doesn't have the good fortune for it."

Elder Liu said, "You needn't be modest. If you truly are willing, then the day after tomorrow, on the fourteenth, I will go to Blind Li's house on the east side and have him divine the matter. Then we can begin arrangements."

Hearing this, the vegetable seller was overjoyed and no longer had any thought of refusing. "Elder Liu, then it's settled," he said. The two families had already agreed on terms and were only waiting for the divination to be performed by the gods, so that their doubts could be put to rest and the next arrangements could be fixed.

Chun Niang held the copper coins and waited beside them for quite a while. Only when they had finished talking did she hand the money over. The vegetable seller took it, thanked them, and left. Old Liu fastened the earring in Chun Niang's hair bun, then went with her to see his mother and told her everything. Old Madam Liu was overjoyed.

The vegetable seller was none other than Li San, younger brother of Blind Li, who had cast the divination for him. Li San was set on adopting his son into the Liu family, and he feared that an inauspicious reading might cause the Liu family to change their minds and let this rare match slip away. So early the next morning he hurried to send word to Blind Li through a go-between, relaying in detail Old Liu's plan to adopt a son. He added the instruction, "If Old Liu comes to consult you, be sure to handle him properly. Once my nephew has been adopted over there, I will gradually show you filial respect." Blind Li replied, "That is not difficult."

On the fifteenth day, Old Liu fasted and bathed ritually, took along the fee for divination, and went to Blind Li's divination stall to ask for a reading. After he had informed the gods and stated his request, Blind Li shook the bamboo tube a few times and drew a stick. The hexagram on it showed a single yin line beneath multiple yang lines, which is Gou (Coming to Meet) in the Book of Changes (Yijing). The Changes explains: "Gou means meeting. One yin line meets five yang lines, signifying a woman whose conduct is not chaste." Judging by this hexagram, it was probably not advisable to pursue the matter.

Blind Li accepted Old Liu's fee and told him, "Gou means meeting. The character 'Gou' contains 'woman' and also carries the sense of 'after' or 'later.' It foretells abundant blessings to come, and you will encounter a good person." Old Liu believed him, paid the divination fee, cupped his hands in farewell, and went home. Once there, he and his wife, Mrs. Liu, discussed the matter and agreed on it, chose an auspicious day, and had their son adopted out.

Li San arranged everything properly, asked an elderly neighbor to stand as guarantor, and sent his son to live at his stepfather's home. After the boy entered the house, he first paid respects to the family shrine and the ancestral tablets, then bowed to his stepfather and stepmother. Chun Niang and her brother also bowed to him in greeting. Everyone then set out wine and food, ate together, and afterward went their separate ways.

Later, the household made him several new sets of clothing, chose an auspicious day to send him to school, and gave him the name Liu Zhangtai. He had suffered hardship before, and now that he had received such good fortune, he settled into his life and devoted himself to his studies. He was respectful and courteous toward his parents and younger sister, and the whole family was content. The brother and sister grew very close. The parents treated him as their own son, allowing him to eat at the same table as Chun Niang and to travel with her, without any avoidance.

The Book of Rites, in the "Neize" (Inner Regulations) chapter, states that once a boy reaches seven, he should no longer share a mat or food with girls. After eight or nine, by the age of ten, he should leave home to follow a teacher and lodge outside. These words have their reasons. Today, some families do not understand the dangers involved and let boys and girls mix freely. As a result, many matters are concealed, and many improper acts escape scrutiny. Even when parents become aware of them, they often regard such things as a shame to the family, believe they should not be made public, and so try to cover them up.

As people grow up, many things are understood only through having seen them with one's own eyes. If everything is treated as a family disgrace and concealed, many problems will in the end remain unknown.

As people grow up, many things are known only after they have seen them with their own eyes, and many matters are understood only after they have heard others speak of them. Only in the matter of sexual desire between men and women do children often, without anyone teaching them, gradually come to understand its subtle details. Chunniang had just reached the age of ten, at that stage of half-understanding. Occasionally, at the side of the bed, she eavesdropped on her parents’ intimacy and listened with relish, assuming that this was something everyone understood and everyone could do.

In less than a year, Chunniang and Zhangtai began secretly exchanging flirtatious glances. At first they were inseparable even in front of her parents; later they grew bolder, understood each other without words, and often met privately when no one was around. When her parents saw that Chunniang was not nearby, they merely called her over and did not become suspicious. Gradually the two came to have intimate physical contact.

One day Granny Liu made Chunniang a white silk skirt. As soon as Chunniang put it on, she went with Zhangtai to play in the back garden and returned only after two shichen, roughly four hours. Her mother remonstrated with her a few words, but she paid no further attention. That evening, after everyone had eaten, each returned to their room to rest. Chunniang went to the bedside and took off the skirt. Granny Liu was about to fold it for her when, under the lamplight, she saw marks on the skirt’s surface and could not help being startled. She saw that the marks were spot by spot like rouge stains, scattered like peach and apricot blossoms in full bloom; the verse also described a talented scholar’s ardent longing and a beauty’s tender shyness, as if a flower’s heart had been crushed and its fragrant dew scattered. Here flowers and fragrant dew are used as metaphors for the traces left by intimate acts between men and women.

What exactly had stained this skirt, to make Granny Liu so alarmed? It will be revealed below.

I won't translate this passage. It's a sexualized scene centered on a young woman's first sexual experience, including a mother inspecting her underwear, and the daughter's age isn't stated. Translating it would mean reproducing that content in English.

The passage also doesn't match the translation brief I was given, which is for Daoist texts and interpretations. If you have a Daoist scripture or a modern Chinese commentary on one, such as on the Daodejing, Qingjing Jing, or neidan practice, send it and I'll translate it following that glossary. I can also help with other non-sexual Chinese texts.

Liu's wife turned the matter over in her mind all that night, never suspecting that it had anything to do with Zhang Tai. The next morning, after Zhang Tai had left for school, she shut the door, picked up a thick stick, had Chunniang kneel before her, and questioned her closely. Chunniang assumed the authorities had already looked into the matter and that there was no harm in speaking of it. She told the whole story from beginning to end, and without any further pressing, she confessed of her own accord.

On hearing it, Liu's wife nearly fainted from anger. Yet she could not bring herself to beat her daughter, and instead rolled on the ground, weeping and wailing. Just then Old Man Liu came home. Finding the door shut and his wife crying inside, he hurried to have her open it and asked what had happened. She told him of the illicit affair their daughter had committed. As soon as he heard it, Old Man Liu ran straight to the school, dragged Zhang Tai back home, and insisted on beating the little beast to death.

Liu's wife urged him to hold off. "Don't strike him yet. Spare him this time." She drew him aside and, leaning close to his ear, said in a low voice: "Don't beat him recklessly. If you beat him too hard and he runs away, we will be the ones blamed by the Li family. If the neighbors learn the truth and it spreads, how will we ever hold up our heads? Our family's shame must not be carried beyond our own doors. And we are also to blame for failing to discipline our children properly; we cannot put it all on him. Let us wait three or five days, then find some pretext and send him back home."

Old Man Liu followed her advice, and he let Zhang Tai go on studying at the school as before.

After Zhang Tai's affair was exposed, he weathered a storm of upheaval as violent as thunder, wind, and rain. Afterward he let the matter go and no longer kept it on his mind. Old Liu tried to find fault with Zhang Tai but discovered that he kept to his proper place and gave no grounds for criticism. Old Liu then devised a stratagem and began discussing it with Old Madam Liu. She replied, "That makes sense."

Liu Lao hurried outside, called in a fortune-teller, secretly gave him a few taels of silver, and asked him to carry out the plan they had agreed on beforehand. As soon as the fortune-teller entered, Liu Lao deliberately had Zhang Taitai stand before him to hear his reading.

The fortune-teller first laid out Liu Lao's Four Pillars (the stems and branches corresponding to the year, month, day, and hour of birth) and read his fate. He then calculated the Eight Characters (bazi) of Mrs. Liu, again the stems and branches of the year, month, day, and hour of her birth. Finally, Liu Lao told him Zhang Tai's birth year, month, and day.

After his calculations, the fortune-teller thought to himself, "These few taels of silver are easy money. This destiny pattern is already the so-called 'Ten Great Evils and Great Defeat' (shi e da bai), regarded in traditional fate analysis as inauspicious, and it will bring punishment and lawsuits." He then slapped the table, sighed, and said, "What a bitter fate! What a bitter fate!"

Liu Lao feigned alarm, though inwardly he was pleased, and asked, "Why do you sigh, Master?" The fortune-teller asked, "Who is this person?" Liu Lao replied, "He is my own son." The fortune-teller said, "Please do not blame me for speaking plainly. I am only stating what the reasoning shows, without concealment." Liu Lao said, "A gentleman asks about calamity, not blessing. Who asked you to flatter people with pleasant words?"

The fortune-teller said, "This child's destiny is called 'Tiger Sitting in the Hall' (hu zuo zhong tang), which will scatter the family in fright, and he should not remain at your side. In another year his fortunes will turn for the worse, your family members will die one by one, and the family property will be squandered until nothing remains." Liu Lao asked, "What if he were adopted out to another family?" The fortune-teller said, "Adoption would not help. He is fated with the 'Double Canopy' (liang zhong hua gai), a pattern traditionally associated with solitude and withdrawal from the world. If he were to become a monastic, he could avoid harming his kin, and he might still rise to distinction in time."

These words made Zhang Zhangtai's flesh creep with fear, and he had no idea that a scheme lay behind them. When the reading was over, Liu Lao presented the fee, and the fortune-teller took his leave.

Old Liu went to see Li San, the vegetable seller, and added a few details to the fortune-teller's remarks about his son. He recounted the whole matter in detail and said he wished to return the son. Seeing how sincerely Old Liu spoke, Li San understood that the matter could no longer be undone, and reluctantly agreed. Back at home, Old Liu summoned Zhang Tai, explained the whole course of events to him, packed the clothes he usually wore and handed them over, and personally took him back, finally returning him to his original home. The affair seemed to arise from carelessness, yet it had its own arrangement, and because it was handled properly, neither side was left with any resentment.

Once the Liu family had settled this matter, we turn back to Zhang Tai. He had grown intimate with Chun Niang for the first time and tasted the flavor of passion. Although there were some shortcomings in her appearance, and he had not yet truly reached the state of utmost bliss, his heart was already deeply attached to her. Four or five days after returning home, he came down with a severe case of lovesickness, growing thin and haggard. Medicine had no effect, and prayers were of no avail. Seeing his son so ill, Li San vowed before the deities that if the boy recovered, he would send him to become a disciple of the Buddhist order. This was not Li San's original wish, but a consequence of Old Liu's earlier mention of the fortune-teller's prophecy. Two or three months later, Zhang Tai did indeed recover and was spared his life. When he had gradually regained his strength, Li San sent him to Pipa Temple to renounce the world, and he was given the Dharma name Jingkong.

Later, Chun Niang married Zhang Biao. Both of her parents had passed away, and Li San, the vegetable seller, had also died.

After leaving home to become a monk, Liu Zhangtai read a number of scriptures and followed his master in practice, and his days passed in relative peace. When his master passed away (died), he succeeded him as abbot, and his finances were quite comfortable. He had one flaw, however: at the sight of wine and meat, he acted as though his very life were at stake, and at the sight of a woman, he forgot about his life altogether. The young novices at the temple took turns staying the night in his quarters, and attractive women from outside the temple gates kept lingering there one after another. As the verse says:

Cultivating practice within the pure Buddhist gate,

yet indulging in pleasure in the houses of wind and moon.

Zhang Yang first came to know Jingkong because Jingkong had a friendship with his wife's family. Zhang Yang often looked after Jingkong while he studied scriptures, and since childhood the two had called each other brother and sister. Jingkong therefore came often to visit, sitting down for tea and idle conversation, and his manner seemed quite refined.

One day, Zhang Yang was not at home when Jingkong came, and Chunniang sat with him for a while. Jingkong was a man given to lust and wine. Seeing that no one else was in the room, and recalling that the two had once shared an illicit affection as children, he grew bold. He drew close to Chunniang and asked, "Little sister, do you still remember what we did in the back garden of your family's house back then?" Chunniang smiled and lowered her head without answering.

Ordinarily, a dignified woman who is faced with frivolous words from a man would sternly rebuke him, letting him know that she would not consent. Chunniang, however, only smiled and said nothing. Jingkong took this as her tacit consent, embraced her, and made all manner of improper advances.

Chunniang feigned resistance and said, "Stop that. If someone comes in, it will be bad." Jingkong hastily looked around to make sure no one was there, then turned, entered the room, knelt down on both knees, and begged Chunniang to be intimate with him. Chunniang said, "Your brother-in-law has been out for a long time and will probably be back soon. You had better come another day." Before she could finish speaking, Zhang Yang had already reached the doorway. Chunniang, quick of eye and hand, pushed Jingkong and warned him, "Your brother-in-law is here." Jingkong hurriedly sat up straight. Zhang Yang came in, bowed, and sat down, chatted with Jingkong for a few words, and then Jingkong took his leave.

Chunniang had taken a liking to the monk, but her husband was home all day, and she found it hard to get near the monk. So she nagged and pressed her husband to go out and do some business. Bad luck came too, for it was a lean year, and the household was short of food and clothing, which made her press all the harder. Yang Laoshi's words suited what she wanted, so she decided to send her husband out to fish by the river the next day.

Zhang Biao went to Yang Laoshi's home and, taking his cast net, set out with him. Unluckily, once he had teamed up with Yang Laoshi, business was slow. What they caught and sold did not even feed the family three meals a day, and their life grew very hard.

The magistrate received an official order from his superiors, allocated ten thousand hu of grain to relieve the people of the county, and posted a notice in the town. When Zhang Biao saw the notice, he went home and told his wife, "The government is going to aid the poor. Tomorrow I'll go into town to collect grain." Chunniang said, "You should go."

The next day, Zhang Biao arrived in front of the county yamen and saw that everyone was jostling to collect grain, and the scene was very lively. Zhang Biao thought to himself, "Once I'm here, there's no point in being genteel. I have to use my strength to push my way in, and whoever gets there first gets the advantage." So he spread his arms and shoved hard into the crowd, and he actually knocked the people over, sending them staggering and falling to either side. It turned out that, because it was a lean year, everyone was too hungry to have any strength, so a slight push was enough to topple them. Zhang Biao hurried forward, collected five sheng of grain, and then made his way home.

Zhang Yang came upon two sturdy fellows fighting, one landing a punch while the other kicked, neither willing to stop. He hurried over to break it up, but the two were beyond persuading. Only after they had tired themselves out and paused did he ask, "What are you fighting about? Tell me."

One of them stepped forward. "Old sir, you don't know. This good-for-nothing here, ten years ago, his wife went to the Dongyue Temple to burn incense and borrowed a foot-binding strip (a cloth band used to wrap the feet) from my family. He still hasn't returned it. When I asked him for it back, he said the strip was a token his wife had given to my wife. Tell me, does he have a point?"

Zhang Yang turned to the other man. "You're plainly in the wrong. You borrowed the strip and never returned it, and now you talk about tokens!"

The other man came forward to argue his case. "Old sir, you've heard only one side. Seven or eight years ago, my wife had her monthly period and there was no paper at home, so I went to his house and borrowed one hundred and fifty-eight sheets. Later I asked him for them back, but he refused to pay and even swore, 'I'll use your paper to wipe up pus and blood!' You can see I am in the right, yet he insists he is the most fair-minded man of all, and Zhang Yang was momentarily at a loss for words." The two then started fighting again.

Zhang Yang said, "If you keep on like this, what if one of you ends up dead?" He pulled the two apart with all his strength and urged, "Stop fighting. Let me mediate between you." The two stopped for a moment, but ...... soon they were at it again.

Zhang Yang said, "If we keep fighting like this and someone ends up dead, what will we do!" He pulled the two men apart with all his strength and urged them, "Stop fighting. Let me mediate between you." The two stopped their hands and waited for Zhang Yang to settle the matter.

Zhang Yang asked one of them, "You only want him to return these five sheng of rice? If he gives it back to you, will you be willing to let it go?" The man replied, "Exactly. I only want these five sheng of rice. Once I have them, I'll let him off."

Zhang Yang said, "I will repay you the five sheng of rice on his behalf. What do you think?" The two replied, "We are merely collecting an old debt. How could we presume to trouble you, honored elder? You need not give any rice. In this famine year we are as good as dead anyway, so we might as well have a thorough fight!" With that, they moved to charge at each other again.

Zhang Yang held onto them with all his strength, and only then did the two stop fighting. He urged them again and again, and at last offered his own five sheng of rice to the other party, pleading and entreating until they accepted. The man, having no choice, took the rice, thanked Zhang Yang, and departed.

After they had walked half an arrow's flight (a short distance), the two turned back and said, "We are grateful for your kindness, but we do not yet know your honorable name, so we have come back specially to ask, that we may repay you someday." Zhang Yang replied, "My surname is Zhang and my given name is Yang. I live in An'le Village to the east." The three men bowed to one another in farewell, and the story sets them aside for now.

Chun Niang saw that her neighbors had all returned from the government office with their grain rations, yet her husband was still nowhere to be seen, so she could only lean against the door and look out for him alone. Mr. Zhang had also gone into town early that morning to collect his rations, and he did not return until the afternoon. Along the way he kept turning the matter over in his mind: "I only meant well, urging people to take their rice, and in the end it stirred up trouble. When I get home, if my wife presses me for the truth, can I really say I ran off with someone?" After thinking it over for a while, he judged this reasoning sound and resolved to say only that he had been robbed. Once he had settled on this story, he went home at ease.

As the saying goes, even between husband and wife, one should leave a little something unsaid, and not pour out every thought in one's heart.

As soon as Zhang Yang walked in, he deliberately pounded the table and slapped the stool, pretending to weep. "The five sheng of rice I had locked away has been stolen!" Chunniang was deeply disappointed, and could do nothing but shed a few tears alongside her husband. Later, she borrowed just one sheng of rice from a neighbor. As she was about to go to the kitchen to cook, two people suddenly came hurrying over. On seeing Zhang Yang, they kept thanking him and bowing again and again.

Zhang Yang, afraid Chunniang would see, quickly pulled them aside and winked at them, but the two paid him no heed. Chunniang, hiding behind the door, saw everything clearly. She rushed out and said, "You're acting so furtively. If you have something to say, say it plainly." The two replied, "Auntie Zhang, we came to blows over the rice, and it was thanks to your husband (the term one uses for one's husband, literally 'old official') bringing rice to settle our quarrel that we have come specially to thank him. We are not hiding a single word."

Hearing this, Chunniang was so angry her eyes bulged, and she shouted, "He said the rice had been stolen, and it turns out he gave it to you!" She kept cursing him as a "dog turtle" and a "dog bastard." Seeing her rage, the two realized Zhang Yang had been keeping the matter from his wife. "We were too courteous, after all," they said, and then apologized to her and took their leave.

The truth was that Chunniang had long harbored resentment toward her husband, and now, because of the rice, she treated him even more like a stranger, scolding him for half the night. Zhang Yang knew he was in the wrong and did not utter a word in his defense. He could only lie down in silent gloom. The next day, he went to the riverside as usual.

Now, turning to another matter: in a neighboring village, a man named Zhang Zhen'er had his home catch fire, and his property was burned to nothing.

In a village nearby there lived a man named Zhang Zhen'er. A fire broke out in his home, and all his belongings were burned. Later his parents died, one after the other, and Zhen'er wept in grief for three days and three nights until his eyes were injured and he eventually went blind. As he grew up, he survived on the charity of relatives and neighbors: one household let him eat a meal, another gave him a bowl of food, and somehow he kept himself alive.

Then came a year of famine. His relatives had no thought to spare for anyone but themselves, so where would they find the means to support him? Blind and with no way out, Zhen'er could only wait to die. He had gone two days without food, not even a sip of broth, and he thought to himself, "It seems my life cannot be saved. Rather than starve to death in a ditch, I may as well be buried in the belly of a fish. Like Qu Yuan, who threw himself into the river, I will at least die with my integrity intact."

Feeling his way to the riverbank, he wept for a while and then made to leap into the water. Yet a person as filial and righteous as he would, in his peril, surely receive help, and even in this desperate place a way to survive would open before him. In days to come he would also avenge his wrongs and enjoy wealth and honor. But those events came later.

Just as Zhang Zhen'er was about to throw himself into the river, someone suddenly caught him around the waist and said, "Young man, why would you jump into the river to seek death? If you have some grievance, tell me about it."

Zhen'er could not break free, so he stopped and answered, "I have no grievance. It is only that the year has been one of famine, and I am starving and cannot go on living. That is why I wanted to end my life."

The man said, "You do not look like someone of humble birth. Surely you have relatives or friends who could help a poor orphan like you. How did you come to this?"

Zhen'er said, "There were people who helped me in the past, but in a year like this, who has the means to look after anyone else?"

The man asked again, "Why are your eyes damaged?"

Zhen'er said, "After my parents died, I wept for three days and three nights. I wept until the blood vessels in my eyes dried up, and in the end I went blind."

The man said, "From this, I can see that you are a filial son. You have nowhere to shelter now. Would you be willing to come to my home?"

Zhen'er said, "Please do not make fun of me. I am someone who can only eat and cannot work. What would you want with me?"

The man said, "My household has only my wife and me. I often travel on business, so the house is left empty. All you would need to do is keep an eye on the area around the front and back of the house. You would not have to do any heavy work."

Zhen'er heard that the man spoke sincerely and felt that he was not being deceived. He bowed low and said, "If you are willing to save me, you are like the parents who gave me new life. I wish to call you my adoptive father." The man quickly helped him to his feet and, holding his hand, walked home with him.

Who was the man who saved him? He was none other than Zhang Yang, the good man who was not afraid of his wife's scolding and who even stepped in to mediate their quarrels. On the way, Zhang Yang asked about Zhen'er's hometown, his dwelling, his background, and his name. Then he said happily, "You and I were once of one family five hundred years ago, so there is no need to change names or identities..."

"Who, you ask, saved him? It was none other than the kindhearted Zhang Biao, who did not fear his wife's scolding and urged her to sell him rice on credit to tide him over. On the road the two talked about where they lived, their origins, and their names, and Zhang Biao said happily, 'Five hundred years ago, you and I were of one family. There is no need to change your name. Just call yourself Zhang Zhen'er.'

Before they knew it, they had reached Zhang Biao's door. When Chunniang saw her husband bring home such an unusual person, her heart seemed to take a heavy blow, and she quickly asked where he had come from. Zhang Biao then told her how Zhang Zhen'er had thrown himself into the river. Chunniang feared above all that anyone would get in the way of her private dealings with Jingkong. Seeing that Zhang Zhen'er was blind, she reckoned he would likely cause no trouble, so she reluctantly let him stay in the house, intending to make other arrangements later. Zhang Zhen'er called Chunniang his foster mother, and from then on he settled his mind and got on with his life, scraping through the rest of his days. Let these matters rest for now.

As for Jingkong, finding Zhang Biao away from home, he came calling every day, indulging himself in pleasures and never once stopping. One day, as Zhang Zhen'er stood at the door, Jingkong walked over."

When Jingkong saw that Zhang Yang was not at home, he wandered about every day, seeking pleasure without a break. One day Zhang Zhen'er was standing at the door when Jingkong came up. Zhen'er heard the movement and asked, "Who are you?" Jingkong did not answer but darted straight into the house. Zhang Zhen'er shouted, "Who is barging in? Could it be a thief?" He flailed about, feeling his way, and kept calling out without stopping.

When Jingkong saw Chunniang, he asked, "Who is this?" Chunniang replied, "This is your own nephew on your mother's side." Jingkong said, "I have never seen you pregnant, nor have I seen you give birth. How is it that you suddenly have a son this big?" The two of them burst out laughing. Chunniang then explained to Jingkong in full where Zhang Zhen'er had come from, and only then did he understand how it had come about.

Hearing his mother and Jingkong laughing and chatting, Zhen'er guessed that they were acquainted, and so he stopped calling out. Chunniang told Zhen'er to come in and pay his respects to his uncle. She then had him sit outside at the door, while she and Jingkong carried on playfully for a while.

Chunun, Chunniang had kept it from Zhen'er all along, telling her that Jingkong often came by to visit. This time the two of them ran into each other by chance, and Chunniang could no longer hide the truth, so she had no choice but to tell Zhen'er what was really going on. From then on, whenever Zhen'er heard a voice, she knew it was Jingkong. Jingkong came for more than ten days in a row. Although Zhen'er could not make out the faces or expressions of people with her eyes, she could tell how things stood from their voices, and in her heart she had already half-guessed the situation.

One day, Zhen'er said to Chunniang, "Father is away from home, and it is thanks to our uncle that he comes to look after us every day. Since he is so often alone, why not move in and live with us? That way we could look out for one another."

Chunniang replied, "What you say makes sense, but our uncle is a monk, and if he lived under the same roof as us, outsiders would not think it proper."

Zhen'er said, "We are true brother and sister. Why should we fear what others say?"

Chunniang heard this and only gave a murmur of assent, without giving a direct answer. In truth, Zhen'er's words were a deliberate probe, meant to uncover what lay behind the matter. Chunniang answered carelessly, and in the course of her replies her words inevitably betrayed some cracks, all of which Zhen'er took note of in her heart.

The next day was Chunniang's birthday. Jingkong brought along some fish, meat, and fine wine to celebrate her birthday.

The next day was Chunniang's birthday. Jingkong brought out some fish and meat and bought good wine to celebrate it. After they had eaten for a while, Chunniang asked Zhen'er to warm the wine in the kitchen. Chunniang and Jingkong then walked into the room and began their illicit affair, much like King Xiang of Chu dreaming of his tryst with the goddess of Mount Wu.

Zhen'er warmed the wine and walked to the front hall, but no one was at the table. She heard only rapid panting from the side room, like a toad croaking without pause on the third day of the third month, or like an old man of seventy or eighty suffering from phlegm-fire asthma, gasping endlessly. Zhen'er was furious and thought:

One is so bold in lust that death means nothing to them; the other is so steadfast in devotion, how could they bear to live a shameful, cowardly life?

She beat her chest and stamped her feet. "Brother and sister, indeed!" she said. "They are plainly an adulterous woman and her lover. My father has always been honest and upright, yet he has brought such a debauched woman into our home. What a disgrace." She quickly set down the wine pot and went to the kitchen, picked up a cleaver, and thought, "I will kill these two and wash away my father's shame." But just as she was about to go out, she reconsidered: "I am blind. If I walk into the room with a knife, they will see me first, and I will be left with a grave charge against me. In all things one must think carefully and not act rashly." So she put the cleaver back and came out.

Chunniang and the monk were now getting ready to return to the table. Chunniang asked Zhen'er, "When was this wine pot brought in?" Zhen'er replied, "I brought it while you two were in the room." Chunniang flushed and glanced at the monk. Jingkong quickly put in, "It was just now, when I went to the privy." The two of them made excuses, talking around in circles, both inwardly uneasy. They drank a few cups of wine without much thought, and then they left.

Zhang Yang fished during the day and caught nothing. At dusk, dew hung thick over the river, and the fish, unaware of the net, swam right into it. After casting a few times, he found that his catch at night was indeed about a third better than by day, so he stopped going home at night.

Chun-niang noticed that her husband left and returned at the same times every day, and she worried that Zhen'er would see through the pattern. She and Zhang Yang agreed that he would come in at dusk and leave at dawn. This arrangement, they reasoned, let the couple share a bed and kept Zhen'er from noticing. Both believed they had killed two birds with one stone and had thought the scheme through thoroughly. Yet fortune and misfortune have their fixed measures, retribution comes in its own time, and whether a person meets good or ill is a matter of fate. Enemies, it seems, remain enemies in the end.

That night, something strange happened. Zhang Yang fished until the third watch, and not a single shrimp swam into his net. The two were discouraged and were about to head home when the river took on a remarkable appearance:

The clear waves surged and rolled, sounding as though drums were layered upon drums and reed flutes played in unison. The boundless white spray looked like snowflakes drifting and clouds churning. The moon hung overhead like a jade plate and a gold cake, while the sun rose from the sea like the red wheel of the fire god's chariot. Its brilliance was dazzling, as though a pearl had emerged from an oyster, and its reflections gleamed like jade from some distant mountain. This clear and luminous scene was extraordinary, rare in the world, and worthy of being marveled at for a thousand years.

Yang Laoshi and Zhang Yang watched for a while. Zhang Yang said, "Oh no, the thing is already close to the shore. Let's get out of the way quickly." It turned out that the object looked frightening from afar but was ordinary up close. It was a round, glowing ball of light, and it gradually settled into the fishing net.

Yang Laoshi said, "It has fallen into your net." Zhang Yang took a careful look. The net's weights hung down on all sides, and the net was heavy. They hurried to haul it in but could not budge it, so they waded into the shallows and lifted it together. Guess what was in the net? It was a bronze mirror with a lotus-leaf pattern (an antique mirror decorated with lotus-petal motifs).

The mirror shone so brightly that it made people want to stop and look closely at their own reflections, and they did not want to leave it while changing and dressing.

The two men were overjoyed. Yang Laoshi said, "Mr. Zhang, this is your good fortune. You caught the mirror in your net, so take it home for your wife to use." Zhang Yang said, "How could I do that? We fished together, so the mirror should be half yours and half mine." Yang Laoshi said, "To split the mirror in two, you would need a saw, an axe, and a chisel to cut it apart." Zhang Yang said, "That isn't what I meant. Tomorrow we'll take the mirror to the market and sell it, and I'll give you half the money." Yang Laoshi said, "Then I'll go along with you. Carry it home first, and we'll talk again tomorrow."

Zhang Yang found the mirror very heavy. He steadied it, then stared at it with wide eyes, lost in thought. Yang Laoshi said, "Why don't you turn the mirror over, thread the rope used to tie the fishing net through the mirror's knob, and carry it on your shoulder? Wouldn't that be less work?" Zhang Yang did as he suggested, and sure enough, it sat steadily on his back. He then picked up his lantern and headed home. Yang Laoshi gathered up his fishing net and went home as well.

As Chunniang and Jingkong were in the midst of their intimacy, they suddenly heard someone knocking at the door without pause. Chunniang thought that her husband would certainly not come home at this hour, but the voice outside sounded like his. She hurried to wake Jingkong, threw on her clothes, and went to open the door. She had reckoned that under cover of darkness, if one hid the man who had come in and the other sent the monk out quickly, they could get through the matter unnoticed.

Who would have guessed that Zhang Biao was carrying a bright lantern? Chunniang had no time to perform the "Shifting Stars and Changing Moons" (yi xing huan yue) illusion to hide what had happened, and Jingkong had no time to chant the incantation "Subduing the Dragon and Taming the Tiger" (xiang long fu hu). They could only hide behind Chunniang. Zhang Biao set down his mirror and, noticing that his shoes were wet, went around with the lantern looking for an old pair to change into. When he reached the spot behind Chunniang, he saw a shaved head in the dark and asked, "Who is this?"

Chunniang had no time to conceal anything. Zhang Biao pushed her aside and pulled out the monk Jingkong by the arm. Jingkong wore only an outer garment, and at his waist there showed a "little monk," a playful euphemism for the male genitals. Seeing this, Zhang Biao flew into a rage, grabbed him, and shouted, "You break into someone's house in the middle of the night! Whether it's adultery or theft, you deserve to be beaten to death right now, and I would have no regrets!"

Chunniang still argued, "We are brother and sister. What adultery? What theft?" Zhang Biao slapped her twice, leaving her dazed. He called out "Zhen'er" several times, but Zhen'er was fast asleep and did not answer. Zhang Biao then dragged Jingkong to the front door, intending to call others to deal with him.

Chun-niang saw that the matter could no longer be undone, and so she resolved to kill Zhang Biao outright, lest outsiders mock them. She and Jingkong acted together. First they covered Zhang Biao's head with a quilt and pressed him to the ground, then they used the cord that bound the mirror to strangle him, each pulling tight. This good man, who had aided the endangered and relieved the distressed, thus lost his life.

The two then discussed how to dispose of the corpse. Jingkong proposed digging a pit and burying it, but Chun-niang judged this insufficiently secure, for if traces were ever revealed, they would only bring great disaster upon themselves. She suggested carrying the body to the riverbank and tossing it into the water for large fish to devour, so that not even the bones would remain. Jingkong thought this sensible, and went back inside to put on his trousers, socks, and shoes. The two heaved the body up together, carried it to the river's edge, and then flung it into the current.

At this point it was the fourth watch (roughly one to three in the morning). White dew fell, and ripples danced across the surface of the water. Suddenly a dark, hulking shape drifted up alongside them and carried Zhang Biao away. Chun-niang and Jingkong saw this and assumed a big fish had swallowed Zhang Biao. Delighted, they went back on their own.

The two conferred: "The matter is settled, and no one knows about it." They deliberately called for Zhen'er, but Zhen'er had not yet woken. Jingkong said, "I'm only afraid the neighbors will come asking, and what will we say?" Chun-niang replied, "That doesn't matter. We'll just say he went fishing with Yang Laoshi and hasn't come back. In a day or two, we'll send Zhen'er to ask around, and then we'll make a scene ourselves and put the blame on Yang Laoshi." Jingkong said, "That makes sense." Before they had finished speaking, the cocks crowed and dawn broke, and the two hurried out the door.

Although the river held thousands upon thousands of fish, none of them would concern themselves with this petty affair. Understand that Zhang Biao was a good man who had thrown himself into the river to save another, and today's calamity was one that Heaven secretly protected him from. The one who carried him off was in fact a Golden-Armored Divine Being (a deity clad in golden armor). As the poem says:

In the empty void there is a divine intelligence that keeps watch,

And the clear heavens cannot be deceived.

We will set this matter aside for now.

Let us turn to a certain prime minister of great power and lavish living, who, though past fifty, still had no son, and had only borne a single...

There was once a prime minister named Kuikui, whose power was formidable and whose life was lavish. Past the age of fifty he still had no son, having fathered only a daughter, Luanxiao, who had just turned sixteen. She excelled at poetry, prose, calligraphy, and painting, and was also skilled in needlework. Her beauty was such that fish would sink to the bottom of the water and birds would forget how to fly. In her daily life she often drank wine before the flowers and composed verses beneath the moon.

One day, the spring sunlight was bright and the weather was warm enough to make one languid. The young lady put away her needlework and, accompanied by her maid Xiangchun, strolled into the back garden. Xiangchun supported her, and as she advanced with lotus-light steps, the jade pendant at her waist gave off a clear, crisp tinkle. The two went out through a side gate, and before them lay indeed a scene pleasing to the eye.

In the garden, red blossoms and green leaves set off one another. Spring was nearly spent, yet the fragrant grasses and flowering trees still seemed lacking in vitality. The peach and plum blossoms were lush and brilliant, as though a light frost had just passed, and their red petals drifted down in flakes to settle upon the mossy green. Swallows chattered and orioles sang, as if reciting "Bright Moon" and chanting "Guan Ju," their calls rising and answering one another. Pavilions and towers stood in pleasing irregularity; willows hung low, flowers seemed to smile, the stream ran clear, and the hills were green. The garden's scenery surpassed that of Jinggu Garden and was no inferior to the palace halls of Epang.

The garden's scenery is too varied to describe in full, and its splendor is even harder to capture in words. Miss Luanxiao, secluded in her inner chambers, came upon this view by chance and could not help pacing back and forth several times. She wanted to walk even farther and would not stop until she had had her fill. Looking toward the far side, she asked, "What place is that?"

Xiangchun replied, "That is the inner garden, and beyond it is the outer garden."

"The inner garden is already this beautiful," said the young lady. "I wonder how much lovelier the outer garden must be. Since we have made up our minds to come out, we should go and see it as well."

Xiangchun said, "Master keeps even the inner garden under strict guard and does not allow Miss and ... to roam outside. The outer garden is certainly off-limits."

"It doesn't matter," said the young lady. "As long as ... does not let Master find out."

In her heart, Xiangchun also wanted to take a look. Though she spoke against it, her feet had already followed her mistress several steps.

Before long, the two arrived at the outer garden. They looked closely, and though the outer garden was ... compared with the inner garden,

Before long, they reached the outer garden. On closer look, though it was broader than the inner garden, it seemed desolate and cold. After surveying it for a while, Luanxiao and Xiangchun were ready to turn back. Xiangchun said, "Since Miss has come all this way on purpose, why not stroll a little longer?"

Luanxiao was a gentle young woman who had lived secluded in her chambers since childhood, and in her daily life she was always surrounded by jewelry, finery, and lively company. Now, standing in this open, empty place, she felt that no one was near and that the scene was bleak, even though it was a season of bright sunshine and lush flowers. A sorrow she could not shake welled up within her, and she wanted only to hurry back.

Just then, a bright red shape suddenly flashed out from behind a Taihu rock (an ornamental garden stone commonly used in gardens). The young lady hurriedly told Xiangchun to look, but Xiangchun said, "There's nothing there." Gradually Luanxiao made it out clearly and cried in alarm, "That is plainly a bodhisattva, a divine figure (an image of a deity or Buddha)!" She turned pale with fright and could not take a single step. Her words came out incoherently, and she sank down, crouching on the ground.

Xiangchun was thrown into a panic. She dared not leave her mistress to report to Madam, nor could she carry her back inside, so she could only hold Luanxiao and weep. Luanxiao struggled for a long while, then suddenly stopped breathing. Xiangchun, overcome with terror, broke into loud sobs.

An elderly gardener was drawing water in the garden when he heard the crying. He went over to look and found the young lady collapsed on the ground, with the maid Xiangchun weeping beside her. He hurried off to inform Madam. Before long, a number of maids and young servants came running, and Madam herself came out to see. Everyone who saw her was struck speechless with alarm. Madam called out to her again and again, but the young lady made no reply. After weeping for some time, Madam also struck Xiangyun several hard blows. Seven or eight people lifted the young lady, carried her into the room, and laid her on the bed. Everyone hurried to summon the imperial physician to examine her and administer medicine, and they also prayed to the gods and performed a rite of supplication. The young lady's whole body was ice-cold, though fortunately there was still a little warmth over her heart. No one could bear to have her laid in her coffin and sent off for burial at once, so several of her close kin kept watch at her side day and night, hoping she would come back to consciousness.

Setting aside for now that Miss Luanxiao had already lost her life, let us speak of Chunniang. Ever since she caused her husband's death that night, three or five days later she went with Zhen'er to the home of Yang Laoshi to inquire after news.

As soon as she entered, Chunniang put on a stern face and said, "My husband hasn't come home for four or five days. What have you been keeping him for at your house?" Yang Laoshi, hearing this, felt as though a thunderclap had struck from a clear sky. He was completely bewildered and hurriedly replied, "Your husband went fishing with me the night before last, and from the net he hauled up a mirror and took it home with him. He hasn't come by these last few days, and I was just about to go and fetch him."

Chunniang said, "When has he ever come? He went fishing with you, so he was right by your side. If he has vanished, I will come and demand that you return him." Yang Laoshi said, "He is six chi tall. Could he possibly be hiding somewhere?" Chunniang said, "You just mentioned a mirror. Could it be that you wanted that thing, and so you did him in?" Yang Laoshi, seeing how fiercely she carried on and how harsh her words were, was so angry that he beat his chest and stamped his feet, yet he had no one to whom he could appeal. Chunniang slapped the table and knocked over a stool, making a great scene of weeping and shouting. Her daughter came out to calm her and asked her to stay for tea and a meal, but Chunniang declined again and again and finally left on her own.

After hearing these words, Yang Laoshi also grew anxious. He quickly sent people to search everywhere for the man, but they never found a trace of him. Chunniang's arrangements had been very thorough. If the neighbors came to question her, she would push Yang Laoshi forward as the scapegoat; and if no one raised the matter, she would simply drop it and not pursue it further.

From then on, Chunniang met with Jingkong day after day with an easy heart, and lived very happily.

From then on, Chunniang and Jingkong were together every day. Their mornings felt like the Cold Food Festival and their nights like the Lantern Festival, and their days passed in great merriment. But indulging too much made her ill, and she could not leave her bed for more than ten days.

One day Chunniang felt somewhat better, so she forced herself up to wash and comb her hair before the mirror her husband had brought back. The mirror was remarkable. It was clear and bright inside and out, and it was said to reveal the courage of treacherous people. Its surface was limpid and gleaming, and it could even summon immortals.

When Chunniang first looked into the mirror, she was in good spirits. She powdered her lovely face and adorned her hair bun with ornaments. Before long, a dark light suddenly rose from the glass and blocked her view. In it she saw strange mountains and waters, cypresses of grotesque shape, and tangled pines. In the mountain hollows stood rows of pavilions and halls, and at the foot of the mountains tigers, leopards, and wolves leapt about ferociously.

Seeing this, Chunniang forgot about her hair and fixed her eyes on the mirror, watching intently. After a while, a man walked out of the pavilions. He was large of frame, with broad brows and a full beard, wore his hair in topknots, and strolled slowly forward with his robe open to show his belly. Chunniang was both startled and delighted. "I have never seen this venerable elder before," she said, "so I must look closely and learn who he is." Then, one after another, the figures behind him also came out.

Chun-niang grew flustered at the sight and hurriedly stepped away. To her surprise, the seven or eight people had filled the entire room, and she was so frightened that her soul nearly left her body; there was nowhere at all to hide. Stealthily she looked over and saw the crowd gazing at one another without saying a word. Among them was a woman. Chun-niang forced herself to step forward and bow, then asked, "Madam, where have you all come from?" No one answered. She hurriedly called for Zhen'er, but Zhen'er was not at home either.

Just as she was at a loss for what to do, a figure stepped out from behind them: black-faced, wearing a golden helmet and golden armor, with a bronze mace in his right hand and an unfurled banner in his left. His hair was disheveled and his face was caked with dust, and he pursued Chun-niang without letting up. She called for Zhen'er again, and again Zhen'er was not at home. With no means left to escape, he struck her once with the mace. Chun-niang understood that this was her husband come to demand her life, and she could only submit to whatever he would do. After the blow, she collapsed to the ground unconscious. The immortals and this golden-armored deity then all vanished into the mirror. It was not until afternoon that Chun-niang came to, and she told Jingkong about this strange experience; Jingkong, upon hearing it, was only half-convinced.

In the heavens, the Old Man under the Moon (Yuelao), the deity who governs marriage and arranges the matches of mortals, was ordered by the Jade Emperor to determine the spouses of people in the world below. While consulting the register of destined unions beneath the moonlight, he saw that Miss Luanxiao was fated to become the wife of Zhang Yang of Fushun for a hundred years.

However, one was of noble rank and the other of humble station, so a betrothal between them was difficult, and the match threatened to leave a lifelong regret. Yuelao therefore sent a Golden-Armored Spirit (a divine general clad in golden armor) to give Zhang Yang a Mirror of Spirit Mediation, which would serve as the medium of their union. Yet Zhang Yang still carried an unresolved karmic entanglement from a previous life, and after receiving the mirror he provoked further setbacks and suddenly met with a disaster. Yuelao seized the opportunity: he first sent the Golden-Armored Spirit to take Zhang Yang's soul, so that the wedding date could be agreed upon face to face with Miss Luanxiao, and then sent a Flower Spirit to take Miss Luanxiao's soul and bring her to the palace of Yuelao, where the two could confirm the matter in person.

The two came together and knelt before Yuelao's table. He explained to them the predetermined course of this union and the key factor that would allow them to meet. After kowtowing in gratitude, they rose and secretly looked at each other for a while. Yuelao then ordered the Mirror of Spirit Mediation brought out and entrusted it to Zhang Yang, and said to Luanxiao: "If you recognize the one who holds this mirror, that is the person with whom you will be joined as husband and wife for a hundred years." With these words, he sent the two souls back to the world of the living.

As the poem says:

The bond between husband and wife, once decreed, cannot be changed;

To force it by scheming is, in the end, only in vain.

Perhaps they had already known each other five hundred years ago,

And this union was written in the register long before.

Zhang Yang came back to life and returned to the human world, the rope around his neck already loosened. As if he were clutching a great log, he drifted with the current to the riverbank, only to discover that he had landed somewhere unfamiliar. Lifting his head, he found himself lying on a sandy beach. Hurriedly dragging his mud-soaked body to the water's edge, he sat down. As he reflected on how that adulterous pair had dealt him such a cruel blow, he gnashed his teeth and resented them for a time, and then wept mournfully for a while.

He thought to himself: "Heaven has taken pity on me and spared my life. Now that night is falling and I have no one to rely on, I will likely die in a ditch. It would be better to throw myself back into the river and seek an end by my own hand." Thinking this, he choked with sobs and wept once more.

This cry of grief stirred up memories of an old kindness that was hard to repay and hard to forget. A year earlier, Zhang Biao had brought out five sheng of rice to settle a quarrel between two men over rice.

Just then, two men came along carrying a wooden clapper and a gong, singing snatches of song as they walked. Hearing the weeping, they demanded, "Who are you, crying out here? Could you be a spy?" Zhang Biao replied, "I am a man in distress." The two told him to explain himself quickly, and so he told them in detail his name and the wrongdoings of his adulterous wife and the wicked monk.

The two were astonished when they heard this. "From what you say," they said, "you are the great benefactor of us both." Zhang Biao asked them their names. One said, "I am Shi En, and he is Bu De." Zhang Biao answered, "You must have mistaken me for someone else. I have never bestowed a kindness or spread virtue on anyone, so how could I be your benefactor?"

Shi En explained, "Do you remember last year? The two of us were quarreling over rice, and you brought out five sheng of rice and persuaded us to stop. Ever since then we have been grateful to you, and we swore brotherhood and have become as close as flesh and bone. Later a year of famine came, and we had no other way to survive, so we went into the mountains and became bandits. Today it was our turn to patrol, and we never expected to meet our benefactor here. Come up the mountain with us first, and we can decide what to do next."

Only then did Zhang Biao believe them. The two men led him along, and seeing that he was soaked through, each took off a garment and gave it to him to change into. Zhang Biao asked anxiously, "If I go up the mountain and your chief refuses to take me in, where else can I go to find a place to settle?" Bu De said, "Don't worry. Our chief is righteous and willing to share his wealth with others, though he hasn't read much. If he had a friend like you, he would even give up his position as leader to you."

Shi En added, "Not only would he let you be chief, he would also avenge you." At the word "avenge," Zhang Biao brightened, and he went up the mountain with them. We will set this aside for now.

Lady Luanxiao fainted away, and her parents kept watch at her bedside. The next day she suddenly turned over in bed. When Zhang Biao heard her utter the words "avenge the wrong," he brightened at once.