247 Strange Tales from Make-Do Studio

The Mural

While staying in the capital, Meng Lung-t'an of Kiangsi and Master of Letters Chu once happened upon a monastery. Neither the shrine-hall nor the meditation room was very spacious, and only one old monk was found putting up within. Seeing the guests enter, the monk straightened up his clothes, went to greet them, and showed them around the place. An image of Zen Master Pao-chih stood in the shrine-hall. On either side-wall were painted fine murals with lifelike human figures. The east wall depicted the Buddhist legend of "Heavenly Maidens Scattering Flowers." Among the figures was a young girl with flowing hair with a flower in her hand and a faint smile on her face. Her cherry-red lips were on the verge of moving, and the liquid pools of her eyes seemed to stir with wavelike glances. After gazing intently for some time, Chu's self-possession began to waver, and his thoughts grew so abstracted that he fell into a trance. His body went adrift as if floating on mist; suddenly he was inside the mural. Peak upon peak of palaces and pavilions made him feel, as if he was beyond this earth. An old monk was preaching the Dharma on a dais, around which stood a large crowd of viewers in robes with their right shoulders bared out of respect. Chu mingled in among them. Before long, he felt someone tugging furtively at his sleeve. He turned to look, and there was the girl with flowing hair giving him a dazzling smile. 1 She tripped abruptly away, and he lost no time following her along a winding | walkway into a small chamber. Once there, he hesitated to approach any farther. When she turned her head and raised the flower with a beckoning motion, he went across to her in the quiet, deserted chamber. Swiftly he embraced her and, as she did not put up much resistance, they grew intimate. When it was over she told him not to make a sound and left, closing the door behind her. That night she came again. After two days of this, the girl's companions realized what was happening and searched together until they found the scholar.

 "A little gentleman is already growing in your belly, but still you wear those flowing tresses, pretending to be a maiden," they said teasingly. Holding out hairpins and earrings, they pressured her to put her hair up in the coiled knot of a married woman, which she did in silent embarrassment. One of the girls said, "Sisters, let's not outstay our welcome." At this the group left all in a titter.

Looking at the soft, cloudlike chignon piled atop her head and her phoenix ringlets curved low before her ears, the scholar was more struck by her charms than when she had worn her hair long. Seeing that no one was around, he began to make free with her. His heart throbbed at her musky fragrance but, before they had quite finished their pleasure, the heavy tread of leather boots was heard. A clanking of chains and manacles was followed by clamorous, arguing voices. The girl got up in alarm. Peering out, they saw an officer dressed in armor, his face black as lacquer, with chains in one hand and a mace in the other. Standing around him were all the maidens. "Is this all of you?" asked the officer. "We're all here," they answered. "Report if any of you are concealing a man from the lower world. Don't bring trouble on your­selves." "We aren't," said the maidens in unison. The officer turned around and looked malevolently in the direction of the chamber, giving every appear­ance of an intention to search it. The girl's face turned pale as ashes in fear. "Quick, hide under the bed," she told Chu in panic. She opened a little door in the wall and was gone in an instant. Chu lay prostrate, hardly daring to take a little breath. Soon he heard the sound of boots stumping into, then back out of, the room. Before long, the din of voices gradually receded. He regained some composure, though the sound of passersby discussing the matter could be heard frequently outside the door. After cringing there for quite some time, he heard ringing in his ears and felt a burning ache in his eyes. Though the intensity of these sensations threatened to overwhelm him, there was no choice but to listen quietly for the girl's return. He was reduced to the point that he no longer recalled where he had been before coming here.

Just then his friend Meng Lung-fan, who had been standing in the shrine-hall, found that Chu had disappeared in the blink of an eye. Perplexed, he asked the monk what had happened. "He has gone to hear a sermon on the Dharma," said the monk laughingly. "Where?" asked Meng. "Not far," was the answer. After a moment, the monk tapped on the wall with his finger and called, "Why do you tarry so long, my good patron?" Presently there appeared on the wall an image of Chu standing motionless with his head cocked to one side as if listening to something. "You have kept your traveling companion waiting a long time," called the monk again. Thereupon he drifted out of the mural and down to the floor. He stood woodenly, his mind like burned-out ashes, with eyes staring straight ahead and legs wobbling. Meng was terribly frightened, but in time calmed down enough to ask what had happened, It turned out that Chu had been hiding under the bed when he heard a thun­derous knocking, so he came out of the room to listen for the source of the sound.

They looked at the girl holding the flower and saw, instead of flowing hair, a high coiled chignon on her head. Chu bowed down to the old monk in amazement and asked the reason for this. "Illusion is born in the mind. How can a poor mendicant like myself explain it?" laughed the monk. Chu was dispirited and cast down; Meng was shaken and confused. Together they walked down the shrine-hall steps and left.

The Chronicler of the Tales comments: " 'Illusion is born in the mind,' These sound like the words of one who has found the truth. A wanton mind gives rise to visions of lustfulness. The mind dominated by lust gives rise to a state of fear. The Bodhisattva made it possible for ignorant persons to attain realization for themselves. All the myriad transformations of illusion are nothing but the movements of the human mind itself. The old monk spoke in earnest solicitude, but regrettably there is no sign that the youth found enlightenment in his words and entered the mountains with hair unbound to seek the truth."

Translated by Denis C. Mair and Victor H. Mair

The Taoist of Lao Mountain

In our district lived scholar Wang, the seventh son of an old family. From youth onward he was attracted to Taoist arts. Hearing that immortals abounded on Lao Mountain, he packed his books on his back and set out there on an adventure. Climbing to the top of a peak, Wang came to a Taoist temple set in a wild, secluded spot. A Taoist with white hair hanging past his collar was sitting on a bast mat. He had about him an otherworldly air that was graceful and lofty. Scholar Wang made obeisance to him and struck up a conversation. The Taoist's talk impressed him as quite mysterious and subtle. Wang asked to be accepted as his disciple, to which he replied, "I am afraid you are too soft and lazy to work hard."

"Oh, but I can," answered Wang. The Taoist had a crowd of acolytes, all of whom came together at dusk. Having saluted each of them, Wang settled down in the hermitage.

At the crack of dawn the Taoist woke Wang, gave him an ax, and made him go to gather firewood with the others. Wang did exactly as he was told. After more than a month of this, his hands and feet had calluses on top of calluses. Unable to bear the toil, he nursed secret intentions of returning home. One evening on his return he saw two men drinking with his master. The sun had already set but no lamps or candles had yet been lit, so the master cut paper in the shape of a mirror and pasted it on the wall. Suddenly a light as bright as the moon's flooded the room, making the tiniest hairs visible. The acolytes in attendance ran back and forth at the guests' bidding. One of the guests said, "It's a beautiful night for good times. We ought to share them with everyone here." The Taoist picked up a pitcher of wine from the table and began to pour some for each acolyte, urging them to drink their fill. Wang thought to himself, "How can a pitcher of wine suffice for seven or eight people?" Each of them hunted up a drinking vessel. They vied to see who would be first to drain his cup. Their only fear was that the pitcher was empty, but when they went to pour from it again they were astonished to find that the wine had not gone down in the slightest. Soon another guest said, "You have been nice enough to give us moonlight to drink by, but there is still no entertainment. Why don't you call the goddess of the moon to come?" At this the Taoist tossed a chopstick into the moon and a beautiful woman appeared out of the circle of light. At first she was not even a foot tall, but she grew to normal size as she descended to the floor. Her slender waist and graceful neck moved through the fluttering gyrations of the Dance of the Rainbow Skirt and Feathered Blouse. To the tempo of the dance she sang,

Immortal of the mountains,

 Is it true you're bound for home?

Will you leave me all alone

 In this icy crystal dome?

Her silvery voice was as piercing as a flute. At the end of the song she arose with a sweeping motion, jumped up on the table and, in the space of an astonished glance, was already a chopstick again. The three men laughed bois­terously.

The other guest spoke up, "This evening has been wonderful, but the wine is getting the better of me. Would it be all right if we had a farewell drink in the palace of the moon?" The three men moved their mats and slowly floated into the moon. The acolytes saw the three seated in the moon drinking, their features distinct as reflections in a mirror. After a time the moon gradually dimmed. When the acolytes brought a lighted candle, they found the Taoist sitting alone, his guests nowhere to be seen. The delicacies on the table were just as before, and the moon on the wall was nothing more than a disk of paper,

"Did you have enough to drink?" the Taoist asked the acolytes.

"Enough," they said.

"Then you ought to go right to bed. Don't let this interfere with gathering wood and kindling."

The acolytes said "yes" and retired.

Wang's intention of leaving subsided out of heartfelt admiration. But after another month had passed the grinding toil became too much for him, and the Taoist would not pass on even a single magical technique. Unable to wait any longer, Wang took his leave, saying, "I came a hundred miles to study under such an immortal master as yourself. Even though I cannot learn the art of everlasting life, there may perhaps be some small skill you could impart that would appease my wish for learning. For the past two or three months all I have done is go out to gather wood in the morning and return in the evening. When I was at home, I was not used to this kind of hard work."

The Taoist answered with a laugh, "I said from the start that you would not be able to stand hard work, and you have proven me right. I will send you off tomorrow morning."

"I have labored for many days. If you could just impart some insignificant part of your art, my coming would not be in vain." The Taoist asked what art he hoped to learn.

Wang answered, "I have often noticed that walls are no hindrance to your free motion. I would be satisfied to learn the method of such magic."

The Taoist gave his assent with a laugh. Then he taught Wang the words of a spell and told him to chant it through by himself, at which he cried, "Go through." Wang faced the wall, not daring to walk into it. Again the Taoist cried, "Try to go through it!" Doing as he was told, Wang gingerly approached the wall, but it proved unyielding to his forward movement.

"Lower your head and go through quickly. Don't hold back," instructed the Taoist. So Wang backed several steps away from the wall and ran toward it, When he came to the wall it seemed not be there at all. Turning around to look, he found that he was already outside the building. Overjoyed, he went back in to thank his master. The Taoist said, "You must live chastely after your return, or the spell will not work." Then he gave Wang money for the trip home and sent him off.

Upon reaching home Wang boasted that he had met with an immortal and that now his power was such that no solid wall could stop him. His wife found this hard to believe. Wang stood several feet from a wall and ran headlong against it as he had done before, but this time his head smacked against the hard wall and he tumbled backward. His wife helped him up and looked at the goose egg rising moundlike on his forehead. Shamed but incited by her ridicule into a fury, he raved that the old Taoist was nothing but a reprobate.

The Chronicler of the Tales comments: "No one who hears of this incident can keep from laughing out loud, but those who laugh do not realize that the Scholar Wangs of this world are by no means few and far between. Take the case of a worthless official who would 'rather swallow poison than medicines.' A 'boil-sucking, hemorrhoid-licking' sort of person might cater to his wishes by advocating brutal, self-aggrandizing policies and inveigle him, saying, 'You need only adhere to such and such a policy—nothing will stand in your way.' The first time he tries, it might yield some small measure of success, thus giving him the idea that such policy can be applied to all cases under heaven. Those who are taken in by this will not stop until they run headlong into a solid wall and topple over backward."

Translated by Denis C. Mair and Victor H. Mair

The Cricket

During the Hsuan-te reign period (1426-1435) of the Ming dynasty, cricket-keeping was a popular amusement in the palace. The insects were levied annually from the populace. Live crickets were not originally a Shensi product until a magistrate in Hua-yin county who was anxious to win favor with his superiors presented one, which was tried in the ring and found to be an outstanding fighter. From then on Hua-yin county was charged with providing crickets to the court regularly. The magistrate delegated the responsibility to the headman in each ward. Young idlers in the marketplace kept the best of  them in cages, forcing prices up by cornering the market. Cunning ward administrators used this as an excuse to impose a head tax on the peasants. For every cricket that was requisitioned, several families were driven into bankruptcy.

In the district there was a man named Ch'eng Ming, a long unsuccessful

candidate for the Bachelor of Letters degree. The crafty ward administrator, seeing that Ch'eng was impractical and slow of speech, recommended him for the position of headman. Ch'eng made numerous futile attempts to free himself from the obligations of this office. Before a year had passed his meager resources were used up. Then came the cricket levy, Ch'eng did not dare collect money from the households, nor could he fulfill the duty out of his own funds. He was so despondent he wanted to kill himself.

"What good would killing yourself do?" said his wife. "It would be better to look for a cricket yourself. There is a slight chance you might find one."

This made sense to Ch'eng. He went out in the mornings, and returned at nightfall, bamboo pail and wire cage in hand, poking under stones and opening burrows amid crumbling walls and thick growths of grass. There was nothing he did not try, but it was no use. The few that he did manage to catch were too puny to fit the regulations. The magistrate's deadline was rigorously enforced, and he was given a total of a hundred strokes with a cane over a period of ten days. Blood and pus oozed from his buttocks and, what was worse, he was unable to go looking for the insects at all. He tossed and turned on his bed, his mind filled with thoughts of suicide.

It was then that a hunchbacked shamaness who performed divinations with the help of a spirit-familiar came to the village. Ch'eng's wife scraped up a sum of money and went to call on her. Smartly dressed young women and white-haired old ladies were milling around the door. Inside the house was a curtained-off sanctum, with an altar standing outside the curtain. Petitioners lit incense in the censer and kowtowed twice, while the shamaness stood to one side looking off into space and pronouncing an invocation for them, her lips contorted with unintelligible mutterings. Everyone stood stiffly listening until shortly a piece of paper, bearing a message that dealt with the petitioner's troubles, was thrown out from within the curtain. The messages were never off by a hair.

Ch'eng's wife placed her money on the table, lit incense, and kowtowed like those before. After the time it takes to eat a meal passed by, the curtain moved and a slip of paper was tossed out onto the ground. Picking it up, she saw not words but a drawing depicting a group of buildings, apparently those of a monastery. Behind it at the foot of a hill was a jumble of odd-looking boulders. There, at the edge of a dense bramble thicket, couched a shiny black cricket. Beside it was a toad that seemed to be on the point of leaping. She spread the drawing out and pored over it, unable to make out its meaning. Still, the cricket was just what she had been looking for. She folded the paper up, tucked it away, and took it back to show Ch'eng who, after much reflection, wondered if the picture were not telling him where to hunt for a cricket. Careful scrutiny of the scene in the drawing revealed a close resem­blance to the Great Buddha Abbey east of the village.

Ch'eng dragged himself out of bed, propped himself up with a cane and proceeded, drawing in hand, to the rear of the monastery. The overgrown ruins of an ancient tomb stood before him. Following the edge of the tomb, he saw boulders squatting one on top of the other like fish scales, precisely as in the drawing. He walked slowly through a jungle of weeds, cocking his head to catch the slightest sound and looking for all the world as if he were searching for a needle or a mustard seed. He could no longer maintain the intentness of eyes, ears, and mind, but he had not yet seen or heard a cricket. He was still groping about, when suddenly to his great amazement a wart-headed toad leaped from underfoot. He stayed close behind it as it ducked into a dense growth of grass. He stepped gingerly into the grass, spreading the blades apart with his hands to get a better look. There, crouching at the base of a bramble-bush was an insect. He hurriedly grabbed for it, but it ducked into a hole in the stones. He poked at it with a sharp blade of grass, but it

would not come out. Finally, by pouring water from his bucket into the hole, he was able to flush the robust-looking cricket out. He gave chase and caught it. A closer look showed it to have a thick torso, a long tail, a blue-green neck, and metallic wings. Great was Ch'eng's joy as he put it in the cage and returned home.

The whole family rejoiced as if he had found a treasure more precious than the legendary piece of jade worth fifteen cities. They put it in a basin and nourished it on crabmeat and chestnuts, going to every extreme to give it the best of care. They planned to keep it until the deadline, when Ch'eng would use it to discharge his official duty.

But one day Ch'eng's nine-year-old son, seeing that his father was out, furtively lifted the lid off the basin. The cricket hopped straight out, so quickly that the boy could not grab it. He jumped and caught it in his hand, breaking off a leg and cracking its abdomen. In a few short moments it was dead. The terrified boy ran crying to tell his mother. Her face paled to the hue of ashes at what she heard.

"A bad seed, that's what you are!" she cursed him loudly. "Your day of doom will not be long now! When your father comes home he'll settle accounts with you." The boy ran out sniveling. Ch'eng soon returned. When his wife told him what had happened, it was as if a heap of freezing snow had been dumped on his head. He called angrily for his son but the boy was nowhere to be seen. Soon afterward, they found his body in a well. Ch'eng's rage turned to sorrow. Stricken half-dead with grief, he struck his head on the ground and cried out to heaven. Husband and wife went inside and each turned their sobbing faces toward separate comers. No cooking fire was lit in their thatched hut that night. They had come to their wit's end and could only stare dumbly at one another. As the day drew to an end, they prepared to wrap their son in a grass mat for burial. Touching him, they found that he was now breathing haltingly. Joyfully they placed him on the bed. In the middle of the night he regained consciousness, which relieved his parents somewhat, but his breath came in gasps and he had the vacant look of a sleepwalker. Looking at the empty cricket cage was enough to rob them of breath and make their voices die in their throats, but they dared not question their son again. Their eyes did not close for the whole night. When the sun in the east began its course through the heavens they lay down stiffly, brooding sleeplessly.

Suddenly there was a chirping outside their door. They got up in amazement to observe; there was the cricket looking as sound as ever. Jumping for joy, they ran to catch it, but it gave a chirp and hopped rapidly away. Ch'eng covered it with a cupped hand, but he seemed to have grasped nothing but thin air. As soon as he lifted his hand, the cricket leaped swiftly out from under it. He followed it closely, but lost it when it rounded the comer of a wall. As he walked about distractedly, looking all around him, he saw a cricket crouching on the wall. A careful look showed that it was short, small, and reddish-black in color—certainly not the one he had been chasing. It was worthless to him because of its small size. He went on walking aimlessly and staring in all directions for the one he had been chasing. All of a sudden the little cricket jumped off the wall and landed on the side of his robe. It was built like a mole cricket, with finely veined wings, a square head, and long neck. It impressed him as a good specimen, so he was glad to keep it. His plan was to present it at the yamen, but the thought that it might not meet the magistrate's expectations made him shudder, so he decided to observe how it would perform in a fight.

A young man known as a busybody in the village was keeping a cricket which he had named Crabshell Blue. He matched it daily with the crickets of other young men, and it always emerged victorious. He was holding onto it until he could turn a nice profit, but nobody would pay the high price he asked. One day this young man went to Ch'eng's house for a visit. Seeing the cricket Ch'eng was keeping, he had to stifle a laugh with his hand. He took out his cricket and put it into the cage. Ch'eng was discomfited at the sight of its huge build. He dared not pick up the gauntlet, but the young man insisted. It occurred to Ch'eng that keeping an inferior specimen would be useless anyway, and that he might as well set his cricket against the other for a laugh. Both insects were placed in a fighting basin. The small one crouched motionless, looking as foolish as a wooden chicken.2 The young man guffawed once more as he used a boar bristle to poke at the cricket's antennae. Still it did not move, provoking the young man into another burst of laughter. He prodded it repeatedly. The insect exploded with rage and ran at its opponent, They attacked one another with flying leaps, rousing themselves to battle with defiant chirps. In an instant the small cricket jumped up, its antennae and tail stiffly erect, and bit down on its opponent's neck. The frightened young man pulled them apart and put an end to the fight. The small cricket drew itself up and chirped proudly, as if it were reporting victory to its master.

Ch'eng was overjoyed. As he and his guests were admiring the winner, a chicken caught sight of it, ran over, and delivered a peck at the small cricket. Ch'eng stood there numb with dread and cried out in alarm. Luckily the chicken's beak had missed its mark; the cricket leaped a foot and some inches away. The chicken lunged forward and bore down upon it. Before Ch'eng could come to its rescue, the insect was under the chicken's claws; he turned pale and stamped his feet helplessly. But in the next moment he saw the chicken stretching its neck and Buttering about. Much to his amazed delight, upon closer inspection he found the cricket hanging tenaciously onto the fowl's comb. He picked it up, put it in its cage, and presented it to the magistrate the next day.

The magistrate berated Ch'eng angrily for bringing such a puny cricket, nor was he convinced by Ch'eng's account of the cricket's extraordinary prowess. The cricket was tried in the ring against others of its kind: all were vanquished. When it was tried against a chicken, the outcome confirmed Ch'eng's story. The magistrate thereupon rewarded him and presented the cricket to the provincial governor. The governor, greatly delighted, presented it to the em­peror in a golden cage along with a memorial detailing its abilities.

After the champion was taken into the palace, all sorts of unusual crickets, such as "butterflies," "mantises," "oily beaters," and "silky green foreheads" were tried against it, but none could get the better of it. When it heard the music of lutes and zithers it hopped to the beat, which made people marvel at it all the more. The emperor was so pleased that he called for the provincial governor and gave him thoroughbred horses and satins for clothing. The governor did not forget the source of his good fortune; before long word was going around that the magistrate was an "outstanding" official. The delighted magistrate released Ch'eng from his duties as headman and instructed the civil examiner to grant him admission to the district academy.

A little more than a year later Ch'eng's son regained his faculties, claiming that he had been transformed into an agile, combative cricket and that today his soul had finally reentered his body. The provincial governor rewarded Ch'eng generously. Within a few years Ch'eng possessed fifteen hundred acres of fields; pavilions and storied buildings in such number that thousands of rafters had been used to roof them over; and sheep and horses numbering in the hundreds. The furs he wore and the horses he rode when he went out could not have been equaled by an aristocratic family.

The Chronicler of the Tales comments: "The emperor may use something once on a whim and give it no more thought, but for the people who carry out his wishes it becomes a fixed article of tribute. With the greed of officials and the cruelty of administrators on top of this, there is no end to hardships which make peasants give up their wives and sell their children. Thus, every time the emperor takes a step, the lives of the people are affected. There is no room for carelessness. Ch'eng's case was unique: after being reduced to poverty by the depradations of corrupt officials, a cricket brought him wealth enough to go about flaunting furs and fine horses. Back in the days when he was beaten for failing to fulfill his duties as headman, how could he have foreseen that such a fortune was in store for him? Heaven made the provincial governor and magistrate enjoy the benefits of the cricket's favor as a means of rewarding one man's honesty. When the Taoist master in the old story perfected the elixir and rose to heaven, immortality redounded even to his dogs and chick­ens. There is much truth in this!"

Translated by Denis C. Mair and Victor H. Mair

Rouge

Old Pien of Tung-ch'ang, a veterinarian by profession, had an intelligent, beautiful daughter whose childhood name was Rouge. Her father intended to find a mate from an esteemed family for his beloved, precious girl, but noblemen were too proud to connect themselves with him, for they despised his low rank and lack of means. Thus the girl reached hairpin age without being spoken for.

The wife of the Kung family across the street, nee Wang, was a capricious, madcap sort who often spent time conversing in the girl's chamber. One day, while seeing her friend to the door, the girl caught sight of a passing young man, commandingly handsome in his white gown and hat. She must have found him distracting, judging from the way the rippling glances of her eyes lingered after him. The young man lowered his head and hastened away. The girl's gaze remained fixed on him as he dwindled in the distance. Wang saw what was on her mind and poked fun at her: "With ability and looks like yours, young lady, I am sure there would be no regrets if you could be matched with such a man." A tinge of red spread over the girl's cheeks. She said nothing, but her pulse quickened.

"Do you know that gentleman?" asked Wang.

"No, I don't," she answered.

"That's Bachelor of Letters E Autumn-Falcon from South Lane, son of the late Exemplar. I used to live in his neighborhood, so I know him. No man in this world is as kind and gentle as he is. He's in plain dress now because t mourning period for his wife is not yet over. If you are willing I will carry a message telling him to send a matchmaker."

The girl did not speak. Wang went away laughing. Several days passed with no news. She surmised that Wang had not yet found time to pay a visit, and she also doubted if the son of an official would care to stoop and pick up what was left in his way. She whiled way her time despondently, suffering from thoughts that would not go away, till melancholy deprived her of appetite and rest. It was then that Wang came to see her and demanded to know the reason for her illness.

"I don't know myself," was her answer. "But since the last day you saw

I've been restless and depressed. I'm living from breath to breath. It will be all over any day now."

Wang lowered her voice: "My husband hasn't gotten back from his selling trip yet: there is nobody to get the word to young E. Is that what is making you ill?"

The girl's face was crimson for a good while. Wang joked: "So that's what it's about. Now that you are in this condition, why bother about scruples? Have him come spend a night with you first. You don't think he'll turn you down, do you?"

"Things have gotten to the point that I can't play coy," said the girl. "If only he could see far enough past my poverty and low rank to send a match­maker over, my illness would be cured. But if it takes having a rendezvous with him, I simply won't do it!"

Wang nodded and left. In her younger days she had been involved with a young man named Su Chieh who lived next door. Now that she was married, Su continued relations with her, watching for times when her husband was elsewhere. Su happened to come this same night, so Wang amused him by repeating what the girl had said, and jokingly instructed him to relay the message to young E. Su, who had known of the girl's beauty long before, was glad to hear this, because of the opportunity it left open to him. He thought of discussing his plans with Wang but then reconsidered, fearing her jealousy. And so he plied her with seemingly disinterested questions to learn exactly where the girl's chamber was in the house.

The next night he climbed in over the wall, went right to the girl's room, and tapped on a window with his finger.

"Who is it?" came a voice from inside.

"It's E," he replied.

"I want you for a lifetime, not for a single night. If you really love me, the only right thing to do is send a matchmaker soon. If you're talking about a secret affair I am afraid I can't satisfy your wishes."

Su pretended to agree and beseeched her to let him hold her delicate wrist as a pledge of trust. The girl felt too sorry for him to overdo her refusal, and so used all her strength to push the door open. Su darted in, embraced her, and begged for joy. Lacking the strength to resist him, she fell to the ground, her breath coming in unconnected gasps. Su pulled her arm impatiently.

"What corner did you crawl out of, you scum? You couldn't be Master E. If you were E and knew the cause of my illness, you would be kind and considerate like him and feel pity for me, instead of acting like a brute. If you keep behaving this way I'll be forced to scream. It won't do either of us any good to have our good names ruined!"

Fearing that his deception would be uncovered, Su dared not force himself on her any further, so he only asked to meet her again. The girl set the bride-welcoming as the time for their next meeting. Su thought that was too long to wait and asked again. The girl, fed up with his clinging, asked him to wait for her recovery. Su begged her to give him a token of remembrance, but she would not, and so he grabbed her by the leg, pulled off her embroidered slipper, and left.

The girl called him back, saying: "I've already promised myself to you: why should I grudge you anything? My only fear is that 'the tiger might be painted to look like a god.' We could become the objects of vile slander because of this. Now you are holding part of my intimate wardrobe in your hand. I see no hope of getting it back. If you betray me, death is my only way out."

After Su left he went to stay the night at Wang's place. He lay down in bed, but he could not stop thinking of the slipper. He furtively fumbled in his robe and was shocked to find that it was not there. He jumped up, turned the lampshade, then shook his clothes and felt around on the floor. He turned to ask Wang, who wouldn't answer his questions, so he began to wonder if she ' had hidden it. She laughed deliberately to heighten his suspicions. Su could i not keep it to himself any longer; he told her the truth. When his story was finished he went over every inch of ground outside the gate, candle in hand,  but still it did not turn up. He went back to bed greatly annoyed, cheering himself with the thought that nobody was out this late at night and if he had dropped the slipper it would still be in the street. He got up early in the morning and searched for it, but it was still nowhere to be found.

Now there lived on the same street a shiftless vagrant named Mao the Elder, who had once made futile advances to Wang. Knowing that Su was | having an affair with her, he had the notion to catch them in a compromising situation so that he could make demands. Walking by her gate this same night, he found it unlocked and slipped inside. Just outside the window he, stepped on something soft and cottony. He picked it up to look: it was a woman's slipper wrapped in a handkerchief. Eavesdropping at the window, he heard Su give a complete account of his evening. Mao congratulated himself, on his good luck as he crept away.         '                          

Several evenings later he climbed the wall and entered the girl's house. | Being unfamiliar with the layout, he blundered into the old man's quarters.  The old man looked out the window and saw a man who, judging from the  sounds and movements he made, had evidently come for his daughter. Rage swelled in the old man's heart as he rushed out, knife in hand. Mao turned in great fright and ran. He was about to climb the wall, but old Pien was close behind. In desperation at having nowhere to run, he turned around and wrenched the blade away. Behind them the old woman let out a loud scream.

Unable to free himself from the old man's grip, Mao put an end to him. The girl, who by this time had recovered somewhat from her illness, was roused up by the noise. Everyone went to the scene with candles; the old man's skull was split and he had lost the power of speech. In a short while he was no longer of this world. An embroidered slipper was found beneath the wall, and the old woman could see that it belonged to Rouge. When force was applied the girl sobbed out the truth. Not being hardhearted enough to implicate Wang, she claimed that young E had come on his own.

At daybreak charges were brought before the district court. The magistrate had E taken into custody. E was a quiet, reserved person, nineteen years of age, who got flustered like a child in the presence of strangers. Being arrested frightened him out of his wits. He lacked the presence of mind to defend himself in the courtroom. All he did was tremble, which gave the magistrate all the more reason to accept the truth of the accusations. He put the finger-vise and cane to brutal use: the pain was more than a bookishly inclined person could stand, and in this way a confession was wrung out of E. Afterward he was transported to the prefectural court, where he received as many floggings as he had in the district.

Young E was consumed with outrage. Over and over he wished for the chance to confront Rouge and demand the truth, but when they did meet she vilified him with such fury he was tongue-tied and could not state his own case, with the result that he was sentenced to death. None of the numerous officials he was sent back and forth to for further hearings opposed the sen­tence.

Finally the case was referred to Tsinan prefecture for a confirmatory decision. At that time Master Wu Nan-tai was the prefect of Tsinan. One look at young E was enough to make him doubt that this man was a murderer. Wu secretly sent a person to question him informally and considerately so that he could say his piece. The result convinced Wu that E had been unjustly accused. He spent a few days before the hearing devising a strategy.

First he asked Rouge: "Was anyone aware that you had agreed to a meeting?"

"No one," was the answer.

"Was anyone else present when you first saw young E?"

"No one."

Wu then called E to the stand and reassured him in kind tones. The scholar testified without being asked: "Once, when I was walking past her gate, I noticed my former neighbor Wang coming out of the doorway with this young woman. I quickened my steps right away to get past them. Since then I have not spoken so much as a word to her."

Master Wu roared at the girl: "You just said that nobody was with you. What was the neighbor woman doing there?" He ordered his men to prepare the instruments of interrogation.

"Wang was there," said the girl in fright. "But she really had nothing to do with him."

Master Wu adjourned the hearing and gave an order to arrest Wang. She was brought in a few days later and forbidden any communication with the girl. Wu resumed the hearing immediately.

"Who is the killer?" he asked Wang.

"I don't know."

Then Master Wu laid a trap for her, saying: "Rouge has testified that you were familiar with the man who killed old Pien. Are you trying to conceal that fact?"

"It's a lie," wailed the woman. "The cheap chambermaid got all worked up over this man. I may have said something about acting as matchmaker, but I was only joking with her. How was I to know that she would lure a lover onto her property?"

Master Wu had to question her in detail before she would repeat what she had said jokingly on that and later occasions. He called Rouge to the stand and thundered: "You claimed she did not know a thing. Now she testifies that she was going to have you two introduced. Why is that?"

"My foolishness caused my father's cruel death," the girl wailed tearfully. "Who knows how many years it will take before this case is concluded? On top of that, I have involved other people. I just can't bear it."

Master Wu asked Wang: "After you had made those jokes, did you tell anyone about them?"

"I did not," Wang testified.

"There is nothing that a husband and wife don't talk about in bed," thundered Master Wu. "How can you say that you didn't?"

"My husband was away on a long trip," Wang testified.

"That may well be, but playing a joke on someone is invariably a matter of mocking another's dullness in order to show off one's own intelligence. Who do you think you can fool by claiming that you didn't tell anyone?" He ordered the use of finger-vises on all ten fingers.

The woman had no choice. "I told Su about it," she admitted.

Then Master Wu released E and had Su arrested. When Su was brought into court he testified: "I don't know."

"Anyone who sues for the favor of a whore is not a proper gentleman!"

A severe beating was all it took to make Su admit. "It's true that I tricked the girl, but after I lost the slipper I didn't dare go back. I swear that I know nothing of the murder."

"A man who would climb over a wall is capable of anything!" Again Master Wu had Su beaten. Unable to stand up to the torture, Su finally accepted the blame.

The confession was written up and reported to Wu's superiors. There was not one who did not praise Master Wu's perspicuity. It was an irrevocable case—as settled as a mountain—so there was nothing left for Su but to crane his neck and watch as the day of execution drew near. Still, even though Su was reckless and ill-behaved, he was a widely known intellectual in the eastern region. He had heard of the civil examiner Master Shih Yi-shan's superior ability as well as his fondness and solicitude for scholars of talent, so he complained of the wrong done to him in a touching and sorrowful petition. Master Shih reviewed his confession, poring over it again and again, and struck his desk, saying: "This young man has been wronged!"

Then Master Shih applied to the administrative and judicial authorities of the province for permission to hold another hearing.

He asked Su: "Where did you lose the shoe?"

"I don't remember," answered Su. "But it was still in my sleeve when I knocked on Wang's gate."

Shih then proceeded to question Wang: "How many lovers do you have besides Su Chieh?"

"I have none."

"Why should a promiscuous woman restrict herself to one man?" asked Master Shih.

"I was involved with Su Chieh since childhood," she testified. "That is why I could not break it off. It wasn't that no one made advances to me after that, but I really didn't care to accept them."

Shih told her to name such a man in order to substantiate her claim.

"Mao the Elder of my neighborhood made repeated advances; I refused him every time," she testified.

"How is it that you've become so chaste and pure all of a sudden?" asked Master Shih. He ordered his men to beat her. The woman bumped her forehead on the floor until blood ran to protest her innocence, so he let her go. Then he resumed his questioning: "When your husband was far away, weren't there men who came claiming to have business with him?"

"There were. I let So-and-so A and So-and-so B into my house a few times to borrow money or leave gifts."

Actually A and B were idlers living in the same alley who had designs on Wang without being able to realize them. Master Shih had their names entered in the record and ordered them into court. When they were rounded up, Master Shih had them taken to the temple of the city god [along with Mao the Elder], where they were [all] made to kneel before the altar. Then he told them: "A short while ago a spirit came to me in a dream and told me that one of you is the murderer. There can be no lying now that you are before the all-knowing god. If you give yourself up, there is still the possibility of forgive­ness. If you speak falsely, there will be no pardon once the truth is out."

All of them claimed with one voice that they had not committed murder. The judge had wooden cangues, manacles, and fetters laid out on the ground and was about to have them put on the suspects. Their hair was to be knotted atop their heads and they were to be stripped naked. All howled at the injustice of this harsh treatment. The judge ordered them untied and said, "Since you won't confess, I will have ghosts and spirits point out the murderer."

He had his men screen off all the windows in the main hall with blankets of felt, making sure that there was not the slightest crack of light. Then he had the suspects' shirts pulled down to expose their backs and drove them into the dark, where they were given a basin of water to wash their hands. That done, he had them tied near the wall and warned them: "Keep your face toward the wall and do not move. The god will write a sign on the back of whichever one of you is the murderer."

Before long he called them out for inspection, then pointed at Mao, saying;

"This is the murderer!"

Actually the judge had told his men to smear ashes on the wall beforehand and put soot into the water in which they washed their hands. The murderer, afraid that the god would come to write on him, got ashes on his back by pressing it against the wall. On the way out he tried to protect his back with his hands, thus smearing it with soot. Master Shih's previous suspicions of Mao the Elder were confirmed. With the application of ruthless torture, Mao spat out the whole truth.

Master Shih's verdict was as follows:

Regarding Su Chieh: This man flirted with death like P'en-ch'eng K'uo, and he nearly rivals Teng T'u-tzu for lechery. On the strength of a childish infatuation, he made a wild duck out of a household fowl. When the uttering of a few ill-placed words moved the conqueror of Lung to hanker after Shu, he climbed unwanted over a garden wall and swooped down like a falcon. Fancying himself an irresistible magnet to fairy maidens, he proceeded to the mouth of Rouge's grotto and finally wheedled her door open. By disturbing a lady's girdle sash, he aroused a shaggy dog. Even a rat has skin on its face, but this man had no idea of shame. He clambered after flowers, snapping off branches on the way. A man of such low conduct does not deserve the name of scholar. It was a saving grace that he heeded the feeble sparrow's cries; he had the heart to spare this piece of unblemished jade. Out of pity for her willowy frailness, he did not go wild like a March-mad oriole, but released the fledgling phoenix from his grasp, as any man of learning should. Regrettably, he wrested a fragrant token from beneath her petticoat, proving how truly worthless he was! That same night a different butterfly flitted over his lovers wall. A pair of ears lurked outside the bedroom window. The petal torn from the lotus was dropped on the ground and lost, and so it was that falsehood sprang up within falsehood. Who could imagine that a second injustice would lie beyond the first! Heaven sent calamity down upon our Su Chieh—a vicious beating to the edge of death. His own wrongdoing caught up with him, and his head and body nearly ended up in different places. Climbing walls and tunneling through cracks is a strain on a scholar's cap, but when a peach-boring insect tries to infect a plum tree, the fumes of injustice are not easily blown clean. Thus it is proper to show some leniency: we will spare Su Chieh the rod, to make up for the cruel pain he has already suffered, and open for him the road to self-renewal by demoting him to black robes.

Now as for Mao the Elder, that idle, weaselly ruffian of the marketplace:

Though he met with a refusal from his neighbor girl as curt as a shuttle thrown in his face, his lustful intentions would still not die. He bided his time until a flippant young man slipped into the alley, and then a bright idea occurred to his devious mind. Later, outside an open sliding door, another wind blew his way, and he imagined himself going to meet his beloved. He was looking for home-brew, and caught the scent of fine wine. His delusions were like the heady fumes of an aphrodisiac perfume. How was he to know that his strength would be sapped by heaven, and his spirit would be carried off by ghosts? He got his log raft and rode the silvery waters straight toward the Moon Palace. He floated along in his fisherman's boat, thinking he knew the way to Peach-blossom Spring. In the end his passionate flames were doused by a tidal wave in the sea of desire. With an unlooked-for knife coming straight at him, he lashed out, as robbers often do when backed against a wall. Even a cornered rabbit will use its teeth in desperation. He landed in this fix because he thought jumping the wall into someone else's courtyard would be as easy as "Mr. Li wearing Mr. Chang's hat." Because he dropped the slipper while wrenching away the weapon, the fish swam through the net while a goose was caught. It hardly seems possible that an event so demonic should arise on the path of romance. How could a banshee like this exist in the land of warmth and softness? Mao the Elder's head shall be severed from his neck for the gratification of all.

Now as for Rouge: This girl has not yet been spoken for, though she is already of hairpin age. A fairy maiden straight from the Moon Palace should naturally have a bridegroom like jade. A member of the Rainbow Skirt Dancers can rest assured that a golden house awaits her. Now the mating cry of the osprey arouses her longing for a perfect mate; the time has come for Mistress Spring to wrap her up in dreams. Thinking of a likely gentleman, she resents the falling plum-blossoms, and her soul goes out of her body in search of love. However beautiful other women may be, they cannot be compared to Rouge. No matter how fierce the other taloned birds may be, they all take wing at the sight of Autumn-Falcon.

A single entangling thread caused a horde of demons to converge upon this lovely girl. Once the lotus slipper was plucked away, the petal's fragrance was hard to keep. Intruders at the iron threshold nearly smashed a precious gem.

  Just as the red dots inlaid in dice are etched by tears of disappointment, a love that is felt to the bone can be a gateway to disaster. An upright tree succumbed to the ax, and a sweet young thing became a "swamp of perdition." But she guarded her dignity, and luckily her white jade remains unflawed. She writhed in his grasp, glad for the brocade quilt that covered her. She is admirable for refusing an intruder who was already in her room. By remaining pure and clean, she has proven herself to be a person of character. Fulfilling her wish to throw her bouquet would be an elegant closing chapter to this romance. I trust the district magistrate will play the part of matchmaker.

After the case was settled, this verdict was spread and recited far and wide. The girl did not know that she had wrongfully blamed Young E until after Master Wu's hearing. When they met outside the hall, she sniffled guiltily, as if she had words of remorse in mind but could not yet speak out. The young man, touched by her regard, began to feel strongly toward her. But the thought of her humble origins, along with her daily appearances in court where a thousand people had pointed and leered at her, made him fear he would be ridiculed for marrying her. He brooded night and day, but could not make up his mind. The words of the verdict when it was finally delivered put him at his ease. The district magistrate had the betrothal gifts sent to the girl's house on his behalf and furnished music for the wedding procession.

  The Chronicler of the Tales comments: "How great the need for caution is in hearing legal cases! Even if one could know that the plum tree was damaged wrongfully, who would think that the peach as well was decimated by mistake? Still, even the most obscure matter must have openings that let light through. Without careful thought and shrewd observation these cannot be traced. What a regret it is that people admire the wise man's brilliant resolution of a court case, while they fail to recognize the painstaking efforts of a master mind. In this world people who hold positions of authority fritter away whole days playing chess and cancel their morning audiences so as to stay beneath silken covers, never bothering their heads about the sentiments or hardships of the people. When the drums sound the opening of magisterial sessions, they sit high and mighty on the bench, silencing those who cry out for justice by slapping them into irons. Small wonder that so many injustices are hidden from the light of day!"

Translated by Denis C. Mair and Victor H. Mair