Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio, Vol. 2 (of 2)-7

Mr. T‘ang P‘ing, who took the highest degree in the

year 1661, was suffering from a protracted illness, when

suddenly he felt, as it were, a warm glow rising from his

extremities upwards. By the time it had reached his

knees, his feet were perfectly numb and without sensation;

and before long his knees and the lower part of

his body were similarly affected. Gradually this glow

worked its way up until it attacked the heart,[305] and

then some painful moments ensued. Every single incident

of Mr. T‘ang’s life from his boyhood upwards, no

matter how trivial, seemed to surge through his mind,

borne along on the tide of his heart’s blood. At the

revival of any virtuous act of his, he experienced a

delicious feeling of peace and calm; but when any

wicked deed passed before his mind, a painful disturbance

took place within him, like oil boiling and fretting

in a cauldron. He was quite unable to describe the

pangs he suffered; however, he mentioned that he could

recollect having stolen, when only seven or eight years

old, some young birds from their nest, and having killed

them; and for this alone, he said, boiling blood rushed

through his heart during the space of an ordinary mealtime.

Then when all the acts of his life had passed one

after another in panorama before him, the warm glow

proceeded up his throat, and, entering the brain, issued

out at the top of his head like smoke from a chimney.

By-and-by Mr. T‘ang’s soul escaped from his body by

the same aperture, and wandered far away, forgetting all

about the tenement it had left behind. Just at that

moment a huge giant came along, and, seizing the soul,

thrust it into his sleeve, where it remained cramped and

confined, huddled up with a crowd of others, until

existence was almost unbearable. Suddenly Mr. T‘ang

reflected that Buddha alone could save him from this

horrible state, and forthwith he began to call upon his

holy name.[306] At the third or fourth invocation he fell

out of the giant’s sleeve, whereupon the latter picked

him up and put him back; but this happened several

times, and at length the giant, wearied of picking him

up, let him lie where he was. The soul lay there for

some time, not knowing in which direction to proceed;

however, it soon recollected that the land of Buddha

was in the west, and westwards accordingly it began to

shape its course. In a little while the soul came upon a

Buddhist priest sitting by the roadside, and, hastening

forwards, respectfully inquired of him which was the

right way. “The record of life and death for scholars,”

replied the priest, “is in the hands of Wên-ch‘ang[307] and

Confucius; any application must receive the consent of

both.” The priest then directed Mr. T‘ang on his way,

and the latter journeyed along until he reached a

Confucian temple, in which the Sage was sitting with

his face to the south.[308] On hearing his business, Confucius

referred him on to Wên-ch‘ang; and, proceeding

onwards in the direction indicated, Mr. T‘ang by-and-by

arrived at what seemed to be the palace of a king,

within which sat Wên-ch‘ang, precisely as we depict him

on earth. “You are an upright man,” replied the God,

in reply to Mr. T‘ang’s prayer, “and are certainly

entitled to a longer span of life; but by this time

your mortal body has become decomposed, and unless

you can secure the assistance of P‘u-sa,[309] I can give you

no aid.” So Mr. T‘ang set off once more, and hurried

along until he came to a magnificent shrine standing in a

thick grove of tall bamboos; and, entering in, he stood

in the presence of the God, on whose head was the

ushnisha,[310] whose golden face was round like the full

moon, and at whose side was a green willow-branch

bending gracefully over the lip of a vase. Humbly Mr.

T‘ang prostrated himself on the ground, and repeated

what Wên-ch‘ang had said to him; but P‘u-sa seemed to

think it would be impossible to grant his request, until

one of the Lohans[311] who stood by cried out, “O God,

Thou canst perform this miracle: take earth and make

his flesh; take a sprig of willow and make his bones.”

Thereupon P‘u-sa broke off a piece from the willow-branch

in the vase beside him; and, pouring a little of

the water upon the ground, he made clay, and, casting

the whole over Mr. T‘ang’s soul, bade an attendant lead

the body back to the place where his coffin was. At that

instant Mr. T‘ang’s family heard a groan proceeding from

within his coffin, and, on rushing to it and helping out

the lately-deceased man, they found he had quite recovered.

He had then been dead seven days.

[312]

At I-chow there lived a high official named Sung,

whose family were all ardent supporters of Fêng-Shui;

so much so, that even the women-folk read books[313] on the

subject, and understood the principles of the science.

When Mr. Sung died, his two sons set up separate

establishments,[314] and each invited to his own house

geomancers from far and near, who had any reputation

in their art, to select a spot for the dead man’s grave.

By degrees, they had collected together as many as a

hundred a-piece, and every day they would scour the

country round, each at the head of his own particular

regiment. After about a month of this work, both sides

had fixed upon a suitable position for the grave; and

the geomancers engaged by one brother, declared that

if their spot was selected he would certainly some day

be made a marquis, while the other brother was similarly

informed, by his geomancers, that by adopting their

choice he would infallibly rise to the rank of Secretary

of State. Thus, neither brother would give way to the

other, but each set about making the grave in his own

particular place,—pitching marquees, and arranging

banners, and making all necessary preparations for the

funeral. Then when the coffin arrived at the point where

roads branched off to the two graves, the two brothers,

each leading on his own little army of geomancers, bore

down upon it with a view to gaining possession of the

corpse. From morn till dewy eve the battle raged; and

as neither gained any advantage over the other, the

mourners and friends, who had come to witness the

ceremony of burial, stole away one by one; and the

coolies, who were carrying the coffin, after changing the

poles from one shoulder to another until they were

quite worn out, put the body down by the roadside, and

went off home. It then became necessary to make

some protection for the coffin against the wind and rain;

whereupon the elder brother immediately set about

building a hut close by, in which he purposed leaving

some of his attendants to keep guard; but he had no

sooner begun than the younger brother followed his

example; and when the elder built a second and third,

the younger also built a second and third; and as this

went on for the space of three whole years, by the end of

that time the place had become quite a little village.

By-and-by, both brothers died, one directly after the

other; and then their two wives determined to cast

to the winds the decision of each party of geomancers.

Accordingly, they went together to the two spots in

question; and after inspecting them carefully, declared

that neither was suitable. The next step was to jointly

engage another set of geomancers, who submitted for

their approval several different spots, and ten days had

hardly passed away before the two women had agreed

upon the position for their father-in-law’s grave, which,

as the wife of the younger brother prophesied, would

surely give to the family a high military degree. So the

body was buried, and within three years Mr. Sung’s

eldest grandson, who had entered as a military cadet,

actually took the corresponding degree to a literary

master of arts.

[“Fêng-Shui,” adds the great commentator I Shih-shih, “may

or may not be based upon sound principles; at any rate, to indulge

a morbid belief in it is utter folly; and thus to join issue and fight

while a coffin is relegated to the roadside, is hardly in accordance

with the doctrines of filial piety or fraternal love. Can people

believe that mere position will improve the fortunes of their family?

At any rate, that two women should have thus quietly settled the

matter is certainly worthy of record.”]

There was a man in our village who led an exceedingly

disreputable life. One morning when he got up

rather early, two men appeared, and led him away to

the market-place, where he saw a butcher hanging up

half a pig. As they approached, the two men shoved

him with all their might against the dead animal, and

lo! his own flesh began to blend with the pork before

him, while his conductors hurried off in an opposite

direction. By-and-by the butcher wanted to sell a piece

of his meat; and seizing a knife, began to cut off the

quantity required. At every touch of the blade our

disreputable friend experienced a severe pang, which

penetrated into his very marrow; and when, at length,

an old man came and haggled over the weight given

him, crying out for a little bit more fat, or an extra

portion of lean,[315] then, as the butcher sliced away the

pork ounce by ounce, the pain was unendurable in the

extreme. By about nine o’clock the pork was all sold,

and our hero went home, whereupon his family asked

him what he meant by staying in bed so late.[316] He then

narrated all that had taken place, and on making inquiries,

they found that the pork-butcher had only just

come home; besides which our friend was able to tell

him every pound of meat he had sold, and every slice

he had cut off. Fancy a man being put to the lingering

death[317] like this before breakfast!

Wang Tzŭ-ngan was a Tung-ch‘ang man, and a

scholar of some repute, but unfortunate at the public

examinations. On one occasion, after having been up

for his master’s degree, his anxiety was very great; and

when the time for the publication of the list drew near,

he drank himself gloriously tipsy, and went and lay

down on the bed. In a few moments a man rushed in,

and cried out, “Sir! you have passed!” whereupon

Wang jumped up, and said, “Give him ten strings of

cash.”[318] Wang’s wife, seeing he was drunk, and wishing

to keep him quiet, replied, “You go on sleeping: I’ve

given him the money.” So Wang lay down again, but

before long in came another man who informed Wang

that his name was among the successful candidates for

the highest degree. “Why, I haven’t been up for it

yet;” said Wang, “how can I have passed?” “What!

you don’t mean to say you have forgotten the examination?”

answered the man; and then Wang got up once

more, and gave orders to present the informant with ten

strings of cash. “All right,” replied his wife; “you go

on sleeping: I’ve given him the money.” Another short

interval, and in burst a third messenger to say that Wang

had been elected a member of the National Academy,

and that two official servants had come to escort him

thither. Sure enough there were the two servants bowing

at the bedside, and accordingly Wang directed that

they should be served with wine and meat, which his

wife, smiling at his drunken nonsense, declared had been

already done. Wang now bethought him that he should

go out and receive the congratulations of the neighbours,

and roared out several times to his official servants; but

without receiving any answer. “Go to sleep,” said his

wife, “and wait till I have fetched them;” and after

awhile the servants actually came in; whereupon Wang

stamped and swore at them for being such idiots as to

go away. “What! you wretched scoundrel,” cried the

servants, “are you cursing us in earnest, when we are

only joking with you!” At this Wang’s rage knew no

bounds, and he set upon the men, and gave them a

sound beating, knocking the hat of one off on to the

ground. In the mêlée, he himself tumbled over, and his

wife ran in to pick him up, saying, “Shame upon you,

for getting so drunk as this!” “I was only punishing

the servants as they deserved,” replied Wang; “why

do you call me drunk?” “Do you mean the old

woman who cooks our rice and boils the water for

your foot-bath,” asked his wife, smiling, “that you talk

of servants to wait upon your poverty-stricken carcase?”

At this sally all the women burst out in a roar of

laughter; and Wang, who was just beginning to get

sober, waked up as if from a dream, and knew that

there was no reality in all that had taken place. However,

he recollected the spot where the servant’s hat had

fallen off, and on going thither to look for it, lo! he

beheld a tiny official hat, no larger than a wine-cup,

lying there behind the door. They were all much

astonished at this, and Wang himself cried out, “Formerly

people were thus tricked by devils; and now

foxes are playing the fool with me!”[319]

Two herd-boys went up among the hills and found a

wolf’s lair with two little wolves in it. Seizing each of

them one, they forthwith climbed two trees which stood

there, at a distance of forty or fifty paces apart. Before

long the old wolf came back, and, finding her cubs gone,

was in a great state of distress. Just then, one of the

herd-boys pinched his cub and made it squeak; whereupon

the mother ran angrily towards the tree whence the

sound proceeded, and tried to climb up it. At this

juncture, the boy in the other tree pinched the other

cub, and thereby diverted the wolf’s attention in that

direction. But no sooner had she reached the foot of

the second tree, than the boy who had first pinched

his cub did so again, and away ran the old wolf back

to the tree in which her other young one was. Thus

they went on time after time, until the mother was dead

tired, and lay down exhausted on the ground. Then,

when after some time she shewed no signs of moving,

the herd-boys crept stealthily down, and found that the

wolf was already stiff and cold. And truly, it is better

to meet a blustering foe with his hand upon his sword-hilt,

by retiring within doors, and leaving him to

fret his violence away unopposed; for such is but the

behaviour of brute beasts, of which men thus take

advantage.

[320] PUNISHED.

At Chin-ling there lived a seller of spirits, who was

in the habit of adulterating his liquor with water and

a certain drug, the effect of which was that even a few

cups would make the strongest-headed man as drunk

as a jelly-fish.[321] Thus his shop acquired a reputation for

having a good article on sale, and by degrees he became

a rich man. One morning, on getting up, he found a

fox lying drunk alongside of the spirit vat; and tying

its legs together, he was about to fetch a knife, when

suddenly the fox waked up, and began pleading for

its life, promising in return to do anything the spirit-merchant

might require. The latter then released the

animal, which instantly changed into the form of a

human being. Now, at that very time, the wife of a

neighbour was suffering under fox influence, and this

recently-transformed animal confessed to the spirit-merchant

that it was he who had been troubling her.

Thereupon the spirit-merchant, who knew the lady

in question to be a celebrated beauty, begged his fox

friend to secretly introduce him to her. After raising

some objections, the fox at length consented, and conducted

the spirit-merchant to a cave, where he gave him

a suit of serge clothes, which he said had belonged to

his late brother, and in which he told him he could

easily go. The merchant put them on, and returned

home, when to his great delight he observed that no

one could see him, but that if he changed into his

ordinary clothes everybody could see him as before.

Accordingly he set off with the fox for his neighbour’s

house; and, when they arrived, the first thing they beheld

was a charm on the wall, like a great wriggling dragon.

At this the fox was greatly alarmed, and said, “That

scoundrel of a priest! I can’t go any farther.” He then

ran off home, leaving the spirit-merchant to proceed by

himself. The latter walked quietly in to find that the

dragon on the wall was a real one, and preparing to fly

at him, so he too turned, and ran away as fast as his

legs could carry him. The fact was that the family had

engaged a priest to drive away the fox influence; and

he, not being able to go at the moment himself, gave

them this charm to stick up on the wall. The following

day the priest himself came, and, arranging an altar,

proceeded to exorcise the fox. All the villagers crowded

round to see, and among others was the spirit-merchant,

who, in the middle of the ceremony, suddenly changed

colour, and hurried out of the front door, where he fell

on the ground in the shape of a fox, having his clothes

still hanging about his arms and legs. The bystanders

would have killed him on the spot, but his wife begged

them to spare him; and the priest let her take the fox

home, where in a few days it died.

In our district there lived two men, named Hu

Ch‘êng and Fêng Ngan, between whom there existed an

old feud. The former, however, was the stronger of the

two; and accordingly Fêng disguised his feelings under

a specious appearance of friendship, though Hu never

placed much faith in his professions. One day they

were drinking together, and being both of them rather

the worse for liquor, they began to brag of the various

exploits they had achieved. “What care I for poverty,”

cried Hu, “when I can lay a hundred ounces of silver

on the table at a moment’s notice?” Now Fêng was

well aware of the state of Hu’s affairs, and did not

hesitate to scout such pretensions, until Hu further informed

him in perfect seriousness that the day before he

had met a merchant travelling with a large sum of

money and had tumbled him down a dry well by the

wayside; in confirmation of which he produced several

hundred ounces of silver, which really belonged to a

brother-in-law on whose behalf he was managing some

negotiation for the purchase of land. When they

separated, Fêng went off and gave information to the

magistrate of the place, who summoned Hu to answer to

the charge. Hu then told the actual facts of the case,

and his brother-in-law and the owner of the land in

question corroborated his statement. However, on

examining the dry well by letting a man down with a

rope round him, lo! there was a headless corpse lying at

the bottom. Hu was horrified at this, and called

Heaven to witness that he was innocent; whereupon

the magistrate ordered him twenty or thirty blows on the

mouth for lying in the presence of such irrefragable

proof, and cast him into the condemned cell, where he

lay loaded with chains. Orders were issued that the

corpse was not to be removed, and a notification was

made to the people, calling upon the relatives of the

deceased to come forward and claim the body. Next day

a woman appeared, and said deceased was her husband;

that his name was Ho, and that he was proceeding on

business with a large sum of money about him when he

was killed by Hu. The magistrate observed that possibly

the body in the well might not be that of her

husband, to which the woman replied that she felt sure

it was; and accordingly the corpse was brought up and

examined, when the woman’s story was found to be

correct. She herself did not go near the body, but

stood at a little distance making the most doleful

lamentations; until at length the magistrate said, “We

have got the murderer, but the body is not complete;

you go home and wait until the head has been discovered,

when life shall be given for life.” He then summoned

Hu before him, and told him to produce the head

by the next day under penalty of severe torture; but

Hu only wandered about with the guard sent in charge

of him, crying and lamenting his fate, but finding

nothing. The instruments of torture were then produced,

and preparations were made as if for torturing

Hu; however, they were not applied,[322] and finally the

magistrate sent him back to prison, saying, “I suppose

that in your hurry you didn’t notice where you dropped

the head.” The woman was then brought before him

again; and on learning that her relatives consisted only

of one uncle, the magistrate remarked, “A young

woman like you, left alone in the world, will hardly be

able to earn a livelihood. [Here she burst into tears

and implored the magistrate’s pity.] The punishment of

the guilty man has been already decided upon, but until

we get the head, the case cannot be closed. As soon as

it is closed, the best thing you can do is to marry again.

A young woman like yourself should not be in and out

of a police-court.” The woman thanked the magistrate

and retired; and the latter issued a notice to the people,

calling upon them to make a search for the head. On

the following day, a man named Wang, a fellow villager

of the deceased, reported that he had found the missing

head; and his report proving to be true, he was rewarded

with 1,000 cash. The magistrate now summoned

the woman’s uncle above-mentioned, and told

him that the case was complete, but that as it involved

such an important matter as the life of a human being,

there would necessarily be some delay in closing it for

good and all.[323] “Meanwhile,” added the magistrate,

“your niece is a young woman and has no children;

persuade her to marry again and so keep herself out of

these troubles, and never mind what people may say.”[324]

The uncle at first refused to do this; upon which the

magistrate was obliged to threaten him until he was

ultimately forced to consent. At this, the woman appeared

before the magistrate to thank him for what he

had done; whereupon the latter gave out that any

person who was willing to take the woman to wife was to

present himself at his yamên. Immediately afterwards

an application was made—by the very man who had

found the head. The magistrate then sent for the

woman and asked her if she could say who was the real

murderer; to which she replied that Hu Chêng had

done the deed. “No!” cried the magistrate; “it was

not he. It was you and this man here. [Here both

began loudly to protest their innocence.] I have long

known this; but, fearing to leave the smallest loophole

for escape, I have tarried thus long in elucidating the

circumstances. How [to the woman], before the corpse

was removed from the well, were you so certain that it

was your husband’s body? Because you already knew he

was dead. And does a trader who has several hundred

ounces of silver about him dress as shabbily as your

husband was dressed? And you, [to the man], how did

you manage to find the head so readily? Because you

were in a hurry to marry the woman.” The two culprits

stood there as pale as death, unable to utter a word in

their defence; and on the application of torture both

confessed the crime. For this man, the woman’s

paramour, had killed her husband, curiously enough,

about the time of Hu Chêng’s braggart joke. Hu was

accordingly released, but Fêng suffered the penalty of a

false accuser; he was severely bambooed, and banished

for three years. The case was thus brought to a close

without the wrongful punishment of a single person.

Two herons built their nests under one of the ornaments

on the roof of a temple at Tientsin. The

accumulated dust of years in the shrine below concealed

a huge serpent, having the diameter of a washing-basin;

and whenever the heron’s young were ready to fly, the

reptile proceeded to the nest and swallowed every one of

them, to the great distress of the bereaved parents. This

took place three years consecutively, and people thought

the birds would build there no more. However, the

following year they came again; and when the time was

drawing nigh for their young ones to take wing, away

they flew, and remained absent for nearly three days.

On their return, they went straight to the nest, and began

amidst much noisy chattering to feed their young ones

as usual. Just then the serpent crawled up to reach his

prey; and as he was nearing the nest the parent-birds

flew out and screamed loudly in mid-air. Immediately,

there was heard a mighty flapping of wings, and darkness

came over the face of the earth, which the astonished

spectators now perceived to be caused by a huge bird

obscuring the light of the sun. Down it swooped with

the speed of wind or falling rain, and, striking the

serpent with its talons, tore its head off at a blow,

bringing down at the same time several feet of the

masonry of the temple. Then it flew away, the herons

accompanying it as though escorting a guest. The nest

too had come down, and of the two young birds one

was killed by the fall; the other was taken by the priests

and put in the bell tower, whither the old birds returned

to feed it until thoroughly fledged, when it spread its

wings and was gone.[325]

[326]

A sportsman of Tientsin, having snared a wild goose,

was followed to his home by the gander, which flew

round and round him in great distress, and only went

away at nightfall. Next day, when the sportsman went

out, there was the bird again; and at length it alighted

quite close to his feet. He was on the point of seizing

it when suddenly it stretched out its neck and disgorged

a piece of pure gold; whereupon, the sportsman, understanding

what the bird meant, cried out, “I see! this

is to ransom your mate, eh?” Accordingly, he at once

released the goose, and the two birds flew away with

many expressions of their mutual joy, leaving to the

sportsman nearly three ounces of pure gold. Can, then,

mere birds have such feelings as these? Of all sorrows

there is no sorrow like separation from those we love;

and it seems that the same holds good even of dumb

animals.

A huntsman of Kuang-si, who was out on the hills

with his bow and arrows, lay down to rest awhile, and

unwittingly fell fast asleep. As he was slumbering, an

elephant came up, and, coiling his trunk around the

man, carried him off. The latter gave himself up for

dead; but before long the elephant had deposited him

at the foot of a tall tree, and had summoned a whole

herd of comrades, who crowded about the huntsman as

though asking his assistance. The elephant who had

brought him went and lay down under the tree, and first

looked up into its branches and then looked down at the

man, apparently requesting him to get up into the tree.

So the latter jumped on the elephant’s back and then

clambered up to the topmost branch, not knowing what

he was expected to do next. By-and-by a lion[327] arrived,

and from among the frightened herd chose out a fat

elephant, which he seemed as though about to devour.

The others remained there trembling, not daring to

run away, but looking wistfully up into the tree. Thereupon

the huntsman drew an arrow from his quiver and

shot the lion dead, at which all the elephants below

made him a grateful obeisance. He then descended,

when the elephant lay down again and invited him to

mount by pulling at his clothes with its trunk. This he

did, and was carried to a place where the animal

scratched the ground with its foot, and revealed to him

a vast number of old tusks. He jumped down and

collected them in a bundle, after which the elephant

conveyed him to a spot whence he easily found his way

home.

Li Yüeh-shêng was the second son of a rich old

man who used to bury his money, and who was known

to his fellow-townsmen as “Old Crocks.” One day the

father fell sick, and summoned his sons to divide the

property between them.[328] He gave four-fifths to the

elder and only one-fifth to the younger, saying to the

latter, “It is not that I love your brother more than I

love you: I have other money stored away, and when

you are alone I will hand that over to you.” A few days

afterwards the old man grew worse, and Yüeh-shêng,

afraid that his father might die at any moment, seized an

opportunity of seeing him alone to ask about the money

that he himself was to receive. “Ah,” replied the dying

man, “the sum of our joys and of our sorrows is determined

by fate. You are now happy in the possession of

a virtuous wife, and have no right to an increase of

wealth.” For, as a matter of fact, this second son was

married to a lady from the Ch‘ê family whose virtue

equalled that of any of the heroines of history: hence

his father’s remark. Yüeh-shêng, however, was not satisfied,

and implored to be allowed to have the money;

and at length the old man got angry and said, “You are

only just turned twenty; you have known none of the

trials of life, and were I to give a thousand ounces of

gold, it would soon be all spent. Go! and, until you

have drunk the cup of bitterness to its dregs, expect no

money from me.” Now Yüeh-shêng was a filial son, and

when his father spoke thus he did not venture to say any

more, and hoped for his speedy recovery that he might

have a chance of coaxing him to comply with his request.

But the old man got worse and worse, and at

length died; whereupon the elder brother took no

trouble about the funeral ceremonies, leaving it all to

the younger, who, being an open-handed fellow, made no

difficulties about the expense. The latter was also fond

of seeing a great deal of company at his house, and his

wife often had to get three or four meals a-day ready for

guests; and, as her husband did very little towards

looking after his affairs, and was further sponged upon

by all the needy ones of the neighbourhood, they were

soon reduced to a state of poverty. The elder brother

helped them to keep body and soul together, but he died

shortly afterwards, and this resource was cut off from

them. Then, by dint of borrowing in the spring and

repaying in the autumn,[329] they still managed to exist,

until at last it came to parting with their land, and they

were left actually destitute. At that juncture their eldest

son died, followed soon after by his mother; and Yüeh-shêng

was left almost by himself in the world. He now

married the widow of a sheep-dealer, who had a little

capital; and she was very strict with him, and wouldn’t

let him waste time and money with his friends. One

night his father appeared to him and said, “My son, you

have drained your cup of bitterness to the dregs. You

shall now have the money. I will bring it to you.”

When Yüeh-shêng woke up, he thought it was merely a

poor man’s dream; but the next day, while laying the

foundations of a wall, he did come upon a quantity of

gold. And then he knew what his father had meant by

“when you are alone;” for of those about him at that

time, more than half were gone.

When His Excellency Chu was Viceroy of Kuangtung,

there were constant complaints from the traders of

mysterious disappearances; sometimes as many as three

or four of them disappearing at once and never being

seen or heard of again. At length the number of such

cases, filed of course against some person or persons

unknown, multiplied to such an extent that they were

simply put on record, and but little notice was further

taken of them by the local officials. Thus, when His

Excellency entered upon his duties, he found more than

a hundred plaints of the kind, besides innumerable

cases in which the missing man’s relatives lived at

a distance and had not instituted proceedings. The

mystery so preyed upon the new Viceroy’s mind that he

lost all appetite for food; and when, finally, all the

inquiries he had set on foot resulted in no clue to an

elucidation of these strange disappearances, then His

Excellency proceeded to wash and purify himself, and,

having notified the Municipal God,[330] he took to fasting

and sleeping in his study alone. While he was in

ecstasy, lo! an official entered, holding a tablet in his

hand, and said that he had come from the Municipal

temple with the following instructions to the Viceroy:—

“Snow on the whiskers descending:

Live clouds falling from heaven:

Wood in water buoyed up:

In the wall an opening effected.”

The official then retired, and the Viceroy waked up;

but it was only after a night of tossing and turning that

he hit upon what seemed to him the solution of the

enigma. “The first line,” argued he, “must signify old

(lao in Chinese); the second refers to the dragon[331] (lung

in Chinese); the third is clearly a boat; and the fourth

a door here taken in its secondary sense—man.” Now,

to the east of the province, not far from the pass by

which traders from the north connect their line of trade

with the southern seas, there was actually a ferry known

as the Old Dragon (Lao-lung); and thither the Viceroy

immediately despatched a force to arrest those employed

in carrying people backwards and forwards. More than

fifty men were caught, and they all confessed at once

without the application of torture. In fact, they were

bandits under the guise of boatmen;[332] and after beguiling

passengers on board, they would either drug them or

burn stupefying incense until they were senseless, finally

cutting them open and putting a large stone inside to

make the body sink. Such was the horrible story, the

discovery of which brought throngs to the Viceroy’s door

to serenade him in terms of gratitude and praise.[333]

A certain veterinary surgeon, named Hou, was

carrying food to his field labourers, when suddenly a

whirlwind arose in his path. Hou seized a spoon and

poured out a libation of gruel, whereupon the wind immediately

dropped. On another occasion, he was

wandering about the municipal temple when he noticed

an image of Liu Ch‘üan presenting the melon,[334] in whose

eye was a great splotch of dirt. “Dear me, Sir Liu!”

cried Hou, “who has been ill-using you like this?”

He then scraped away the dirt with his finger-nail, and

passed on. Some years afterwards, as he was lying down

very ill, two lictors walked in and carried him off to a

yamên, where they insisted on his bribing them heavily.

Hou was at his wits’ end what to do; but just at that

moment a personage dressed in green robes came forth,

who was greatly astonished at seeing him there, and

asked what it all meant. Our hero at once explained;

whereupon the man in green turned upon the lictors and

abused them for not shewing proper respect to Mr. Hou.

Meanwhile a drum sounded like the roll of thunder, and

the man in green told Hou that it was for the morning

session, and that he would have to attend. Leading

Hou within he put him in his proper place, and, promising

to inquire into the charge against him, went forward

and whispered a few words to one of the clerks.

“Oh,” said the latter, advancing and making a bow to

the veterinary surgeon, “yours is a trifling matter. We

shall merely have to confront you with a horse, and then

you can go home again.” Shortly afterwards, Hou’s

case was called; upon which he went forward and knelt

down, as did also a horse which was prosecuting him.

The judge now informed Hou that he was accused by

the horse of having caused its death by medicines, and

asked him if he pleaded guilty or not guilty. “My

lord,” replied Hou, “the prosecutor was attacked by the

cattle-plague, for which I treated him accordingly; and

he actually recovered from the disease, though he died

on the following day. Am I to be held responsible for

that?” The horse now proceeded to tell his story; and

after the usual cross-examination and cries for justice,

the judge gave orders to look up the horse’s term of life

in the Book of Fate. Therein it appeared that the

animal’s destiny had doomed it to death on the very day

on which it had died; whereupon the judge cried out,

“Your term of years had already expired; why bring

this false charge? Away with you!” and turning to

Hou, the judge added, “You are a worthy man, and

may be permitted to live.” The lictors were accordingly

instructed to escort him back, and with them went out

both the clerk and the man in green clothes, who bade

the lictors take every possible care of Hou by the way.

“You gentlemen are very kind,” said Hou, “but I

haven’t the honour of your acquaintance, and should be

glad to know to whom I am so much indebted.”

“Three years ago,” replied the man in green, “I was

travelling in your neighbourhood, and was suffering very

much from thirst, which you relieved for me by a few

spoonfuls of gruel. I have not forgotten that act.”

“And my name,” observed the other, “is Liu Ch‘üan.

You once took a splotch of dirt out of my eye that was

troubling me very much. I am only sorry that the wine

and food we have down here is unsuitable to offer you.

Farewell.” Hou now understood all that had happened,

and went off home with the two lictors where he would

have regaled them with some refreshment, but they

refused to take even a cup of tea. He then waked up

and found that he had been dead for two days. From

this time forth he led a more virtuous life than ever,

always pouring out libations to Liu Ch‘üan at all the

festivals of the year. Thus he reached the age of eighty,

a hale and hearty man, still able to sit in the saddle;

until one day he met Liu Ch‘üan riding on horseback, as

if about to make a long journey. After a little friendly

conversation, the latter said to him, “Your time is up,

and the warrant for your arrest is already issued; but I

have ordered the constables to delay awhile, and you can

now spend three days in preparing for death, at the expiration

of which I will come and fetch you. I have

purchased a small appointment for you in the realms

below,[335] by which you will be more comfortable.” So

Hou went home and told his wife and children; and

after collecting his friends and relatives, and making all

necessary preparations, on the evening of the fourth day

he cried out, “Liu Ch‘üan has come!” and, getting into

his coffin,[336] lay down and died.

At T‘ai-yüan there lived a middle-aged woman with

her widowed daughter-in-law. The former was on terms

of too great intimacy with a notably bad character of the

neighbourhood; and the latter, who objected very

strongly to this, did her best to keep the man from

the house. The elder woman accordingly tried to send

the other back to her family, but she would not go; and

at length things came to such a pass that the mother-in-law

actually went to the mandarin of the place and

charged her daughter-in-law with the offence she herself

was committing. When the mandarin inquired the

name of the man concerned, she said she had only seen

him in the dark and didn’t know who he was, referring

him for information to the accused. The latter, on

being summoned, gave the man’s name, but retorted the

charge on her mother-in-law; and when the man was

confronted with them, he promptly declared both their

stories to be false. The mandarin, however, said there

was a primâ facie case against him, and ordered him to

be severely beaten, whereupon he confessed that it was

the daughter-in-law whom he went to visit. This the

woman herself flatly denied, even under torture; and on

being released, appealed to a higher court, with a very

similar result. Thus the case dragged on, until a Mr.

Sun, who was well-known for his judicial acumen, was

appointed district magistrate at that place. Calling the

parties before him, he bade his lictors prepare stones

and knives, at which they were much exercised in

their minds, the severest tortures allowed by law being

merely gyves and fetters.[337] However, everything was

got ready, and the next day Mr. Sun proceeded with his

investigation. After hearing all that each one of the

three had to say, he delivered the following judgment:—“The

case is a simple one; for although I cannot say

which of you two women is the guilty one, there is no

doubt about the man, who has evidently been the means

of bringing discredit on a virtuous family. Take those

stones and knives there and put him to death. I will

be responsible.” Thereupon the two women began to

stone the man, especially the younger one, who seized

the biggest stones she could see and threw them at him

with all the might of her pent-up anger; while the

mother-in-law chose small stones and struck him on non-vital

parts.[338] So with the knives: the daughter-in-law

would have killed him at the first blow, had not the

mandarin stopped her, and said, “Hold! I now know

who is the guilty woman.” The mother-in-law was then

tortured until she confessed, and the case was thus terminated.

Mr. Wu, Sub-prefect of Chi-nan, was an upright man,

and would have no share in the bribery and corruption

which was extensively carried on, and at which the

higher authorities connived, and in the proceeds of which

they actually shared. The Prefect tried to bully him into

adopting a similar plan, and went so far as to abuse him

in violent language; upon which Mr. Wu fired up and

exclaimed, “Though I am but a subordinate official,

you should impeach me for anything you have against

me in the regular way; you have not the right to abuse

me thus. Die I may, but I will never consent to degrade

my office and turn aside the course of justice for

the sake of filthy lucre.” At this outbreak the Prefect

changed his tone, and tried to soothe him....

[How dare people accuse the age of being corrupt,

when it is themselves who will not walk in the straight

path.] One day after this a certain fox-medium[339] came

to the Prefect’s yamên just as a feast was in full swing,

and was thus addressed by a guest:—“You who pretend

to know everything, say how many officials there are in

this Prefecture.” “One,” replied the medium; at which

the company laughed heartily, until the medium continued,

“There are really seventy-two holders of office,

but Mr. Sub-prefect Wu is the only one who can justly

be called an official.”

APPENDIX A.

Visitors to Chinese temples of the Taoist persuasion usually

make at once for what is popularly known amongst foreigners as

the “Chamber of Horrors.” These belong specially to Taoism, or

the ethics of Right in the abstract, as opposed to abstract Wrong,

and are not found in temples consecrated to the religion of Buddha.

Modern Taoism, however, once a purely metaphysical system, is

now so leavened with the superstitions of Buddhism, and has borrowed

so much material from its younger rival, that an ordinary

Chinaman can hardly tell one from the other, and generally regards

them as to all intents and purposes the same. These rightly-named

Chambers of Horrors—for Madame Tussaud has nothing more

ghastly to show in the whole of her wonderful collection—represent

the Ten Courts of Purgatory, through some or all of which

erring souls must pass before they are suffered to be born again into

the world under another form, or transferred to the eternal bliss

reserved for the righteous alone. As a description of these Ten

Courts may not be uninteresting to some of my readers, and as the

subject has a direct bearing upon many of the stories in the previous

collection, I hereto append my translation of a well-known Taoist

work[340] which is circulated gratuitously all over the Chinese Empire

by people who are anxious to lay up a store of good works against

the day of reckoning to come. Those who are acquainted with

Dante’s Divine Comedy will recollect that the poet’s idea of a

Christian Purgatory was a series of nine lessening circles arranged

one above the other, so as to form a cone. The Taoist believes

that his Purgatory consists of Ten Courts of Justice situated in

different positions at the bottom of a great ocean which lies down in

the depths of the earth. These are sub-divided into special wards,

different forms of torture being inflicted in each. A perusal of this

work will shew what punishments the wicked Chinaman has to

expect in the unseen world, and by what means he may hope to

obtain a partial or complete remission of his sins.

The “Divine Panorama,” published by the Mercy of Yü Ti,[341] that

Men and Women may repent them of their Faults and make Atonement

for their Crimes.

On the birthday of the Saviour P‘u-sa,[342] as the spirits of Purgatory

were thronging round to offer their congratulations, the ruler of the

Infernal Regions spake as follows:—“My wish is to release all

souls, and every moon as this day comes round I would wholly or

partially remit the punishment of erring shades, and give them life

once more in one of the Six Paths.[343] But alas! the wicked are

many and the virtuous few. Nevertheless, the punishments in the

dark region are too severe, and require some modification. Any

wicked soul that repents and induces one or two others to do likewise

shall be allowed to set this off against the punishments which

should be inflicted.” The Judges of the Ten Courts of Purgatory

then agreed that all who led virtuous lives from their youth upwards

shall be escorted at their death to the land of the Immortals; that

all whose balance of good and evil is exact shall escape the bitterness

of the Three States,[344] and be born again among men; that those

who have repaid their debts of gratitude and friendship, and fulfilled

their destiny, yet have a balance of evil against them, shall pass

through the various Courts of Purgatory and then be born again

amongst men, rich, poor, old, young, diseased or crippled, to be

put a second time upon trial. Then, if they behave well they may

enter into some happy state; but if badly, they will be dragged by

horrid devils through all the Courts, suffering bitterly as they go,

and will again be born, to endure in life the uttermost of poverty

and wretchedness, in death the everlasting tortures of hell. Those

who are disloyal, unfilial, who commit suicide, take life, or disbelieve

the doctrine of Cause and Effect,[345] saying to themselves that when a

man dies there is an end of him, that when he has lost his skin[346] he

has already suffered the worst that can befall him, that living men

can be tortured, but no one ever saw a man’s ghost in the pillory,

that after death all is unknown, etc., etc.,—truly these men do not

know that the body alone perishes but the soul lives for ever and

ever; and that whatsoever evil they do in this life, the same will be

done unto them in the life to come. All who commit such crimes

are handed over to the everlasting tortures of hell; for alas! in

spite of the teachings of the Three Systems[347] some will persist in

regarding these warnings as vain and empty talk. Lightly they

speak of Divine mercy, and knowingly commit many crimes, not

more than one in a hundred ever coming to repentance. Therefore

the punishments of Purgatory were strictly carried out and the

tortures dreadfully severe. But now it has been mercifully ordained

that any man or woman, young, old, weak or strong, who may have

sinned in any way, shall be permitted to obtain remission of the

same by keeping his or her thoughts constantly fixed on P‘u-sa and

on the birthdays of the Judges of the Ten Courts, by fasting and

prayer, and by vows never to sin again. Or for every good work

done in life they shall be allowed to escape one ward in the Courts

below. From this rule to be excepted disloyal ministers, unfilial

sons, suicides, those who plot in secret against good people, those

who are struck by lightning (lit. thunder), those who perish by flood

or fire, by wild animals or poisonous reptiles[348]—these to pass

through all the Courts and be punished according to their deserts.

All other sinners to be allowed to claim their good works as a set-off

against evil, thus partly escaping the agonies of hell and receiving

some reward for their virtuous deeds.