Wang Tzŭ-fu, who had been left an orphan when quite young. He was a
clever boy, and took his bachelor’s degree at the age of fourteen,
being quite his mother’s pet, and not allowed by her to stray far away
from home. One young lady to whom he had been betrothed having
unhappily died, he was still in search of a wife when, on the occasion
of the Feast of Lanterns, his cousin Wu asked him to come along for a
stroll. But they had hardly got beyond the village before one of his
uncle’s servants caught them up and told Wu he was wanted. The latter
accordingly went back; but Wang, seeing plenty of nice girls about and
being in high spirits himself, proceeded on alone. Amongst others, he
noticed a young lady with her maid. She had just picked a sprig of
plum-blossom, and was the prettiest girl he had ever heard of--a
perfect bunch of smiles. He stared and stared at her quite regardless
of appearances; and when she had passed by, she said to her maid,
“That young fellow has a wicked look in his eyes.” As she was walking
away, laughing and talking, the flower dropped out of her hand; and
Wang, picking it up, stood there disconsolate as if he had lost his
wits. He then went home in a very melancholy mood; and, putting the
flower under his pillow, lay down to sleep. He would neither talk nor
eat; and his mother became very anxious about him, and called in the
aid of the priests.[107] By degrees, he fell off in flesh and got very
thin; and the doctor felt his pulse and gave him medicines to bring
out the disease. Occasionally, he seemed bewildered in his mind, but
in spite of all his mother’s inquiries would give no clue as to the
cause of his malady. One day when his cousin Wu came to the house,
Wang’s mother told him to try and find out what was the matter; and
the former, approaching the bed, gradually and quietly led up to the
point in question. Wang, who had wept bitterly at the sight of his
cousin, now repeated to him the whole story, begging him to lend some
assistance in the matter. “How foolish you are, cousin,” cried Wu;
“there will be no difficulty at all, I’ll make inquiries for you. The
girl herself can’t belong to a very aristocratic family to be walking
alone in the country. If she’s not already engaged, I have no doubt we
can arrange the affair; and even if she is unwilling, an extra outlay
will easily bring her round.[108] You make haste and get well: I’ll
see to it all.” Wang’s features relaxed when he heard these words; and
Wu left him to tell his mother how the case stood, immediately setting
on foot inquiries as to the whereabouts of the girl. All his efforts,
however, proved fruitless, to the great disappointment of Wang’s
mother; for since his cousin’s visit Wang’s colour and appetite had
returned. In a few days Wu called again, and in answer to Wang’s
questions falsely told him that the affair was settled. “Who do you
think the young lady is?” said he. “Why, a cousin of ours, who is only
waiting to be betrothed; and though you two are a little near,[109] I
daresay the circumstances of the case will be allowed to overrule this
objection.” Wang was overjoyed, and asked where she lived; so Wu had
to tell another lie, and say, “On the south-west hills, about ten
miles from here.” Wang begged him again and again to do his best for
him, and Wu undertook to get the betrothal satisfactorily arranged. He
then took leave of his cousin, who from this moment was rapidly
restored to health. Wang drew the flower from underneath his pillow,
and found that, though dried up, the leaves had not fallen away. He
often sat playing with this flower and thinking of the young lady; but
by-and-by, as Wu did not reappear, he wrote a letter and asked him to
come. Wu pleaded other engagements, being unwilling to go; at which
Wang got in a rage and quite lost his good spirits; so that his
mother, fearing a relapse, proposed to him a speedy betrothal in
another quarter. Wang shook his head at this, and sat day after day
waiting for Wu, until his patience was thoroughly exhausted. He then
reflected that ten miles was no great distance, and that there was no
particular reason for asking anybody’s aid; so, concealing the flower
in his sleeve, he went off in a huff by himself without letting it be
known. Having no opportunity of asking the way, he made straight for
the hills; and after about ten miles walking found himself right in
the midst of them, enjoying their exquisite verdure, but meeting no
one, and with nothing better than mountain paths to guide him. Away
down in the valley below, almost buried under a densely luxuriant
growth of trees and flowers, he espied a small hamlet, and began to
descend the hill and make his way thither. He found very few houses,
and all built of rushes, but otherwise pleasant enough to look at.
Before the door of one, which stood at the northern end of the
village, were a number of graceful willow trees, and inside the wall
plenty of peach and apricot trees, with tufts of bamboo between them,
and birds chirping on the branches. As it was a private house he did
not venture to go in, but sat down to rest himself on a huge smooth
stone opposite the front door. By-and-by he heard a girl’s voice from
within calling out Hsiao-jung; and, noticing that it was a sweet-toned
voice, set himself to listen, when a young lady passed with a bunch of
apricot-flowers in her hand, and occupied in putting hair-pins into
her downcast head. As soon as she raised her face she saw Wang, and
stopped putting in hair-pins; then, smothering a laugh, picked a few
flowers and ran in. Wang perceived to his intense delight that she was
none other than his heroine of the Feast of Lanterns; but recollecting
that he had no right to follow her in, was on the point of calling
after her as his cousin. There was no one, however, in the street, and
he was afraid lest he might have made a mistake; neither was there
anybody at the door of whom he could make inquiries. So he remained
there in a very restless state till the sun was well down in the west,
and his hopes were almost at an end, forgetting all about food and
drink. He then saw the young lady peep through the door, apparently
very much astonished to find him still there; and in a few minutes out
came an old woman leaning on a stick, who said to him, “Whence do you
come, Sir? I hear you have been here ever since morning. What is it
you want? Aren’t you hungry?” Wang got up, and making a bow, replied
that he was in search of some relatives of his; but the old woman was
deaf and didn’t catch what he said, so he had to shout it out again at
the top of his voice. She asked him what their names were, but he was
unable to tell her; at which she laughed and said, “It is a funny
thing to look for people when you don’t know their names. I am afraid
you are an unpractical gentleman. You had better come in and have
something to eat; we’ll give you a bed and you can go back to-morrow
and find out the names of the people you are in quest of.” Now Wang
was just beginning to get hungry, and, besides, this would bring him
nearer to the young lady; so he readily accepted and followed the old
woman in. They walked along a paved path banked on both sides with
hibiscus, the leaves of which were scattered about on the ground; and
passing through another door, entered a court-yard full of trained
creepers and other flowers. The old woman showed Wang into a small
room with beautifully white walls and a branch of a crab-apple tree
coming through the window, the furniture being also nice and clean.
They had hardly sat down when it was clear that some one was taking a
peep through the window; whereupon the old woman cried out,
“Hsiao-jung! make haste and get dinner,” and a maid from outside
immediately answered “Yes, ma’am.” Meanwhile, Wang had been explaining
who he was; and then the old lady said, “Was your maternal grandfather
named Wu?” “He was,” replied Wang. “Well, I never!” cried the old
woman, “he was my uncle, and your mother and I are cousins. But in
consequence of our poverty, and having no sons, we have kept quite to
ourselves, and you have grown to be a man without my knowing you.” “I
came here,” said Wang, “about my cousin, but in the hurry I forgot
your name.” “My name is Ch‘in,” replied the old lady; “I have no son:
only a girl, the child of a concubine, who, after my husband’s death,
married again[110] and left her daughter with me. She’s a clever girl,
but has had very little education; full of fun and ignorant of the
sorrows of life. I’ll send for her by-and-by to make your
acquaintance.” The maid then brought in the dinner--a large dish full
of choice morsels of fowl--and the old woman pressed him to eat. When
they had finished, and the things were taken away, the old woman said,
“Call Miss Ning,” and the maid went off to do so. After some time
there was a giggling at the door, and the old woman cried out,
“Ying-ning! your cousin is here.” There was then a great tittering as
the maid pushed her in, stopping her mouth all the time to try and
keep from laughing. “Don’t you know better than to behave like that?”
asked the old woman, “and before a stranger, too.” So Ying-ning
controlled her feelings, and Wang made her a bow, the old woman
saying, “Mr. Wang is your cousin: you have never seen him before.
Isn’t that funny?” Wang asked how old his cousin was, but the old
woman didn’t hear him, and he had to say it again, which sent
Ying-ning off into another fit of laughter. “I told you,” observed the
old woman, “she hadn’t much education; now you see it. She is sixteen
years old, and as foolish as a baby.” “One year younger than I am,”
remarked Wang. “Oh, you’re seventeen are you? Then you were born in
the year ----, under the sign of the horse.”[111] Wang nodded assent,
and then the old woman asked who his wife was, to which Wang replied
that he had none. “What! a clever, handsome young fellow of seventeen
not yet engaged?[112] Ying-ning is not engaged either: you two would
make a nice pair if it wasn’t for the relationship.” Wang said
nothing, but looked hard at his cousin; and just then the maid
whispered to her, “It is the fellow with the wicked eyes! He’s at his
old game.” Ying-ning laughed, and proposed to the maid that they should
go and see if the peaches were in blossom or not; and off they went
together, the former with her sleeve stuffed into her mouth until she
got outside, where she burst into a hearty fit of laughing. The old
woman gave orders for a bed to be got ready for Wang, saying to him,
“It’s not often we meet: you must spend a few days with us now you are
here, and then we’ll send you home. If you are at all dull, there’s a
garden behind where you can amuse yourself, and books for you to
read.” So next day Wang strolled into the garden, which was of
moderate size, with a well-kept lawn and plenty of trees and flowers.
There was also an arbour consisting of three posts with a thatched
roof, quite shut in on all sides by the luxurious vegetation. Pushing
his way among the flowers, Wang heard a noise from one of the trees,
and looking up saw Ying-ning, who at once burst out laughing and
nearly fell down. “Don’t! don’t!” cried Wang, “you’ll fall!” Then
Ying-ning came down, giggling all the time, until, when she was near
the ground, she missed her hold, and tumbled down with a run. This
stopped her merriment, and Wang picked her up, gently squeezing her
hand as he did so. Ying-ning began laughing again, and was obliged to
lean against a tree for support, it being some time before she was
able to stop. Wang waited till she had finished, and then drew the
flower out of his sleeve and handed it to her. “It’s dead,” said she;
“why do you keep it?” “You dropped it, cousin, at the Feast of
Lanterns,” replied Wang, “and so I kept it.” She then asked him what
was his object in keeping it, to which he answered, “To show my love,
and that I have not forgotten you. Since that day when we met, I have
been very ill from thinking so much of you, and am quite changed from
what I was. But now that it is my unexpected good fortune to meet you,
I pray you have pity on me.” “You needn’t make such a fuss about a
trifle,” replied she, “and with your own relatives, too. I’ll give
orders to supply you with a whole basketful of flowers when you go
away.” Wang told her she did not understand, and when she asked what
it was she didn’t understand, he said, “I didn’t care for the flower
itself; it was the person who picked the flower.” “Of course,”
answered she, “everybody cares for their relations; you needn’t have
told me that.” “I wasn’t talking about ordinary relations,” said Wang,
“but about husbands and wives.” “What’s the difference?” asked
Ying-ning. “Why,” replied Wang, “husband and wife are always
together.” “Just what I shouldn’t like,” cried she, “to be always with
anybody.”[113] At this juncture up came the maid, and Wang slipped
quietly away. By-and-by they all met again in the house, and the old
woman asked Ying-ning where they had been; whereupon she said they had
been talking in the garden. “Dinner has been ready a long time. I
can’t think what you have had to say all this while,” grumbled the old
woman. “My cousin,” answered Ying-ning, “has been talking to me about
husbands and wives.” Wang was much disconcerted, and made a sign to
her to be quiet, so she smiled and said no more; and the old woman
luckily did not catch her words, and asked her to repeat them. Wang
immediately put her off with something else, and whispered to
Ying-ning that she had done very wrong. The latter did not see that;
and when Wang told her that what he had said was private, answered him
that she had no secrets from her old mother. “Besides,” added she,
“what harm can there be in talking on such a common topic as husbands
and wives?” Wang was angry with her for being so dull, but there was
no help for it; and by the time dinner was over he found some of his
mother’s servants had come in search of him, bringing a couple of
donkeys with them. It appeared that his mother, alarmed at his
non-appearance, had made strict search for him in the village; and
when unable to discover any traces of him, had gone off to the Wu
family to consult. There her nephew, who recollected what he had
previously said to young Wang, advised that a search should be
instituted in the direction of the hills; and accordingly the servants
had been to all the villages on the way until they had at length
recognised him as he was coming out of the door. Wang went in and told
the old woman, begging that he might be allowed to take Ying-ning with
him. “I have had the idea in my head for several days,” replied the
old woman, overjoyed; “but I am a feeble old thing myself, and
couldn’t travel so far. If, however, you will take charge of my girl
and introduce her to her aunt, I shall be very pleased.” So she called
Ying-ning, who came up laughing as usual; whereupon the old woman
rebuked her, saying, “What makes you always laugh so? You would be a
very good girl but for that silly habit. Now, here’s your cousin, who
wants to take you away with him. Make haste and pack up.” The servants
who had come for Wang were then provided with refreshment, and the old
woman bade them both farewell, telling Ying-ning that her aunt was
quite well enough off to maintain her, and that she had better not
come back. She also advised her not to neglect her studies, and to be
very attentive to her elders, adding that she might ask her aunt to
provide her with a good husband. Wang and Ying-ning then took their
leave; and when they reached the brow of the hill, they looked back
and could just discern the old woman leaning against the door and
gazing towards the north. On arriving at Wang’s home, his mother,
seeing a nice-looking young girl with him, asked in astonishment who
she might be; and Wang at once told her the whole story. “But that was
all an invention of your cousin Wu’s,” cried his mother; “I haven’t
got a sister, and consequently I can’t have such a niece.” Ying-ning
here observed, “I am not the daughter of the old woman; my father was
named Ch‘in and died when I was a little baby, so that I can’t
remember anything.” “I _had_ a sister,” said Wang’s mother, “who
actually did marry a Mr. Ch‘in, but she died many years ago, and can’t
be still living, of course.” However, on inquiring as to facial
appearance and characteristic marks, Wang’s mother was obliged to
acknowledge the identity, wondering at the same time how her sister
could be alive when she had died many years before. Just then in came
Wu, and Ying-ning retired within; and when he heard the story,
remained some time lost in astonishment, and then said, “Is this young
lady’s name Ying-ning?” Wang replied that it was, and asked Wu how he
came to know it. “Mr. Ch‘in,” answered he, “after his wife’s death was
bewitched by a fox, and subsequently died. The fox had a daughter
named Ying-ning, as was well known to all the family; and when Mr.
Ch‘in died, as the fox still frequented the place, the Taoist
Pope[114] was called in to exorcise it. The fox then went away, taking
Ying-ning with it, and now here she is.” While they were thus
discussing, peals of laughter were heard coming from within, and Mrs.
Wang took occasion to remark what a foolish girl she was. Wu begged to
be introduced, and Mrs. Wang went in to fetch her, finding her in an
uncontrollable fit of laughter, which she subdued only with great
difficulty, and by turning her face to the wall. By-and-by she went
out; but, after making a bow, ran back and burst out laughing again to
the great discomfiture of all the ladies. Wang then said he would go
and find out for them all about Ying-ning and her queer story, so as
to be able to arrange the marriage; but when he reached the spot
indicated, village and houses had all vanished, and nothing was to be
seen except hill-flowers scattered about here and there. Wu
recollected that Mrs. Ch‘in had been buried at no great distance from
that spot; he found, however, that the grave had disappeared, and he
was no longer able to determine its position. Not knowing what to make
of it all, he returned home, and then Mrs. Wang told him she thought
the girl must be a disembodied spirit. Ying-ning shewed no signs of
alarm at this remark; neither did she cry at all when Mrs. Wang began
to condole with her on no longer having a home. She only laughed in
her usual silly way, and fairly puzzled them all. Sharing Miss Wang’s
room, she now began to take her part in the duties of a daughter of
the family; and as for needlework, they had rarely seen anything like
hers for fineness. But she could not get over that trick of laughing,
which, by the way, never interfered with her good looks, and
consequently rather amused people than otherwise, amongst others a
young married lady who lived next door. Wang’s mother fixed an
auspicious day for the wedding, but still feeling suspicious about
Ying-ning, was always secretly watching her. Finding, however, that
she had a proper shadow,[115] and that there was nothing
extraordinary in her behaviour, she had her dressed up when the day
came, in all the finery of a bride; and would have made her perform
the usual ceremonies, only Ying-ning laughed so much she was unable to
kneel down.[116] They were accordingly obliged to excuse her, but Wang
began to fear that such a foolish girl would never be able to keep the
family counsel. Luckily, she was very reticent and did not indulge in
gossip; and moreover, when Mrs. Wang was in trouble or out of temper,
Ying-ning could always bring her round with a laugh. The
maid-servants, too, if they expected a whipping for anything, would
always ask her to be present when they appeared before their mistress,
and thus they often escaped punishment. Ying-ning had a perfect
passion for flowers. She got all she could out of her relations, and
even secretly pawned her jewels to buy rare specimens; and by the end
of a few months the whole place was one mass of flowers. Behind the
house there was one especial tree[117] which belonged to the
neighbours on that side; but Ying-ning was always climbing up and
picking the flowers, for which Mrs. Wang rebuked her severely, though
without any result. One day the owner saw her, and gazed at her some
time in rapt astonishment; however, she didn’t move, deigning only to
laugh. The gentleman was much smitten with her; and when she smilingly
descended the wall on her own side, pointing all the time with her
finger to a spot hard by, he thought she was making an assignation. So
he presented himself at nightfall at the same place, and sure enough
Ying-ning was there. Seizing her hand, to tell his passion, he found
that he was grasping only a log of wood which stood against the wall;
and the next thing he knew was that a scorpion had stung him violently
on the finger. There was an end of his romance, except that he died of
the wound during the night, and his family at once commenced an action
against Wang for having a witch-wife. The magistrate happened to be a
great admirer of Wang’s talent, and knew him to be an accomplished
scholar; he therefore refused to grant the summons, and ordered the
prosecutor to be bambooed for false accusation.[118] Wang interposed
and got him off this punishment, and returned home himself. His mother
then scolded Ying-ning well, saying, “I knew your too playful
disposition would some day bring sorrow upon you. But for our
intelligent magistrate we should have been in a nice mess. Any
ordinary hawk-like official would have had you publicly interrogated
in court; and then how could your husband ever have held up his head
again?” Ying-ning looked grave and did not laugh this time; and Mrs.
Wang continued, “There’s no harm in laughing as long as it is
seasonable laughter;” but from that moment Ying-ning laughed no more,
no matter what people did to make her, though at the same time her
expression was by no means gloomy. One evening she went in tears to
her husband, who wanted to know what was the matter. “I couldn’t tell
you before,” said she, sobbing; “we had known each other such a short
time. But now that you and your mother have been so kind to me, I will
keep nothing from you, but tell you all. I am the daughter of a fox.
When my mother went away she put me in the charge of the disembodied
spirit of an old woman, with whom I remained for a period of over ten
years. I have no brothers: only you to whom I can look. And now my
foster-mother is lying on the hill-side with no one to bury her and
appease her discontented shade. If not too much, I would ask you to do
this, that her spirit may be at rest, and know that it was not
neglected by her whom she brought up.” Wang consented, but said he
feared they would not be able to find her grave; on which Ying-ning
said there was no danger of that, and accordingly they set forth
together. When they arrived, Ying-ning pointed out the tomb in a
lonely spot amidst a thicket of brambles, and there they found the old
woman’s bones. Ying-ning wept bitterly, and then they proceeded to
carry her remains home with them, subsequently interring them in the
Ch‘in family vault. That night Wang dreamt that the old woman came to
thank him, and when he waked he told Ying-ning, who said that she had
seen her also, and had been warned by her not to frighten Mr. Wang.
Her husband asked why she had not detained the old lady; but Ying-ning
replied, “She is a disembodied spirit, and would be ill at ease for
any time surrounded by so much life.”[119] Wang then enquired after
Hsiao-jung, and his wife said, “She was a fox too, and a very clever
one. My foster-mother kept her to wait on me, and she was always
getting fruit and cakes for me, so that I have a friendship for her
and shall never forget her. My foster-mother told me yesterday she was
married.”
After this, whenever the great fast-day[120] came round, husband and
wife went off without fail to worship at the Ch‘in family tomb; and by
the time a year had passed she gave birth to a son, who wasn’t a bit
afraid of strangers, but laughed at everybody, and in fact took very
much after his mother.
FOOTNOTES:
[107] Sickness being supposed to result from evil influences,
witchcraft, &c., just as often as from more natural causes.
[108] The rule which guides betrothals in China is that “the doors
should be opposite”--_i.e._, that the families of the bride and
bridegroom should be of equal position in the social scale. Any
unpleasantness about the value of the marriage presents, and so on, is
thereby avoided.
[109] Marriage between persons of the same surname is forbidden by
law, for such are held to be blood relations, descended lineally from
the original couple of that name. Inasmuch, however, as the line of
descent is traced through the male branches only, a man may marry his
cousins on the maternal side without let or hindrance except that of
sentiment, which is sufficiently strong to keep these alliances down
to a minimum.
[110] A very unjustifiable proceeding in Chinese eyes, unless driven
to it by actual poverty.
[111] The Chinese years are distinguished by the names of twelve
animals--namely, rat, ox, tiger, hare, dragon, serpent, horse, sheep,
monkey, cock, dog, and boar. To the common question, “What is your
honourable age?” the reply is frequently, “I was born under the ----;”
and the hearer by a short mental calculation can tell at once how old
the speaker is, granting, of course, the impossibility of making an
error of so much as twelve years.
[112] Parents in China like to get their sons married as early as
possible, in the hope of seeing themselves surrounded by grandsons,
and the family name in no danger of extinction. Girls are generally
married at from fifteen to seventeen.
[113] This scene should for ever disabuse people of the notion that
there is no such thing as “making love” among the Chinese. That the
passion is just as much a disease in China as it is with us will be
abundantly evident from several subsequent stories; though by those
who have lived and mixed with the Chinese people, no such confirmation
will be needed. I have even heard it gravely asserted by an educated
native that not a few of his countrymen had “died for love” of the
beautiful Miss Lin, the charming but fictitious heroine of _The Dream
of the Red Chamber_.
Play-goers can here hardly fail to notice a very striking similarity
to the close of the first act of Mr. W. S. Gilbert’s “Sweethearts.”
[114] The semi-divine head of the Taoist religion, sometimes called
the Master of Heaven. In his body is supposed to reside the soul of a
celebrated Taoist, an ancestor of his, who actually discovered the
elixir of life and became an immortal some eighteen hundred years ago.
At death, the precious soul above-mentioned will take up its abode in
the body of some youthful member of the family to be hereinafter
revealed. Meanwhile, the present Pope makes a very respectable income
from the sale of charms, by working miracles, and so forth; and only
about two years ago he visited Shanghai, where he was interviewed by
several foreigners.
[115] Disembodied spirits are supposed to have no shadow, and but very
little appetite. There are also certain occasions on which they cannot
stand the smell of sulphur. Fiske, in his _Myths and Myth-makers_
(page 230) says, “Almost universally, ghosts, however impervious to
thrust of sword or shot of pistol, can eat and drink like Squire
Westerns.”
[116] See No. III., note 45.
[117] The _Mu-hsiang_ or _Costus amarus_.
[118] Strictly in accordance with Chinese criminal law.
[119] These disembodied spirits are unable to stand for any length of
time the light and life of this upper world, darkness and death being
as it were necessary to their existence and comfort.
[120] The day before the annual spring festival.
XVI.
THE MAGIC SWORD.