Introduction to Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. A Selection from Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio by Pu Song Ling, translated by Herbert Allen Gals, Volume 1. Introduction by Herbert Allen Gals. Read by J. C. Guan. The very skeleton of a biography is all that can be formed from the various content materials which remain to mark the career of a writer whose work has been for the best part of two centuries, as familiar throughout the land and breath of China, as are the tales of the Arabian knights in all English-speaking communities. The author of Strange Stories was a native of Zhichuan in the province of Shandong. His family name was Pu, his particular name was Song Ling, and the designation or literary epithet by which in accordance with Chinese usage he was commonly known among his friends was Liu Xian or Last of the Immortals. A further fancy name given to him probably by some enthusiastic admirer was Liu Quan or Willow Spring, but he is now familiarly spoken of simply as Pu Song Ling. We are unacquainted with the years of his birth or death. However, by the aid of a meager entry in the history of Zhichuan, it is possible to make a pretty good guess at the date of the former event, for we are there told that Pu Song Ling successfully competed for the lowest or bachelor's degree before he had reached the age of twenty, in that in 1651 he was in the position of a graduate of ten years standing, having failed in the interim to take the second or master's degree. To this failure, Liu, as we are informed in the history above quoted, to his neglect of the beaten track of academic study, we owe the existence of his great work, not indeed his only production, though the one by which, as Confucius said, of his own spring and autumn. Footnote, the annals of Liu State, and footnote, men will know him. All else that we have on record of Pu Song Ling, besides the fact that he lived in close companionship with several eminent scholars of the day, is gathered from his own words. Written when, in 1679, he laid down his pen upon the completion of a task which was to raise him within a short period to a foremost rank in the Chinese world of letters. Of that record I here append a close translation, accompanied by such notes as are absolutely necessary to make it intelligible to non-students of Chinese. Author's Own Record Clad in Wisteria, girdled with ivy. Footnote, set up the bogies of the hills in allusion to their clothes, here quoted with reference to the official classes in ridgical of the title under which they hold post which, from a literary point of view, they are totally unfit to occupy. And footnote. Clad in Wisteria, girdled with ivy. Thus sank Chuping in his falling into trouble. Footnote, Chuping was a celebrated statesman, VC 332-295, who, having lost his master's favour by the intrigues of a rival, finally drowned himself in despair. The annual dragon festival is said by some to be a search for his body. The term Sun Lu used here was the name of an office held by Chuping. Falling into trouble was a poem addressed by Chuping to his prince after his disgrace. Its non-success was the immediate cause of his death. And footnote. A vox headed devils and serpent gods. Footnote, that is, of the supernatural generally. And footnote. He of the long nails. Footnote, a poet of the Tang dynasty whose eyebrows met, whose nails were very long and who could write very fast. And footnote. Never worried to tell. Each interprets in his own way the music of heaven. Footnote, you know the music of earth, said Zhuang Du. But you have not heard the music of heaven. And footnote. And whether it be the sword or not depends upon antecedent causes. Footnote. That is, to the operation of some influence surviving from a previous existence. And footnote. As for me, I cannot, with my poor autumn fireflies lights, match myself against the half-goblins of the age. Footnote. This is another hit at the rolling classes.  I'm not going to match myself against the devil, cried the musician, after a few moments, and instantly blew out the light. And footnote. I am but the dust in the sunbeam. A fit laughing stock for devils. Footnote. When Liu Chun, governor of Wuling, determined to relieve his poverty by trade, he saw a devil standing by his side, laughing and rubbing its hands for glee. Poverty and wealth are matters of destiny, said Liu Chun. But to be laughed at by a devil? And accordingly he desisted from his intention. And footnote. For my talents are not those of Ganbao. Footnote. A writer who flourished in the early part of the fourth century and composed a work of thirty books entitled Supernatural Researches. And footnote. For my talents are not those of Ganbao, elegant explorer of the records of the gods. I am rather animated by the spirit of Su Dongpo, who loved to hear men speak of the supernatural. Footnote. Su Dongpo was the famous poet statesman and essayist who flourished AD 1036 to 1101. And footnote.  And subsequently I dress it up in the form of a story. And thus in the lapse of time my friends from all quarters have supplied me with quantities of material, which, from my habit of collecting, has grown to a vast pile. Footnote. Quote. And his friends had the habit of jotting down for his unfailing delight anything quaint or comic that they came across. End quote. The World on Charles Dickens, July 24th, 1878. And footnote. Human beings, I would point out, are not beyond the pile of fixed laws. And yet there are more remarkable phenomena in their midst than in the country of those who cropped their hair. Footnote. It is related in a historical record that when Taipuo and Yu Chong fled to the southern savages, they saw men with tattooed bodies and short hair. End footnote. Antiquity is unrolled before us. And many tales are to be found therein stranger than that of the nation of flying heads. Footnote. A fabulous community so-called because the heads of men are in the habit of leaving their bodies and flying down to margie places to feed on worms and crabs. A red ring is seen the night before the flight encircling the neck of the man whose head is dry. At daylight the head returns. Some say that the ears are used as wings. Others that the hands also leave the body and fly away. End footnote. Quote. Irrepressible burst and luxurious ease. End quote. Footnote. A quotation from the admired works of Wang Po, a brilliant scholar and poet who was drowned at the early age of 28, 1876. End footnote. Such was always his enthusiastic strain. Quote. Wherever indulging in liberal thought. End quote. Footnote. I have hitherto failed in all attempts to identify the particular writer here intended. The phrase is used by the poet Li Taipo and others. End footnote. Thus he spoke openly without restrain. Were men like these to open my book, I should be a laughingstock to them indeed. At the cross-road. Footnote. The cross-road of the five fathers is here mentioned, which the commentator tells us is merely the name of the place. End footnote. At the cross-road. Men will not listen to me. And yet I have some knowledge of the three states of existence spoken of beneath the cliff. Footnote. The past, present, and future life of the Buddhist system of Madame Psychosis, a certain man who was staying at the temple dreamt that an old priest appeared to him beneath a jade-stone cliff and pointing to a stick of burning incense said to him, that incense represents a vow to be fulfilled. But I say unto you that here its smoke shall have curled away. Your three states of existence will have been already accomplished. The meaning is that time on earth is as nothing to the gods. End footnote. Neither should the words, I utter, be set aside because of him that utters them. Footnote. This remark occurs in the fifteenth chapter of the Analects or Confucian Gospels. End footnote. When the bow was hung at my father's door, footnote. The birth of a boy was formally signaled by hanging a bow at the door that of a girl by displaying a small towel indicative of the parts that each would hear after play in the drama of life. End footnote. When the bow was hung at my father's door, he dreamt that the sickly-looking Buddhist priest but half-covered by his stole entered the chamber.  As a child, I was thin and constantly ailing and unable to hold my own in the battle of life. Our own home was chill and desolate as a monastery and working there for my livelihood with my pen. Footnote, literally, plowing with my pen. End footnote. I was as poor as a priest in this alms-bowl. Footnote, the patra or bowl used by Buddhist mendicants in imitation of the celebrated alms dish of Shakyamuni Buddha. End footnote. Often and often, I put my hand to my head. Footnote, literally, scratched my head as is often done by the Chinese in perplexity or doubt. End footnote. Often and often, I put my hand to my head and exclaimed, surely he who sat with his face to the wall was myself in previous state of existence. I was as powerless as a warrior to go down to heaven and put my body at the throne. I was as FPS as I thought from the start to see the world. End footnote. My mind, my body, my mind, my mind, my mind, my mind, my mind, was myself in previous state of existence, and thus I referred to my non-success in this life to the influence of a destiny surviving from the last. I have been tossed hither and thither in the direction of the rolling wind, like a flower falling in filthy places. But the six paths of transmigration are inscrutable indeed, and I have no right to complain. Footnote. The six paths of transmigration are the six Godi or conditions of existence, namely angels, men, demons, hungry devils, brute beasts, and tortured sinners. And footnote. As it is, midnight finds me with an expiring lamp, while the wind whistles mournfully without, quote, and over my cheerless table I piece together my tails. Footnote, literally pulling together the pieces under the four legs of foxes to make robes. This part of the foxskin is the most valuable for making fur clothes, and footnote. Bainly hoping to produce a sequel to the infernal regions, footnote, the work of a well-known writer named Ling Yiqing, who flourished during the Song Dynasty, and footnote. With a bumper I stimulate my pen. Yet I only succeed thereby, in, quote, venting my excited feelings, and quote, footnote, alluding to an essay by Han Fei, a philosopher of the third century, in which he laments the iniquity of the age in general, and the corruption of officials in particular. He finally committed suicide in prison, where he had been cast by the intrigues of a rival minister, and footnote. And as I'd thus commit my thoughts to writing, truly I am an object worthy of commissaration. Alas! I am but a bird, treading the winter frost, finds no shelter in the tree, the autumn insect that chirps to the moon, and hugs the door for warmth. For where are they who know me? Footnote, Confucius Analex XIV said, quote, alas! there is no one who knows me to be what I am, and quote, and footnote. They are, quote, in the bosque grove, and at the froncher pass, end quote. Wrapped in an infinitable gloom, footnote, the great poet Du Fu, AD 712 to 770, dreamt that his greater predecessor, Li Taipo, AD 705 to 762, appeared to him, quote, coming when the maple grove was in darkness, and returning while the froncher pass was still obscured, end quote. That is, at night, when no one could see him, the meaning being that he never came at all, and that those, quote, who know me, Pusong Ling, end quote, are equally nonexistent. End footnote. From the above curious document, the reader will gain some insight into the obstrues, but at the same time marvelously beautiful style of this gifted writer. The whole essay, for Sachides, and among the most perfect of his kind, is intended chiefly as a satire upon the scholarship of the age, scholarship which had turned the author back to the disappointment of a private life, himself conscious all the time of the inward fire that had been lent him by heaven. It is the keynote of his own subsequent career, spent in the retirement of home, in the society of books and friends, as also to the numerous uncomplementary illusions which occur in all histories relating to official life. Whether or not the world at large has been a gainer by this instance of the failability of competitive examinations has been already decided in the affirmative by the millions of Pusong Ling's own countrymen, who, for the past 200 years, have more than made up to him by a posthumous and enduring reverence for the loss of those earthly and ephemeral honors which he seems to have coveted so much. Strange stories from a Chinese studio, known to the Chinese as the Liaozai Zhiyi, or more familiarly the Liaozai, has hardly been mentioned by a single foreigner without some inaccuracy on the part of the writer concerned. For instance, the late Mr. Mayers states in his Chinese reader's manual, page 176, that his work was composed, quote, circa A.D. 1710, end quote, the fact being that the collection was actually completed in 1679, as we know by the date attached to the author's own record given above. I should mention, however, that the Liaozai was originally, and for many years, circulated in manuscripts only. Pusong Ling, as we are told in a colophon by his great grandson to the first edition, was too poor to meet the heavy expense of block cutting, and it was not until so late as 1740 when the author must have been already for some time a denizen of the dark land he so much loved to describe that his aforesaid grandson printed and published the collection now universally famous. Since then, many editions have been laid before the Chinese public, the best of which is that by Tan Minglun, assault commissioner, who flourished during the reign of Tao Guang, and who, in 1842, produced, at his own expense, an excellent edition in 16 small-look table volumes of about 160 pages each. And as various editions will occasionally be found to contain various readings, I would hear worn students of Chinese who wish to compare my renderings with the text that it is from the edition of Tan Minglun collated with that of Yu Chi, published in 1766, that this translation has been made. Many have been the commentaries and disquisitions upon the meaning of obscure passages and the general scope of this work, to say nothing of the prefaces with which the several editions have been captured into the world. Of the latter, I have selected one specimen from which the reader will be able to form a tolerably accurate opinion as to the true nature of these always singular and usually difficult compositions. Here it is, Tan Menglai's Preface. The common saying, he regards a camel as a horse with a swelled back, trivial of itself, may be used in illustration of greater matters. Men are wont to attribute an existence only to such things as they daily see with their own eyes, and they marvel at whatsoever, appearing before them at one instinct, vanishes at the next. And yet it is not at the sprouting and failing of foliage, nor at the metamorphosis of insects that they marvel, but only at the manifestations of the supernatural world. Though of a truth, the whistling of the wind and the movement of streams was nothing to set the one in motion or give sound to the other might well be ranked among extraordinary phenomena. We are accustomed to these, and therefore do not note them. We marvel at devils and foxes. We do not marvel at man. But who is it that causes a man to move and speak? To which question comes the ready answer of each individual so questioned? I do. This I do, however, is merely a personal consciousness of the facts under discussion. For a man can see with his eyes, but he cannot see what it is that makes him see. He can hear with his ears, but he cannot hear what it is that makes him hear. How then is it possible for him to understand the rationale of things he can neither see nor hear? Whatever has come within the bounds of their own ocular or oricular experience, Medregard has proved to be actually existing, and only such things. Footnote, quote, thus, since countless things exist that the senses can take account of, it is evident that nothing exists that the senses cannot take account of, end quote, the professor in W. H. Malick's New Paul in Virginia. This passage recalls another curious classification, but a great Chinese philosopher, Han Wenquan, quote, there are some things which possess form but are devoid of sound, as for instance jade and stones. Others have sound but are without form, such as wind and thunder. Others, again, have both form and sound, such as men and animals. And lastly, there is a class devoid of both, namely devils and spirits, and footnote. But this term experience may be understood in various senses. For instance, people speak of something which has certain attributes as form, and of something else which has certain other attributes as substance. Ignorant as they are, that form and substance are to be found existing without those particular attributes. Things which are thus constituted are inappreciable indeed, by our ears and eyes. But we cannot argue that therefore they do not exist.  While to others, even a mountain is invisible. Others can hear the sound of ants battling together. While others, again, fail to catch the roar of a thunder peel. Powers of seeing and hearing vary. There should be no reckless imputations of blindness. According to the schoolmen, man at his death is dispersed like wind or fire. The origin and end of his vitality being alike unknown. And as those who have seen strange phenomena are few, the number of those who marvel at them is proportionately great. And the quote hoarse with a swelled back end quote, parallel, is very widely applicable. And ever quoting the fact that Confucius would have nothing to say on these topics. These schoolmen have discredited such works as the qi jie zu guai and the yu qi ji. Footnote, I have never seen any of these works, but I believe they treat as implied by their titles, chiefly of the supernatural world. And footnote, ignorant, that the sages unwillingness to speak had reference only to persons of an inferior mental caliber. For his own spring and autumn can hardly be said to be the void of all illusions of the kind. Now, Puyuxian devoted himself and his youth to the marvelous. And as he grew older, was specially remarkable for his comprehension thereof. And being more over a most elegant writer, he occupied his leisure in recording whatever came to his knowledge of a particularly marvelous nature. A volume of these compositions of his formally fell into my hands, and was constantly borrowed by friends. Now I have another volume, and of what I read, only about three tenths was known to me before. What there is, should be sufficient to open the eyes of those schoolmen, though I much fear it will be like talking of ice to a butterfly. Personally, I disbelieve in the irregularity of natural phenomena, and regard as evil spirits, only those who injure their neighbors. For eclipses, falling stars, the flight of herons, the nest of hermina, talking stones, and the combats of dragons, can hardly be classed as irregular, while the phenomena of nature occurring out of season, wars, rebellions, and so forth, may certainly be relegated to the category of evil. In my opinion, the morality of Puyuxian's work is of a very high standard, its objective being distinctly to glorify virtue and to censure vice. And as a book calculated to elevate mankind, it may be safely placed side by side with the philosophical treatises of Yang Xiong, note BC 53 to AD 18, which Huantan, note BC 13 to AD 56, declared to be so worthy of a wide circulation. With regard to the meaning of the Chinese words, Liao Zai Zhi Yi, this title has received indifferent treatment at the hands of different writers. Dr. Williams chose to render it by pastimes of the study, and Mr. Mayer's by The Record of Marvels, or Tales of the Geni, neither of which is sufficiently near to be regarded in the light of a translation. Taken literally and in order, these words stand for Liao Library Record Strange, Liao being simply a fanciful name given by our author to his private library or studio. An apocryphal anecdote traces the origin of this selection to a remark once made by himself with reference to his failure for the second degree. Alas, he is reported to have said, I shall now have no resource, Liao, for my old age. And accordingly he so named his study, meaning that in his pen he would seek that resource which fate had denied to him as an official. For this untranslatable Liao, I have ventured to substitute Chinese as indicating more clearly the nature of what is to follow. No such titles as Tales of the Geni fully expresses the scope of this work, which embraces alike weird stories of Taoist devilry and magic, marvelous accounts of impossible countries beyond the sea, simple scenes of Chinese everyday life, and notices of extraordinary natural phenomena. Indeed, the author once had it in contemplation to publish only the more imaginative of the tales in the present collection under the title of Devil and Fox Stories, but from this scheme he was ultimately dissuaded by his friends, the result being the heterogeneous mass which is more aptly described by the title I have given to this volume. In a similar matter, I too had originally determined to publish a full and complete translation of the whole of these sixteen volumes. But on a closer acquaintance, many of the stories turned out to be quite unsuitable for the age in which we live, forcibly recalling the coarseness of our own writers of fiction in the eighteenth century. Others again were utterly pointless or mere repetitions in a slightly altered form. From the whole, I therefore selected one hundred and sixty-four of the best and most characteristic stories, of which eight had previously been published by Mr. Allen in the China Review, and one by Mr. Mayors in notes and queries on China and Japan, two by myself in the columns of the Celestial Empire, and four by Dr. Williams in a now forgotten handbook of Chinese. The remaining one hundred and forty-nine have never before, to my knowledge, been translated into English. To those, however, who can enjoy the Liuzai in the original text, the distinctions between the various stories in felicity of plot, originality, and so on, are far less sharply defined. So impressed, as each competent reader must be, by the incomparable style in which even the meanest is arrayed. For in this respect, as important now in Chinese eyes, as it was with ourselves in days not long gone by, the author of the Liuzai and the rejected candidates succeeded in founding a school of his own, in which he has since been followed by hosts of servile imitators with more or less success. Hurstness is pushed to extreme limits. Each particle that can be safely dispensed with is grouplessly eliminated. And every here and there, some new and original combination, invests perhaps a single word with a force it could never have possessed, except under the hands of a perfect master of his art. Add to the above copious illusions and adaptations from a course of reading, which would seem to have been co-extensive with a whole range of Chinese literature, the wealth of metaphor and an artistic use of figures, generally to which only the writings of Carlisle form an adequate parallel. And the result is a work which, for purity and beauty, of style, is now universally accepted in China as the best and most perfect model. Sometimes the story runs along plainly and smoothly enough. But the next moment, we may be plunged into pages of true text, the meaning of which is so involved in quotations from and allusions to the poetry or history of the past three thousand years as to be recoverable only of the diligent perusal of the commentary and much searching in other works of reference. In illustration of the popularity of this book, Mr. Mayer is once stated that, quote, the porter at his gate, the boatman at his midday rest, the chair-cootie at his stand, no less than the man of letters among his books, may be seen pouring with delight over the elegantly narrated marvels of the Liao Tai, end quote. But he would doubtless have withdrawn this statement in later years, with the work lying open before him. During many years in China, I made a point of never, one feasible, passing by a reading Chinese without asking permission to glance at the volume in his hand, and at my various stations in China, I always kept up a boring acquaintance with the libraries of my private or official servants. But I can safely affirm that I never once detected the Liao Tai in the hands of an ill-educated man. In the same connection, Mr. Mayer's observed that fairy tales told in the style of the anatomy of melancholy would scarcely be a popular book in Great Britain. But except in some particular points of contact, the styles of these two works could scarcely claim even the most distant of relationships. Such then is the setting of this collection of strange stories from a Chinese studio, many of which contain, in addition to the advantages of style and plot, a very excellent moral. The intention of most of them is, in the actual words of Tang Menglai, quote, to glorify virtue and to censure vice, end quote, always it must be borne in mind, according to the Chinese and not the European interpretation of these terms, as in addition to our knowledge of the folklore of China, and as a guide to the manners, customs, and social life of that vast empire, my translation of the Liao Tai may not be wholly devoid of interest. It has now been carefully revised, all inaccuracies of the first edition having been so far as possible corrected. Herbert A. Gals, Cambridge, July 1908, end of the introduction. Part one of a selection from strange stories from a Chinese studio, volume one. This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A selection from strange stories from a Chinese studio, by Pu Songling, translated by Herbert Alan Giles, volume one, part one. Examination for the Post of Guardian Angel. My eldest sister's husband's grandfather, named Song Tao, was a graduate. One day, while lying down from in disposition, an official messenger arrived, bringing the usual notification in his hand, and leading a horse with the white forehead, to summon him to the examination for his master's degree. Mr. Song here remarked that the grand examiner had not yet come, and asked why there should be this hurry. The messenger did not reply to this, but pressed so earnestly that at length Mr. Song roused himself, and getting upon the horse rode with him. The way seemed strange, and by and by they reached a city which resembled the capital of a prince. They then entered the Prefect's Yaman, the apartments of which were beautifully decorated, and there they found some ten officials sitting at the upper end, all strangers to Mr. Song, with the exception of one whom he recognized to be the God of War. In the veranda were two tables and two stalls, and at the end of one of the former, a candidate was already seated, so Mr. Song sat down alongside of him. On the table were writing materials for each, and suddenly down flew a piece of paper with a theme on it, consisting of the following eight words—one man, two men, by intention, without intention. When Mr. Song had finished his essay, he took it into the hall. It contained the following passage. Those who are virtuous by intention, though virtuous, shall not be rewarded. Those who are wicked, without intention, though wicked, shall receive no punishment. The presiding deities praised this sentiment very much, and calling Mr. Song to come forward, said to him, a guardian angel is wanted in Henan.  Mr. Song no sooner heard this than he bowed his head and wept, saying, unworthy though I am of the honor you have conferred upon me, I should not venture to decline it, but that my aged mother has reached her seventh decade, and there is no one now to take care of her. I pray you let me wait until she has fulfilled her destiny when I will hold myself at your disposal. Thereupon one of the deities, who seemed to be the chief, gave instructions to search out his mother's term of life, and a long-bearded attendant forthwith brought in the book of fate. On turning it over, he declared that she still had nine years to live, and then a consultation was held among the deities, in the middle of which the God of War said, very well, let Mr. Granduet Zhang take the post, and be relieved in nine years' time. Then, turning to Mr. Song, he continued, you ought to proceed without delay to your post, but as a reward for your filial piety you are granted a furlough of nine years. At the expiration of that time you will receive another summons. He next addressed a few kind words to Mr. Zhang, and the two candidates, having made their kowtow, went away together. Grasping Mr. Song's hand, his companion, who gave Zhang Qi of Changshan as his name and address, accompanied him beyond the city walls, and gave him a stanza of poetry at parting. I cannot recall it all, but in it occurred this couplet. With wine and flowers we chase the hours, in one eternal spring, no moon, no light to cheer the night, thyself that ray must bring. Mr. Song here left him and rode on, and before very long reached his own home. Here he awakened, as if from a dream, and found that he had been dead three days, when his mother, hearing a groan in the coffin, ran to it and helped him out. It was some time before he could speak, and then he at once inquired about Changshan, where, as it turned out, a graduate named Zhang had died that very day. Nine years afterwards Mr. Song's mother, in accordance with fate, passed from this life, and when the funeral obsequies were over, her son, having first purified himself, entered into his chamber, and died also. Now his wife's family lived within the city, near the western gate, and all of a sudden they beheld Mr. Song, accompanied by numerous chariots and horses with carved trappings and red-tassled bits, enter into the hall, make an obeisance, and depart. They were very much disconcerted at this, not knowing that he had become a spirit, and rushed out into the village to make inquiries, when they heard he was already dead. Mr. Song had an account of his adventure written by himself, but, unfortunately, after the insurrection it was not to be found. This is only an outline of the story. Footnotes. Number one. Guardian Angel. The tutela deity of every Chinese city. Two. Song Tao was a graduate. That is, he had taken the first, or bachelor's degree. I shall not hesitate to use strictly English equivalents for all kinds of Chinese terms. The three degrees are literally cultivated talent, raised man, and promoted scholar. Three. The Prefect Yaman. The official residence of Amandarin above a certain rank. Four. The God of War. The Chinese Mars. A celebrated warrior named Guan Yu, who lived about the beginning of the third century of our era. He was raised after death to the rank of a God, and now plays a leading part in the Chinese pantheon. Five. He awakened as if from a dream, and found that he had been dead three days. Catelepsy, which is the explanation of many a story in this collection, would appear to be a very common occurrence among the Chinese. Such, however, is not the case. END OF EXAMINATION FOR THE POST OF GUARDIAN ANGEL THE TALKING PUPLES Read by Ashwin Jain. At Chang'an, they lived a scholar named Fang Tung, who, though by no means destitute of ability, was a very unprincipled rake, and in the habit of following and speaking to any woman, he might chance to meet. The day before the spring festival of clear weather, he was strolling about outside the city when he saw a small carriage with red curtains and an embroidering awning. Followed by a crowd of waiting mates on horseback, one of whom was exceedingly pretty, and riding on a small palfrey. Going closer to get a better view, Mr Chang noticed that the carriage curtain was partly open, and inside he beheld a beautifully dressed girl of about 16, lovely beyond anything he had ever seen. Dazzled by the sight, he could not take his eyes off her, and now, before, now behind, he followed the carriage for many a mile. By and by he heard the young lady call out to her maid, and with the latter came alongside, say to her, let down the screen for me, who is this rude fellow that keeps on staring so. The maid accordingly laid down the screen, and looking angrily at Mr Fang, said to him, this is the bride of the seventh prince in the city of immortals, going home to see her parents, and her village girl that he should stay at her thus. Then, taking a handful of dust, she threw at him and blinded him. He rubbed his eyes and looked around, but the carriage and the horses were gone. This frightened him, and he went off home, feeling very uncomfortable about the eyes. He sent for a doctor to examine his eyes, and on the pupils were found a small film, which had increased by next morning. The eyes were watering incessantly all the time. The film went on growing, and in a few days was as thick as a cache. On the right pupil there came a kind of spiral, and as no medicine was of any avail, the sufferer gave himself up to grief and wished for death. He then thought he might repent of his misdeeds, and hearing that the Kuang Ming Sutra could relieve misery, he got a copy and hired a man to teach it to him. At first it was a very tedious task, but by degrees he became more composed, and spent the whole day in potion of devotion, telling his beats. At the end of a year he had arrived at a state of perfect calm, when one day he heard a small voice, about as loud as a flies, calling out from his left eye. It's horrid dark in here. To this he heard a reply from the right eye, saying, Let us go out for a stroll, and cheer ourselves up a bit. Then he felt a wriggling in his nose, which made it itch, just as if something was going out of reach of the nostrils, and after a while he felt it again, as if going the other way. Afterwards he heard a voice from one eye say, I hadn't seen the garden for a long time, the epidendrams are all withered and dead. Now Mr. Fang was very fond of these epidendrams, of which he had planted a great number, and had been accustomed to water them himself, but since the loss of his sight he had never even alluded to them. Hearing, however, these words, he had once asked his wife why she had left the epidendrams die. She inquired how he knew they were dead, and when he told her that she went out to sea, and found them actually withered away. They were both very much astonished at this, and his wife proceeded to conceal herself in the room. She then observed two tiny people, no bigger than a bean, come down from her husband's nose and run out of the door, where she lost sight of them.  This went on for some days, and to Mr. Fang heard from the left eye, this roundabout road is not at all convenient, it would be as well for us to make a door. To this the right eye answered, my wall is too thick, it wouldn't be at all an easy job. I will try and open mine to the left eye, and then it will do for both of us. Whereupon Mr. Fang felt a pain in his left eye as something was being split, and in a moment he found that he could see the tables and chairs in the room. He was delighted at this, and told his wife, examined his eye and discovered an opening in the film, through which he could see the black pupils shining out beneath. The eyeball itself looking like a cracked peppercorn. By next morning the film had disappeared, and when his eyes was closely examined it was observed to contain two pupils. The spiral on the right eye remained as before, and then they knew that the two pupils had taken up their abode in one eye. Further, although Mr. Fang's was still blind of one eye, the sight of the other was better than that of the two together. From this time he was more careful of his behavior, and acquired in his part of the country the reputation of a virtuous man. Footnotes 1. The Spring Festival of Clear Weather. One of the 24 solar terms, it falls on or above the 5th of April, and is the special time for worshipping at the family tombs. 2. A cash. The common European name for the only Chinese coin. About 20 of which go to a penny. Each has a square hole in the middle for the convenience of stringing them together. Hence the expression strings of cash. 3. The belief that the human eye contains a tiny being of the human shape is universal in China. It originated of course from the reflection of oneself that is seen on looking into the people of anybody's eye or even with the aid of a mirror into one's own. End of the talking people's. Recorded by Ashwin Jain. Part 3 of a selection from strange stories from a Chinese studio. Volume 1. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. 4. A selection from strange stories from a Chinese studio. By Paul Swongling. Translated by Albert Allen Giles. Volume 1. Part 3. The Painted Wall. Recording by Ashwin Jain. A Jiangxi gentleman named Meng Lutan was lodging at the capital of Mr. Chu, MA, when one day chance led him to a certain monastery within which they found no spacious halls or meditation chambers but only an old priest in disheveled. On observing the visitors, he arranged his dress and went forward to meet them, leading them round and showing whatever there was to be seen. In the chapel, they saw an image of Qi Qun and the walls on either side were beautifully painted with life-like representations of men and animals. On the east side were pictured a number of fairies, among whom was a young girl whose maiden tresses were not yet confined by the matron's knot. She was picking flowers and gently smiling, while her cherry lips seemed about to move and the moisture of her eyes to overflow. Mr. Chu gazed for a long time, without taking his eyes off her, until at last he became unconscious of anything but the thoughts that were englossing him. Then suddenly he felt himself floating in the air as if riding on a cloud and found himself passing through the wall, where halls and pavilions stretched away one after another, unlike the abodes of mortals. Here an old priest was preaching the law of Buddha, surrounded by a large crowd of listeners. Mr. Chu mingled with the throng, and after a few moments, perceived a gentle tug at his sleeve. Turning round, he saw the young girl above mentioned, who walked laughing away. Mr. Chu at once followed her, in passing a winding balustrade arrived at a small apartment, beyond which he did not venture further. But the young lady, looking back, waved the flowers she had in her hand, as though beckoning him to come on. He accordingly entered and found nobody else within. Then they fell on their knees and worshipped heaven and earth together, and rose up as man and wife, after which the bride went away. Beating Mr. Chu, he kept quiet until she came back. This went on for a couple of days, when the young lady's companions began to smell a rat and discovered Mr. Chu's hiding place. Thereupon they all laughed and said, my dear, you are now a married woman, and should leave off that maidenly quiver. So they gave her the proper hairpins and head ornaments, and bid her go bind her hair, at which she blushed very much, but said nothing. Then one of them cried out, my sisters, let us be off, to his company most none. At this they all giggled again and went away. Mr. Chu found his wife very much improved by the alteration in the style of her hair, the high top knot and the corner of pendants were very becoming to her. But suddenly they heard a sound as a tramping of heavy soy boots accompanied by the clanking chains and the noise of angry discussion. The bride jumped up in a fright, and she and Mr. Chu peeped out. They saw a man clad in golden armor, with a face as black as jet, canning in his hands, chains and whips, and surrounded by all the girls. He asked, are you all here? All they replied, if, said he, an immortal is here concealed amongst you, denounce him at once, and lay not a sorrow for yourselves. Here they all answered as before, that there was no one. The man then made a movement, as he would search the place upon which the bride was dreadfully alarmed, and her face turned the color of ashes. In her terror, she said to Mr. Chu, hide yourself under the bed, and opening a small lattice in the wall, disappeared herself. Mr. Chu, in his concealment, hardly dared to draw his breath, and in a little while he heard the bootstrap into the room and out again, the sound of the voices getting gradually fainter and fainter in the distance. This reassured him, but he still heard the voices of people going backwards and forwards outside, and having been a long time in a grand position, his ears began to sing, as if there was a locus in them, and his eyes to burn like fire. It was almost unbearable, however, he remained quietly awaiting the return of the young lady, without giving a thought to why and wherefore of his present position. Meanwhile, Meng Lutang had noticed the sudden disappearance of his friend, and thinking something was wrong, asked the priest where he was. He had gone to hear the preaching of the law, replied the priest, where? Said Mr. Meng, or not very far, was the answer. Then, with his finger, the old priest tapped the wall and called out, Friend Chu, what makes you stay away so long? At this, the likeness of Mr. Chu was figured upon the wall, with his ear inclined in the attitude of fun listening. The priest added, your friend here has been waiting for you for some time, and immediately Mr. Chu descended from the wall, standing transfixed like a block of food, with staring eyeballs and trembling legs. Mr. Meng was much terrified, and asked him quietly what was the matter. Now, the matter was that, while concealed under the bed, he had heard a noise resembling thunder, and had rushed out to see what it was. Here, they all noticed that the young lady on the wall, with the maiden traces, had changed the style of her coiffure to that of a married woman. Mr. Chu was greatly astonished at this, and asked the old priest the reason. He replied, Visions have their origin in those who see them. What explanation can I give? This answer was very unsatisfactory to Mr. Chu. Neither did his friend, who was rather frightened, knew what to make out of it all. So, they descended the temple steps, and went away. Footnotes 1. He found himself passing through the wall. This will doubtless remind the reader of Alice through the looking glass, and what she saw there. 2. They fell on their knees, and worshiped heaven and earth together. 3. The all-important item of a Chinese marriage ceremony amounting, in fact, to calling God to witness the contract. End of The Painted Wall. Recording by Ashwin Jain. Part 4 of her selection from strange stories from a Chinese studio. Volume 1. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A selection from strange stories from a Chinese studio. By Poole Songling. Translated by Herbert Alan Giles. Volume 1. Part 4. Planting a Peer Tree. Read by Ashwin Jain. A countryman was one dear selling his peers in the market. They were unusually sweet and fine flavored, and the price he asked was high. A Taoist priest in rafts and tattles stopped at the barrel and begged one of them. The countryman told him to go away, but as he did not do so, he began to curse and swear at him. The priest said, he have several hundred peers in your barrel. I asked for a single one. The loss of which, sir, you do not feel. Why then get angry? The looker's aunt told the countryman to give him an inferior one and let him go. With this, he obstinately refused to do. Thereupon, the beader of the place, finding the commotion too great. Purchased a peer and handed it to the priest. The latter received it, with a bow and turning to the crowd said, We who have left our homes and given up all that is dear to us, are at a loss to understand selfish negative conduct in others. Now I have some excused peers, which I shall do myself the honor to put before you.  Because, replied the priest, I wanted one of those pips to grow them from.  He then asked the bystanders for a little hot water to water it with, and one among them, who loved a joke, fetched him with some boiling water from a neighboring shop. The priest bowed this over the place, where he had made the hole, and every eye was fixed upon him, with crowds for a scene shooting up, and gradually growing larger and larger. By and by, there was a tree with branches sparsely covered with leaves, thin flowers, and last of all fine, large, sweet-smelling pears hanging in great profusion. These the priest picked, and handed round to the assembled crowd, until all were gone, when he took his pick and hacked away for a long time at the tree, finally cutting it down. This he shouldered, leaves and all, and sauntered quietly away. From the very beginning, our friend, the country man, had been amongst the crowd, straining his neck to see what was going on, and forgetting all about his business. At the departure of the priest, he turned round and discovered that every one of his pears was gone. He then knew that those the old fellow had been giving away so freely were really his own pears. Looking more closely at the barrel, he also found that one of the handles was missing, evidently having been newly cut off. Boiling with rage, he set out in pursuit of the priest, and just as he turned the corner, he saw the lost barrel handle lying under the wall. Being in fact the very pears tree, the priest had cut down, but there were no traces of the priest, much to the amusement of the crowd in the marketplace. Footnotes 1. Taoist That is, of the religion of Tao, a system of philosophy founded some six centuries before the Christian era by a man named Lao Zhu, an old boy, who was said to have been born with white hair and a beard. It is now but a shadow of its former self, and is corrupted by the grossest forms of superstition, borrowed from Buddhism, which has in its turn adopted many of the forms and beliefs of Taoism, so that the two religions are hardly distinguishable, one from the other. What seemed to me the most singular circumstance connected with the matter was the presence of half a dozen Taoist priests, who joined in all the ceremonies, doing everything that the Buddhist priests did, and presenting very odd appearance, with their top knots and cues, among their closely sharing Buddhist brethren. It seems strange that the worship of sacramony by celibate Buddhist priests, with shaped heads into which holes were duly burned at their initiation, should be participated in by married Taoist priests whose heads are not wholly shaven and have never been burned. The initiation of Buddhist priests at Qishan by SLB Taoist priests are credited with the knowledge of alchemy and the black art in general, footnote 2. We who have left our homes in giving up all that is dear to us, as celibate priesthood belongs properly to Buddhism, and is not a doctrine of the Taoist Church, end of planting a pear tree, read by Ashwin Jain. Part 5 of a Selection of Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio, Volume 1 This is LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Selection from Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio by Pu Song Ling, translated by Herbert Allen Giles. Volume 1, Part 5, The Taoist Priests of Lao Shan. Read by Allen Davis Drake. There lived in our village a Mr. Wang, the seventh son of an old family. This gentleman had a penchant for the Taoist religion, and hearing that at Lao Shan there were plenty of immortals, shouldered his knapsack, and went off for a tour thither. Ascending a peak of the mountain he reached a secluded monastery, where he found the priest sitting on a rush-mat, with long hair flowing over his neck and a pleasant expression on his face. Making a low bow, Wang addressed him thus. Mysterious indeed is the doctrine. I pray you, sir, instruct me therein. Delicately nurtured and wanting in energy as you are, replied the priest, I fear you could not support the fatigue. Try me, said Wang. So when the disciples, who were very many in number, collected together at dusk, Wang joined them in making obeisance to the priest, and remained with them in the monastery. Very early next morning the priest summoned Wang, and giving him a hatchet, sent him out with the others to cut firewood. Wang respectfully obeyed, continuing to work for over a month, until his hands and feet were so swollen and blistered that he secretly meditated returning home. One evening when he came back he found two strangers sitting drinking with his master. It being already dark and no lamp or candles having been brought in, the old priest took some scissors and cut out a circular piece of paper like a mirror, which he proceeded to stick against the wall. Immediately it became a dazzling moon, by the light of which you could have seen a hare or a beard of corn. The disciples all came crowding round to wait upon them. But one of the strangers said, on a festive occasion like this we ought all to enjoy ourselves together. Accordingly he took a kettle of wine from the table and presented it to the disciples, bidding them to drink each his fill. Whereupon our friend Wang began to wonder how seven or eight of them could be served out of a single kettle. The disciples too rushed about in search of cups, each struggling to get the first drink. For fear the wine should be exhausted. Nevertheless all the candidates failed to empty the kettle, at which they were very much astonished. When suddenly one of the strangers said, You have given us a fine bright moon, but it's dull work drinking by ourselves. Why not call Chang'e to join us? He then seized the chopstick and threw it into the moon, whereupon a lovely girl stepped forth from its beams. At first she was only a foot high, but on reaching the ground, lengthened to the ordinary size of a woman. She had a slender waist and a beautiful neck, and went most gracefully through the red garment figure. When this was finished she sang the following words, Ye fairies, ye fairies, I'm coming back soon. Too lonely and cold is my home in the moon. Her voice was clear and well sustained, ringing like the notes of a flageolet. And when she had concluded her song, she pirouetted round and jumped up on the table, where, with every eye fixed in astonishment upon her, she once more became a chopstick. The three friends laughed loudly, and one of them said, We are very jolly tonight, but I have hardly room for any more wine. Will you drink a parting glass with me in the palace of the moon? They then took up the table and walked into the moon, where they could be seen drinking so plainly that their eyebrows and beards appeared like reflections in a looking glass. By and by the moon became obscured, and when the disciples brought a lighted candle, they found the priests sitting in the dark alone. The Vians, however, were still upon the table and the mirror-like piece of paper on the wall. Have you all had enough to drink, asked the priest, to which they answered that they had. In that case, he said, you had better get to bed, so as not to be behind hand with your wood-cutting in the morning. So they all went off, and among them Wang, who was delighted at what he had seen, and thought no more of returning home. But after a time he could not stand it any longer, and as the priest taught him no magical arts, he determined not to wait, but went to him and said, Sir, I have traveled many long miles for the benefit of your instruction. If you will not teach me the secret of immortality, let me at any rate learn some trifling trick, and so sooth my cravings for a knowledge of your art. I have now been here two or three months, doing nothing but chop firewood, out in the morning and back at night, work to which I was never accustomed in my own home. Did I not tell you, replied the priest, that you would never support the fatigue. Tomorrow I will start you on your way home. Sir, said Wang, I have worked for you a long time. Teach me some small art that my coming here may not have been wholly in vain. What art, asked the priest. Well, answered Wang, I have noticed that whenever you walk about anywhere, walls and so on, are no obstacles for you. Teach me this, and I'll be satisfied. The priest laughingly assented, and taught Wang a formula which he bade him recite. When he had done so, he told him to walk through the wall, but Wang, seeing the wall in front of him, didn't like to walk at it. As however the priest bade him try, he walked quietly up to it and was there stopped. The priest here called out, don't go slowly, put your head down and rush at it. So Wang stepped back a few paces and went at full speed, and the wall yielded to him as he passed. In a moment he found himself outside. Delighted at this, he went in to thank the priest, who told him to be careful in the use of his power, or otherwise there would be no response. Handing him at the same time some money for his expenses on the way. When Wang got home, he went about bragging of his Taoist friends, and his contempt for walls in general. But his wife disbelieved his story. He said about going through the performance as before. Stepping back from the wall, he rushed at it at full speed with his head down, but coming in contact with the hard bricks, finished up in a heap on the floor. His wife picked him up and found he had a bump on his forehead as big as a large egg, at which she roared with laughter. But Wang was overwhelmed with rage and shame, and cursed the old priest for his base in gratitude. Footnotes, one, immortals, the angels of Taoism. Immortality in a happy land being the reward held out for a life of earth in accordance with the doctrines of Tao. Taoist priests are believed by some to possess an elixir of immortality in the form of a precious liquor. Others again hold that the elixir consists solely in the virtuous conduct of life. 2. Chang'o The beautiful wife of a legendary chieftain named Hu Yi, who flourished about 2500 BC. She is said to have stolen from her husband the elixir of immortality, and to have fled with it to the moon. 3. The Red Garment Figure, the name of a celebrated pasul of antiquity. End of The Taoist Priest of Lao Shan. Part 6 of a section from Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio. Volume 1. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information and to learn how to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Selection From Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio. By Pu Song Ling. Translated by Herbert Alan Giles. Volume 1. Part 6. The Buddhist Priest of Chang'ing. Read by Alan Davis Drake. At Chang'ing there lived the Buddhist priest of exceptional virtue and purity of conduct, who though over 80 years of age was still hail and hearty. One day he fell down and could not move, and when the other priest rushed to help him up, they found he was already gone. The old priest was himself unconscious of death. His soul flew away to the borders of the province of Hon Nan. Now a chance that the Saiyan of an old family residing in Hon Nan, with some ten or a dozen followers, to hunt the hare with falcons.  Just at that moment the soul of the priest came by and entered into the body. Which thereupon gradually recovered consciousness. The servants crowded round to ask him how he felt. When opening his eyes wide he cried out, How did I get here? They assisted him to rise and led him into the house, where all his ladies came to see him and inquire how he did. In great amazement he said, I am a Buddhist priest. How came I hither? His servants thought he was wandering, and tried to recall him by pulling his ears. As for himself he could make nothing of it, and closing his eyes refrained from saying anything further. For food he would only eat rice, refusing all wine and meat, and avoided the society of his wives. After some days he felt inclined for a stroll, at which all his family were delighted. But no sooner had he got outside and stopped for a little rest, that he was besieged by servants begging him to take their accounts as usual. However he pleaded illness and want of strength, and no more was said. When he took occasion to ask if they knew the district of Chang Ching, and on being answered in the affirmative, expressed his intentions of going thither for a trip, as he felt anxious about those he had left to their own resources, at the same time bidding the servants look after his affairs at home.  But he paid no heed to their remonstrances, and on the very next day set out. Arriving at the Chang Ching district he found everything unchanged, and without being put to the necessity of asking the road, made his way straight to the monastery. His former disciples received him with every token of respect as an honoured visitor, and in reply to his questions as to where the old priest was, they informed him that their worthy teacher had been dead for some time. On asking to be shown his grave, they led him to a spot where there was a solitary mound some three feet high, over which the grass was not yet green. Not one of them knew his motives for visiting this place, and by and by he ordered his horse, saying to the disciples, your master was a virtuous priest. Carefully preserve whatever relics of him you may have, and keep them from injury. They all promised to do this, and he set off on his way home. When he arrived there he fell into a listless state and took no interest in his family affairs. So much so that after a few months he ran away and went straight to his former home at the monastery, telling the disciples that he was their old master. This they refused to believe and laughed among themselves at his pretensions, but he told them the whole story and recalled many instances of his previous life among them. Until at last they were convinced. He then occupied his old bed and went through the same daily routines as before, paying no attention to the repeated entreaties of his family, who came with carriages and horses to beg him to return. About a year subsequently his wife sent one of the servants with splendid presence of gold and silk, all of which he refused with the exception of a single linen robe. And whenever any of his old friends passed the monastery, they always went to pay him their respect, finding him quiet, dignified, and pure. He was then barely thirty, though we had been a priest for more than eighty years. Footnotes 1. To hunt the hare with falcons. This form of sport may still be seen in the north of China. A hare being started, two Chinese greyhounds, which are very slow, are slipped from their leash in pursuit. But as the hare would easily run straight away from them, a falcon is released almost simultaneously. The latter soars to a considerable height and then swoops down on the hare, striking it a violent blow with the pounce or claw. This partially stuns the hare and allows the dogs to regain lost ground. The chase is ended by the hare getting to earth in a fox burrow, or being ultimately overtaken by the dogs. In the latter case the hardened liver are cut out on the spot and given to the falcon. Otherwise he would hunt no more that day. Two falcons are often released, one shortly after the other. They wear hoods, which are removed at the moment of flying, and are attached by a slip string from one leg to the falconer's wrist. During the night, previous to a day's hunting, they are not allowed to sleep. Each falconer lies down with one falcon on his left wrist and keeps up an insistent tapping with the other hand on the bird's head. This is done to make them fierce. Should the quarry escape, a hare skin is thrown down, by which means the falcons are secured and made ready for a further flight. Occasionally but rarely the falcon misses its blow with the hare with the result of a broken or injured arm. Two. For food he would only eat rice, refusing all wine and meat, and avoided the society of his wives. Absence from wine and meat and celibacy are among the most important rules of the Buddhist Church, as specially applied to its priesthood. At the door of every Buddhist monastery may be seen a notice that no wine or meat may enter here. Even the laity are not supposed to drink wine. Three. He was then barely thirty, though he had been a priest for more than eighty years, having renewed his youth by assuming the body of the young man into which the soul had entered. End of The Buddhist Priest of Chang Ching. Part 7 of a Selection from Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio, Volume 1. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Selection from Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio, by Pu Song Ling. Translated by Herbert Alan Giles. Volume 1. Part 7. The Marriage of the Fox's Daughter. A president of a board of civil office named Yin and a native of Li Cheng, when a young man was very badly off, but was endowed with considerable physical courage. Now in this part of the country there was a large establishment, covering several acres, with an unbroken succession of pavilions and verandas, and belonging to one of the old county families. But because ghosts and apparitions were frequently seen there, the place had for a long time remained untenanted, and was overgrown with grass and weeds, no one venturing to enter even in broad daylight. One evening when Yin was caressing with some fellow students, one of them jokingly said, if anybody will pass the night in the haunted house, the rest of us will stand him a dinner. Mr. Yin jumped up at this and cried out, what is that difficult in that? So taking with him a sleeping mat, he proceeded thither, escorted by all his companions as far as the door, where they laughed and said, we will wait here a little while, in case you see anything shout out to us at once. If there are any goblins or foxes, replied Yin, I'll catch them for you. He then went in and found the paths obliterated by long grass which had sprung up, mingled with weeds of various kinds. It was just the time of the new moon, and by its feeble light he was able to make out the door of the house. Feeling his way, he walked on until he reached the back pavilion, and then went up onto the moon terrace, which was such a pleasant spot that he determined to stop there. Gazing westwards, he sat for a long time looking at the moon, a single thread of light embracing in its horns the peak of a hill, without hearing anything at all unusual. So laughing to himself at the nonsense people talked, he spread his mat upon the floor, put a stone under his head for a pillow, and lay down to sleep. He had watched the cowherd and the lady until they were just disappearing, and was on the point of dropping off, when suddenly he heard footsteps down below coming up the stairs. Pretending to be asleep, he saw a servant enter carrying in his hands a lotus-shaped lantern, who, on observing Mr. Yin, rushed back in a fright and said to someone behind, There is a stranger here. The person spoken to asked who it was, but the servant did not know. Then up came an old gentleman, who, after examining Mr. Yin closely, said, It's the future president. He's as drunk as can be. We needn't mind him, and besides, he's a good fellow, and won't give us any trouble. So they walked in and opened all the doors, and by and by there were a great many other people moving about, and quantities of lamps were lighted till the place was as light as day. About this time Mr. Yin slightly changed his position and sneezed, upon which the old man, perceiving that he was awake, came forward and fell down on his knees, saying, Sir, I have a daughter who is to be married this very night. It was not anticipated that your honour would be here. I pray therefore that we may be excused. Mr. Yin got up and raised the old man, regretting that in his ignorance of the festive occasion he had brought with him no present. Ah, Sir! replied the old man, your very presence he will ward off all noxious influences, and that is quite enough for us. He then begged Mr. Yin to assist in doing the honours, and thus double the obligation already conferred. Mr. Yin readily assented, and went inside to look at the gorgeous arrangements they had made. He was here met by a lady, apparently about forty years of age, whom the old gentleman introduced as his wife, and he had hardly made his bow when he heard the sound of flagelets, and someone came hurrying in, saying, He has come. The old gentleman flew out to meet this personage, and Mr. Yin also stood up, awaiting his arrival. In no long time a bevy of people with gauze lanterns ushered in the bridegroom himself, who seemed to be about seventeen or eighteen years old, and of a most refined and prepossessing appearance. The old gentleman bade him pay his respects first to their worthy guest, and upon his looking towards Mr. Yin, that gentleman came forward to welcome him on behalf of the host. Then followed ceremonies between the old man and his son-in-law, and when these were over they all sat down to supper. Hosts of waiting-maids brought him profuse quantities of wine and meats, with bowls and cups of jade or gold, till the table glittered again, and when the wine had gone round several times the old gentleman told one of the maids to summon the bride. This she did, but some time passed and no bride came, so the old man rose and drew aside the curtain, pressing the young lady to come forth, whereupon a number of women escorted out the bride, whose ornaments went tinkle-tinkle as she walked along, sweet perfumes being all the time diffused around. Her father told her to make the proper salutation, after which she went and snatched by her mother. Mr. Yin took a glance at her, and saw that she wore in her head beautiful ornaments made of kingfish's feathers, her beauty quite surpassing anything he had ever seen. All this time there had been drinking their wine out of golden goblets big enough to hold several pints, when it flashed across him that one of these goblets would be a capital thing to carry back to his companions in evidence of what he had seen. So he secreted it in his sleeve, and pretending to be tipsy, leaned forward with his head upon the table as if going off to sleep. The gentleman is drunk, said the guests, and by and by Mr. Yin heard the bridegroom take his leave, and there was a general trooping downstairs to the tune of a wedding march. When they were all gone the old gentleman collected the goblets, one of which was missing, though they hunted high and low to find it. Someone mentioned the sleeping guest, but the old gentleman stopped him at once for fear Mr. Yin should hear, and before long silence rained throughout. Mr. Yin then arose. It was dark and he had no light, but he could detect the lingering smell of the food, and the place was filled with the fumes of wine. Faint streaks of light now appearing in the east. He began quietly to make a move, having first satisfied himself that the goblet was still in his sleeve. Arriving at the door he found his friends already there, for they had been afraid he might come out after they left and go in again early in the morning. When he produced the goblet they were all lost in astonishment, and on hearing his story they were feigned to believe it, well knowing that a poor student like Yin was not likely to have such a valuable piece of plate in his possession. Later on Mr. Yin took his doctor's degree, and was appointed magistrate over the district of Feichu, where there was an old established family of the name of Chu. The head of the family asked him to obanque it in honour of his arrival, and ordered the servants to bring in the large goblets. After some delay a slave girl came and whispered something to her master, which seemed to make him very angry. Then the goblets were brought in and Mr. Yin was invited to drink. He now found that these goblets were of precisely the same shape and pattern as the one he had at home, and at once begged his host to tell him where he had had these made. Well, said Mr. Chu, there should be eight of them. An ancestor of mine had them made when he was ministered at the capital by an experienced artificer. They have been handed down in our family from generation to generation, and have now been carefully laid by for some time, but I thought we would have them out today as a compliment to your honour. However, there are only seven to be found. None of the servants can have touched them, for the old seals of ten years ago are still in the box unbroken. I don't know what to make of it. Mr. Yin laughed and said, it must have flown away. Still it is a pity to lose an heirloom of that kind, and as I have a very similar one at home I shall take it upon myself to send it to you. When the banquet was over Mr. Yin went home, and taking out his own goblet, sent it off to Mr. Chu. The latter was somewhat surprised to find that it was identical with his own, and hurried away to thank the magistrate for his gift, asking him at the same time how it had come into his possession. Mr. Yin told him the whole story, which proves conclusively that although a fox may obtain possession of a thing, even at a distance of many hundred miles, he will not venture to keep it all together. One. The Board of Civil Office. One of the six boards, now seven, at the capital, equivalent to our own war office, Board of Works, etc. Two. The Moon. A single thread of light embracing in its horns the peak of a hill. This of course is impossible. Three. The Cowherd and the Lady. The Chinese names for certain stars. Beta Gamma Aquilae and Alpha Lyrae. Four. The lotus-shaped lantern. Lanterns very prettily made to resemble all kinds of flowers are to be seen at the Chinese New Year. Five. In his ignorance of the festive occasion, he had brought with him no present. This is, as with us, obligatory on all friends invited to a marriage. Six. The Sound of Flagelais. The accompaniment of all weddings and funerals in China. Seven. Pretending to be tipsy. Eight. The soberest people in the world, among whom anything like sottishness is comparatively unknown, think it no disgrace but rather complimentary to get pleasantly tipsy on all festive occasions, and people who are physically unable to do so frequently go so far as to hire substitutes to drink for them. Mandarin especially suffer very much from the custom of being obliged to take wine with a large number of guests. Eight. The wedding party was, of course, composed entirely of foxes, this animal being believed by the Chinese to be capable of appearing at will under the human form, and of doing either good or evil to its friends or foes. These facts will be prominently brought out in several of the stories to follow. End of the Marriage as a Fox's Daughter. Part Eight of a Selection from Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio, Volume One. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Selection from Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio by Pu Song Ling, translated by Herbert Alan Giles. Volume One, Part Eight. Ms. Chao No. Kung Sui Li was a descendant of Confucius. He was a man of considerable ability and an excellent poet. A fellow student to whom he was much attached became magistrate at Tien Tai and sent for Kung to join him. Unfortunately, just before Kung arrived, his friend died, and he found himself without the means of returning home. So he took up his abode in a Buddhist monastery, where he was employed in transcribing for the priests. Several hundred paces to the west of this monastery there was a house belonging to a Mr. Shan, a gentleman who had known better days, but who had spent all his money in a heavy lawsuit, and then, as his family was a small one, had gone away to live in the country and left his house vacant. One day there was a heavy fall of snow which kept visitors away from the monastery, and Kung, finding a dull, went out. As he was passing by the door of the above-mentioned house, a young man of very elegant appearance came forth, who the moment he saw Kung, ran up to him and with a bow entered into conversation, asking him to be pleased to walk in. Kung was much taken with the young man and followed him inside. The rooms were not particularly large, but adorned throughout with embroidered curtains, and from the walls hung scrolls and drawings by celebrated masters. On the table there a book, the title of which was Jottings from Paradise, and turning over its leaves, Kung found therein many strange things. He did not ask the young man his name. Presuming that as he lived in the Shan family mansion, he was necessarily the owner of the place. The young man, however, inquired what he was doing in that part of the country, and expressed great sympathy with his misfortunes, recommending him to set about taking pupils. Alas! said Kung! Who will play the mysiness to a distressed wayfarer like myself? If, replied the young man, you would condescend so far, I for my part would gladly seek instruction at your hands. Kung was much gratified at this, but said he dared not arrogate to himself the position of teacher, and begged merely to be considered as the young man's friend. He then asked him why the house had been shut up for so long, to which the young man replied, This is the Shan family mansion. It has been closed all this time because of the owner's removal into the country. My surname is Huang Fu, and my home is in Shanxi. But as our house has been burnt down in a great fire, we have put up here for a while. Thus Mr. Kung found out that his name was not Shan. That evening they spent in laughing and talking together, and Kung remained there for the night. In the morning a lad came in to light the fire, and the young man, rising first, went into the private part of the house. Mr. Kung was sitting up with the bed clothes still huddled round him, when the lad looked in and said, Mass is coming. So he jumped up with a start, and in came an old man with a silvery beard, who began to thank him, saying, I am very much obliged to you for your condescension in becoming my son's tutor. At present he writes a villainous hand, and I can only hope you will not allow the ties of friendship to interfere with discipline. Thereupon he presented Mr. Kung with an embroidered suit of clothes, a sable hat, and a set of shoes and stockings, and when the lad had washed and dressed himself, he called for wine and food. Kung could not make out what the valances of the chairs and tables were made of. They were so very bright and dazzling. By and by, when the wine had circulated several times, the old gentleman picked up his walking stick and took his leaf. After breakfast the young man handed in his theme, which turned out to be written in an archaic style and not at all after the modern fashion of essay writing, Kung asked him why he had done this, to which the young man replied that he did not contemplate competing at the public examinations. In the evening they had another drinking bout, but it was agreed that there should be no more of it after that night. The young man then called the boy and told him to see if his father was asleep or not, adding that if he was he might quietly summon Miss Perfume. The boy went off, first taking a guitar out of a very pretty case, and in a few minutes in came a very nice-looking young girl. The young man bared her play The Death of Shun, and seizing an ivory plectrum she swept the cords, pouring forth a vocal melody of exquisite sweetness and pathos. He then gave her a goblet of wine to drink, and it was midnight before they parted. Next morning they got up early and settled down to work. The young man proved an apt scholar. He could remember what he had once read, and at the end of two or three months had made astonishing progress. Then they agreed that every five days they would indulge in a symposium, and that Miss Perfume should always be of the party. One night when the wine had gone into Kung's head, he seemed to be lost in a reverie, whereupon his young friend, who knew what was the matter with him, said, This girl was brought up by my father. I know you find it lonely, and I have long been looking out for a nice wife for you. Let her only resemble Miss Perfume, said Kung, and she will do. Your experience, said the young man, laughing, is but limited, and consequently anything is a surprise to you. If Miss Perfume is your boy, the ale, wine will not be difficult to satisfy you. Some six months had passed away, when one day Mr. Kung took it into his head that he would like to go out for a stroll in the country. The entrance, however, was carefully closed, and on asking the reason, the young man told him that his father wished to receive no guests for fear of causing interruption to his studies. So Kung thought no more about it, and by and by, when the heat of summer came on, they moved their study to a pavilion in the garden. At this time Mr. Kung had a swelling on the chest about as big as a peach, which in a single night increased to the size of a bowl. There he lay groaning with the pain, while his pupil waited upon him day and night. He slept badly and took hardly any food, and in a few days the place got so much worse that he could neither eat nor drink. The old gentleman also came in, and he and his son lamented over him together. Then the young man said, I was thinking last night that my sister Chao No would be able to cure Mr. Kung, and accordingly I sent over to my grandmother's asking her to come.  At that moment her servant entered and announced to Miss Chao No, who had come with her cousin having been at her aunt's house. Her father and brother ran out to meet her, and then brought her in to see Mr. Kung. She was between thirteen and fourteen years old, and had beautiful eyes with a very intelligent expression in them, and a most graceful figure besides. No sooner had Mr. Kung beheld this lovely creature than he quite forgot to groan, and began to brighten up. Meanwhile the young man was saying, this respected friend of mine is the same to me as a brother. Try, sister, to cure him. Miss Chao No immediately dismissed her blushes, and rolling up her long sleeves approached the bed to feel his pulse. As she was grasping his wrist, Kung became conscious of a perfume more delicate than that of the Epidendrum, and then she laughed, saying, this illness was to be expected, for the heart is touched. Though it is severe a cure can be affected, but as there is already a swelling, not without using the knife. Then she drew from her arm a gold bracelet which she pressed down upon the suffering spot, until by degrees the swelling rose within the bracelet and over topped it by an inch and more, the outlying parts that were inflamed also passing under, and thus very considerably reducing the extent of the tumour. With one hand she opened her robe and took out a knife with an edge as keen as paper, and pressing the bracelet down all the time with the other, proceeded to cut lightly round near the root of the swelling. The dark blood gushed forth and stained the bed and the mat, but Mr. Kung was delighted to be near such a beauty, not only felt no pain, but would willingly have continued the operation that she might sit by him a little longer. In a few moments the whole thing was removed, and looked like a growth which had been cut off a tree. Here Miss Chao No called for water to wash the wound, and from between her lips she took a red pill as big as a bullet, which she laid upon the flesh, and after drawing the skin together passed round and round the place. The first turn felt like the searing of a hot iron. The second like a gentle itching, and at the third he experienced a sensation of lightness and coolness, which penetrated into his very bones and marrow. The young lady then returned the pill to her mouth and said, he is cured, hurrying away as fast as she could. Mr. Kung jumped up to thank her and found that his complaint had quite disappeared. Her beauty, however, had made such an impression on him that his troubles were hardly at an end. From this moment he gave up his books and took no interest in anything. This state of things was soon noticed by the young man, who said to him, my brother I have found a fine match for you. Who is it to be? asked Kung. Oh, one of the family, replied his friend. Thereupon Mr. Kung remained some time lost in thought and at length said, please don't. Then turning his face to the wall he repeated these lines. Speak not of lakes and streams to him who once has seen the sea. The clouds circle who's peak are the only clouds for me. The young man guessed to whom he was alluding and replied, my father has a very high opinion of your talents and will gladly receive you into the family, but that he has only one daughter and she is much too young. My cousin, our son, however, is seventeen years old and not at all a bad-looking girl. If you doubt my word you can wait in the veranda until she takes her daily walk in the garden and thus judge for yourself. This Mr. Kung acceded to, and accordingly saw Miss Chaunot come out with a lovely girl. Her black eyebrows beautifully arched and her tiny feet encased in phoenix-shaped shoes, as like one another as they well could be. He was of course delighted and begged the young man to arrange all preliminaries, and the very next day his friend came to tell him that the affair was finally settled. A portion of the house was given up to the bride and bridegroom, and the marriage was celebrated with plenty of music and hosts of guests, more like a fairy wedding than anything else. Mr. Kung was very happy, and began to think that the position of paradise had been wrongly laid down, until one day the young man came to him and said, for the trouble you have been at in teaching me I shall ever remain your debtor. At the present moment the Shan family lawsuit has been brought to termination, and they wish to resume possession of their house immediately. We therefore propose returning to Shanxi, and as it is unlikely that you and I will ever meet again, I feel very sorrowful at the prospect of parting. Mr. Kung replied that he would go too, but the young man advised him to return to his old home. This he observed was no easy matter, upon which the young man said, don't let that trouble you, I will see you safe there. By and by his father came in with Mr. Kung's wife, and presented Mr. Kung with one hundred ounces of gold, and then the young man gave the husband and wife each one of his hands to grasp, bidding them shut their eyes. The next instant they were floating away in the air, with the wind whizzing in their ears. In a little while he said, you have arrived, and opening his eyes Kung beheld his former home. Then he knew that the young man was not a human being. Joyfully he knocked at the old door, and his mother was astonished to see him arrive with such a nice wife. They were all rejoicing together when he turned round and found that his friend had disappeared. His wife attended on her mother-in-law with great devotion, and acquired a reputation both for virtue and beauty, which was spread round far and near. Some time passed away, and then Mr. Kung took his doctor's degree, and was appointed governor of the jail in Yang Nan. He proceeded to his post with his wife only, the journey being too long for his mother, and by and by a son was born. Then he got into trouble by being too honest and official, and threw up his appointment, but had not the wherewithal to get home again. One day when out hunting he met a handsome young man riding on a nice horse, and seeing that he was staring very hard looked closely at him. It was Young Huang Fu. So they drew bridal and felt a laughing and crying by turns. The young man then inviting Kung to go along with him. They rode on together until they had reached a village thickly shaded with trees, so that the sun and sky were invisible overhead, and entered into a most elaborately decorated mansion such as might belong to an old established family. Kung asked after Miss Chao No, and heard that she was married, also that his own mother-in-law was dead, at which tidings he was greatly moved. The next day he went back and returned again with his wife. Chao No also joined them, and taking up Kung's child played with it, saying, Your mother played as truant. Mr. Kung did not forget to thank her for her former kindness to him, to which she replied, You're a great man now. Though the wound has healed, haven't you forgotten the pain yet? Her husband, too, came to pay his respects, returning with her on the following morning. One day the Young Huang Fu seemed troubled in spirit, and said to Mr. Kung, A great calamity is impending. Can you help us? Mr. Kung did not know what he was alluding to, but readily promised his assistance. The young man then ran out and summoned the whole family to worship in the ancestral hall, at which Mr. Kung was alarmed and asked what it all meant. You know, answered the young man, I am not a man but a fox. Today we shall be attacked by thunder, and if only you will aid us in our trouble we may still hope to escape. If you are unwilling take your child and go, that you may not be involved with us. Mr. Kung protested he would live or die with them, and so the young man placed him with a sword at the door, bidding him remain quiet there in spite of all the thunder. He did as he was told, and soon saw black clouds obscuring the light until it was all as dark as pitch. Looking round he could see that the house had disappeared, and that its place was occupied by a huge mound and a bottomless pit. In the midst of his terror a fearful peel was heard which shook the very hills, accompanied by a violent wind and driving rain. Old trees were torn up, and Mr. Kung became both dazed and deaf. Yet he stood firm until he saw in a dense black column of smoke a horrid thing with a sharp beak and long claws, with which it snatched someone from the hole and was disappearing up with the smoke. In an instant Kung knew by her clothes and shoes that the victim was no other than Chao No, and instantly jumping up he struck the devil violently with his sword and cut it down. Immediately the mountains were riven and a sharp peel of thunder laid Kung dead upon the ground. Then the clouds cleared away and Chao No gradually came round to find Kung dead at her feet. She burst out crying at the sight and declared that she would not live since Kung had died for her. Kung's wife also came out, and they bore the body inside. Chao No then made our son hold her husband's head, while her brother prized open his teeth with a hairpin, and she herself arranged his jaw. She next put a red pill into his mouth, and bending down breathed into him. The pill went along with the current of air, and presently there was a gurgle in his throat, and he came round. Seeing all the family about him, he was disturbed as if waking from a dream. However, they were all united together, and fear gave place to joy. But Mr. Kung objected to live in that out-of-the-way place, and proposed that they should return with him to his native village. To this they were only too pleased to assent—all except Chao No. And when Mr. Kung invited her husband Mr. Wu as well, she said she feared her father and mother-in-law would not like to lose the children. They had tried all day to persuade her, but without success, when suddenly enraged one of the Wu family's servants, dripping with perspiration and quite out of breath. They asked what was the matter, and the servant replied that the Wu family had been visited by a calamity on the very same day, and had everyone perished. Chao No cried very bitterly at this, and could not be comforted, but now there was nothing to prevent them from all returning together. Mr. Kung went into the city for a few days on business, and then they said to work packing up night and day. On arriving at their destination, separate apartments were allotted to young Mr. Huang Fu, and these he kept carefully shut up, only opening his door to Mr. Kung and his wife. Mr. Kung amused himself with the young man and his sister Chao No, filling up the time with chess, wine, conversation, and good cheer, as if they had been one family. His little boy, Huang, grew up to be a handsome young man, but with a touch of the fox in his composition, so that when he showed himself abroad, he was immediately recognized as the son of a fox. Footnotes 1. A Descendant of Confucius Laniel Descendants of Confucius are to be found at this day living together as a clan, near their founder's mausoleum in Shantung. The head of the family is an hereditary hung or duke, and each member enjoys a share of the revenues with which the family has been endowed, and well-merited recognition of the undying influence of China's greatest sage. 2. An Excellent Poet More or less proficiency in the art of poetry is an absolutely essential qualification for all who present themselves at the great competitive tests, by which successful candidates are admitted to Chinese official life. 3. Shan One of the two celebrated but legendary rulers of China in the Golden Ages of antiquity. Yao, who abdicated 2357 BC, nominates as his successor a young and virtuous husband when named Shan, giving him both his daughters in marriage. At the death of Shan, these ladies are said to have wept so much that their tears literally drenched the bamboos which grew beside their husband's grave, and the speckled bamboo is now commonly known as the bamboo of Shan's wives. 4. To Feel His Pulse Volumes have been written by Chinese doctors on the subject of the pulse. They profess to distinguish as many as twenty-four different kinds, among which is one well known to our own practitioners, namely the thready pulse. They moreover make it a point of feeling the pulses of both wrists. 5. Speak not of lakes and streams to him who once has seen the sea. The clouds at Circle Wu's Peak are the only clouds for me. By a famous poet named Yuan Chen, AD 779-831. 6. Today we shall be attacked by thunder. The Chinese believe that wicked people are struck by the God of Thunder and killed in punishment for some hidden crime. They regard lightning merely as an arrangement with a mirror by which the God is enabled to see his victim. 7. Chess Chinese chess is similar to but not identical with our game. The board is divided by a river, and the king is confined to a small square of moves on his own territory. The game par excellence in China is Wei Qi, an account of which I contributed to the temple bar magazine for January 1877. End of Miss Chao Noh