Chinese Fairy Tales and Fantasies.

Roberts, Moss.

Acknowledgments.

I would like to thank first of all Professor C. N. Tay of New York University for his sustaining encouragement and for sharing his extraordinary knowledge of language and literature; the Pantheon editor, Wendy Wolf, and the copy editor, Mary Barnett, whose excellent judgment in matters of literary taste and English style improved my ma.n.u.script in countless ways; my wife, Florence, and my children, Sean and Jennifer, who read the ma.n.u.script with care and made many valuable suggestions; our friend, Shirley Hochhausen, who listened to these tales with a keen and appreciative ear; the students in the East Asian Studies Program at New York University, who have stimulated so much of my research into Chinese literature.

A Note on the Ill.u.s.trations.

The ill.u.s.trations were taken from the Ming encyclopedia San Ts'ai T'u Huei, or Compendium of Ill.u.s.trations for the Three Orders of Heaven, Earth, and Man (1608). I am grateful to Mr. Jack Jacoby of the East Asian Collections of the Columbia University Libraries for permission to use their reprint edition. I also wish to thank Mr. David Tsai, Curator, and Ms. Alice Chi of the Gest Oriental Library of Princeton University for their a.s.sistance.

Introduction.

The tales, fables, and fantasies in this collection blend the everyday life of mortals, the fabulous kingdom of birds and beasts, and the supernatural world of G.o.ds and ghosts. Like Western folk and fairy tales, they spring from the deep wells of a civilization's history and imagination, and their cast of peasants, philosophers, virgins, kings, judges, tigers, and parrots may sometimes remind us of characters in more familiar legends. At the same time, these stories bear the stamp of the society and traditions that originally produced them. They illuminate the Chinese social order through the structured relationships that defined it: emperor and subject, father and son, husband and wife (or wives), official and peasant, human and beast.

The Confucian philosophers who dominated the Chinese state conceived these relationships as a harmonious balance of obligations, and a number of pieces in this collection ill.u.s.trate their view of order and authority. By and large, the Confucians were the voice of the superior orders-emperor, father, husband. The majority of our tales, however, speak for the other side, for they come from the Taoists, philosophers and social critics who represented the subordinate orders and historically opposed the Confucians. The Taoist view found vivid expression in popular literature-novels, plays, and the tales and legends we read here. Indeed, one of the purposes of this genre, typically scorned and even banned by Confucian authorities, was to publicize the crimes of the mighty and the injustices suffered by the subordinate order, including children, women, and animals. As the conflict between those above and those below gave shape to Chinese history, the rivalry of these two great philosophies gave shape to Chinese culture.

In Confucian doctrine, the emperor sat at the center of the political, social, and natural realms. He ruled with a mandate from heaven, and his spiritual authority radiated outward in concentric circles; he received in return the allegiance of humans and the submission of creatures and things. The Chinese saw him as both Son of Heaven and father of the people, thus fusing the Western roles of king and pope into a single, semi-divine figure. As the descendant of the founder of his own dynasty, the emperor had charge of the filial worship of his ancestors and the wise governance of his own family-in particular the careful arrangement of marriages and the proper education of the son who would succeed him. In Confucianism, the hereditary principle was foremost, because the imperial family was the heart of the state.

The emperor transmitted his influence across the land directly through the imperial bureaucracy and indirectly through the great landowning clans, sometimes called the local gentry or n.o.bility. Official positions (the goal for every clan's sons) were obtained through a series of qualifying examinations based on the sacred books of Confucian doctrine, ritual, ethics, metaphysics, and history. An ambitious young man could rise by pa.s.sing three successive levels of examinations, the county, the provincial, and the metropolitan. Each of the degrees brought its holder various immunities, exemptions, and privileges, though not always an actual office. The system was designed to delegate the responsibilities of government to upright and learned men, to scholar-officials who would rule with judgment.

However, these tales deal with practice, not theory, and in reality the bureaucracy was a c.u.mbersome, often corrupt structure in which official appointment was determined by a mixture of factors that included patronage and bribery as well as scholarship. A tale like "The Scholar's Concubine" is meant as a scathing satire on the sale of office to the unqualified.

The official that appears most frequently in this collection is the county magistrate, the lowest official of the imperial bureaucracy and the direct governor of the people in his jurisdiction. He usually held a "metropolitan" or "provincial" degree, and was addressed as "parent of the county." Even so, he was usually a sorry caretaker of the peasants' fortunes, and rarely loved. "A Wise Judge" and "A Clever Judge" pay tribute to good magistrates; but "Social Connections" tells how a vicious official ruins a prosperous farmer, and "Underworld Justice" goes further to show how little justice there is in this world or the next.

The closing selection of this book, chapter one of the eighteenth-century novel An Unofficial History of the Confucian Academy, satirizes the entire official realm. In it, the hero, w.a.n.g Mien, refuses to take office despite his enormous talents and the wishes of the emperor, taking to heart his mother's dying wish: "Take a wife and raise a family; care for my grave-and don't become an official." Such criticism rarely touched the emperor himself. An exception is the opening tale, "The Cricket," in which the whole bureaucracy mobilizes to cater to the court's newest fad.

The great clans ruled locally, little models of the imperial family. Here too, hereditary right was enforced to a.s.sure the smooth transmission of property and status; and to that end the arrangement of marriages was essential. If a young n.o.ble and his first wife had little choice in the matter, secondary wives or concubines had none at all. Generally speaking, in a society that makes the family a political as well as a social unit, freedom of love and marriage cannot be tolerated; personal preference and appet.i.te must be overruled by the social virtues. The response to this demand-the struggle for freedom to love and marry-became the spark in much of Chinese literature, as we see in "The Divided Daughter," which describes with compa.s.sion the sorrow of couples who want to marry for love, not duty, and in "The Waiting Maid's Parrot," where a young concubine who loves a scholar finds that help can come from an unusual source.

The control of emotion lies at the heart of the Confucian's perception of human nature. The Confucians defined human beings solely in terms of a set of obligatory relationships, in which the essence, the fundamental act, was obedience: children obeyed parents, peasants obeyed lords and officials, wives obeyed husbands. This was the primary force in behavior-leaving pa.s.sion and instinct as attributes not of humans but of animals; we encounter an official who has fallen into this savage state in "The Censor and the Tiger."

Master storyteller P'u Sung-ling, who sets the dominant tone in this volume, attacks this entire tradition in a set of tales in which animals and other "subordinate" creatures set the standards for virtuous conduct that their superiors would do well to follow; in "The Loyal Dog," "The Snakeman," and "A Faithful Mouse," he shows eloquently where love and compa.s.sion are truly demonstrated. Twenty-one of the tales here come from P'u's Record of Things Strange in a Makeshift Studio, a collection of over four hundred tales which is the culmination of the Chinese short-story tradition. The ma.n.u.script of this work was probably completed toward the end of the seventeenth century and circulated widely, though it was not formally published until the 1760s, some fifty years after P'u's death.

The literary countertradition of which P'u may be the princ.i.p.al figure has its roots in Taoism, a philosophy as old as Confucianism and the one most consistently critical of it. Tao (literally "the way" or "the main current") is the universal ancestor and the universal annihilator. As the ultimate leveler of all living creatures, it creates all things equal, giving no one of them dominion over another by virtue of birth or any other inheritable power. Tao's authority is absolute; it transfers no authority to what it creates-quite unlike the Confucian heaven, which gives its "son" the emperor a mandate to rule. As destroyer, Tao gathers up again all it has produced; none of its myriad creatures can transfer influence, property, or status beyond its ordained time. Animals and all other creatures exist on the same level as humans, and each exists for one lifetime alone, free of obligations to either ancestors or descendants. According to the Taoists, the artifices of civilization only lead people away from the original and benign state of nature. Thus at one blow the Taoists shattered the fundamental premise of the Confucian order: the social hierarchy founded on hereditary right.

More than twenty pieces in this collection come from the great Taoist philosophers Chuang Tzu and Lieh Tzu. Two brief selections, "The Fish Rejoice" and "b.u.t.terfly Dreams," imagine how the human and animal realms are part of the same whole. Chuang Tzu, in particular, sought a state of personal transcendence in which the spirit would be free to rove among the entirety of creation, becoming one first with this, then with that. This interplay between the human and animal worlds connects Taoism to the Buddhists, who believed that the spirits of the dead may reappear in animal form to atone for the sins of previous lifetimes. The transmigration of souls figures dramatically in "Suited to Be a Fish" and "Three Former Lives." Both tales also teach the importance of compa.s.sion toward all living things, the essence of Buddhist ethics.

The humanization of animals in these tales reflects yet another cultural a.s.sociation: the relations between the Chinese and the non-Chinese. Confucian historians were often outraged by the marriage and burial customs of the innumerable Asian peoples, some non-Chinese, some partly Chinese, who lived around China's borders. Concerned with preserving the purity of Chinese ethnic and cultural ident.i.ty, the Confucians often referred to these peoples with unflattering animal names like "hound" and "reptile." The Taoists and Buddhists, on the other hand, had a far more tolerant view. Lieh Tzu's "Man or Beast" voices this challenge in a powerful way, recognizing in mythic terms the contributions non-Chinese peoples had made to Chinese civilization.

But the Taoists did not deal only in imaginative metaphors. The Taoist priests whose magical powers are displayed throughout the tales spurned the teachings of the Confucian cla.s.sics and the careers of bureaucrats in order to study alchemy, astrology, botany, pharmacology, meteorology, zoology, and so forth. Rebels as often as recluses, they lived in the mountains where tigers reigned and outlaws hid. As critics of the social order, they often joined the peasants in resisting and at times overthrowing the dynasty in power, thus translating their egalitarian view of creation into social and economic reality. Antidynastic movements such as the White Lotus (a society of peasant rebels active from the twelfth century to the nineteenth) often made use of the "heresies" and "black arts" the Taoists taught them. "White Lotus Magic" and "The Peach Thief" afford us a glimpse of their activities.

The Confucian social order was threatened from yet another source, the supernatural world. In the Confucian view, the dead commanded an authority that could be invoked only in the ancestral temple, and only by their living-and n.o.ble-descendants. These rituals had enormous social and psychological influence over the common people, whose unt.i.tled and often homeless dead were silent and impotent. A rival and contemporary of Confucius, the philosopher Mo Tzu, devised an ingenious way to reverse this concept. Ghosts, Mo argued, are not the agents of the privileged living; rather, they are agents of heaven. As the collective common dead, they are the enforcers of a universal, objective justice and can compensate for the defects in human justice. The City G.o.d who plays an important role in "Underworld Justice" is criticized for neglecting this duty. The City G.o.d had a public temple in the city which gave anyone who entered and sought it access to the world of the dead. The local deity in "Drinking Companions" is a variant of the same idea. Many of the other tales in the section Ghosts and Souls poke fun at those who believe in ghosts that are creations of mere superst.i.tion, not agents of justice.

These, then, are a few of the social themes that come into play as the tales unfold. Together the collection spans over twenty centuries of Chinese literature, from the fifth century B.C. to the eighteenth A.D. Yet each tale has its own voice, speaking to us with vivid honesty of common feelings about human life.

TALES OF ENCHANTMENT AND MAGIC.

The Cricket.

During the Ming reign known as Pervasive Virtue cricket fighting was very popular at court, and each year the populace had to supply crickets for the n.o.blemen to test in battle. In Floral Shade, our county in western Shensi, the cricket is not common. But our magistrate wanted to curry favor with his superiors, and he managed to find them one that proved to be a mighty warrior. As a result Floral Shade was appointed a royal supplier of crickets to the court.

Naturally the magistrate then shifted the responsibility down to the neighborhood heads, and crickets became rare and valuable in the county. In hopes of pushing the price up, the young bloods in our towns often h.o.a.rded the outstanding specimens they caught. Cunning local officials were quick to use cricket h.o.a.rding as an excuse for searching people's houses. And whenever they looked for cricket collections, they confiscated so many other goods that they ruined several families at a time.

In Floral Shade there lived a man called Make-good. He had spent years as a candidate for the lowest degree, but it still eluded him. Make-good was somewhat pedantic and una.s.sertive, and crafty officials maneuvered him into the post of neighborhood head. Once there, he was stuck in the job; a hundred schemes and tricks would not have extricated him. When he could not extort enough taxes from the people, he had to make up the money out of his own pocket. Within a year the whole of his property was exhausted.

The same thing happened when it came time to collect crickets: Make-good could not bring himself to take them from his neighbors, even though he could not fill the quota set by the higherups. Trapped in this frustrating situation, he wanted to die.

"What good will dying do?" his wife asked. "Go out and look for crickets yourself. Maybe you'll have some luck."

To this Make-good agreed, and day after day he left home early and returned late. Carrying his bamboo tube and bra.s.s wire cage, he searched among crumbling walls and clumps of wild gra.s.s. He probed every rock and flushed every hole, but nothing came of it. Although he managed to find a few specimens, they were inferior and weak, far below the standard.

The magistrate, however, held Make-good strictly to schedule. After ten days the unlucky man could furnish no crickets and had to face the punishment of one hundred strokes. He was beaten until the blood ran down both legs and he could not have moved to catch a simple worm. Tossing on his bed, he wished only to make an end of himself.

It happened then that a hunchbacked fortune teller who could read the future came to the village. Make-good's wife took some money for a fee and went to consult her. Crowds thronged the fortune teller's door; Make-good's wife entered the house along with the rosy-cheeked, the grey, and the old. Low incense tables stood in front of an inner chamber screened by curtains. Those who had come with questions were lighting their incense for the crucibles and offering their respects with low bows that ended with the forehead pressed to the floor. The fortune teller stood to one side staring at the sky and chanting to bring the a.s.sembled mult.i.tude good luck. Her lips opened and closed but formed no intelligible words. The crowd listened with reverent attention. Every few minutes a piece of paper, bearing words that spoke perfectly to a pet.i.tioner's concern, would slip out of the curtained chamber.

Make-good's wife placed her money on the stand and performed the same obeisance as her predecessors. In the time it takes to have a meal, the curtains began to quiver and then issued a slip of paper, which fell to the floor. It bore not a single word but only a picture: a sketch of a neglected shrine behind which a small mountain rose from grotesque rocks. The rocks rested amid clumps of vegetation, and a prize greenhead cricket lurked there. Beside it was a frog that seemed about to leap and dance.

Puzzled, the woman scrutinized the picture inch by inch. When her eyes came to rest on the cricket, she gazed with rapt attention, folded the paper, and went home to show it to her husband.

Make-good examined it and mused: "This has to be a way of telling me where to catch a cricket!" He looked long at the scene. It reminded him of a Buddhist temple east of the village. Painfully he arose, supporting himself on his staff, and hobbled with sketch in hand to the temple. At the rear of the building were many ancient graves, and he threaded his way through them. In one spot, strangely shaped rocks appeared virtually as the sketch showed. Alert, cautious, searching minutely, he pushed farther into the thicket. There was neither trace nor echo of what he had come for, but he groped onward.

Then a frog leaped out of the bushes. Make-good was stunned. He swiftly followed it, and the frog dove into the gra.s.s. Right behind, Make-good parted the clump of gra.s.s and stared. An insect was crouching at the base. He pounced; it slipped into a crevice of the rocks. He tickled it with a sharp blade of gra.s.s but could not make it come out. At last he flushed it with the bamboo tube, and the bug appeared, a magnificent specimen. Make-good pursued and caught it. The insect had a large body and a long tail. Its neck was a dark green, its wings the color of gold.

Elated, Make-good caged the cricket and returned home, where his whole family rejoiced as if he had brought great treasure. They placed the cricket in a tub, fed it all kinds of grain, and guarded it against the time when Make-good would have to meet his next quota.

Now, Make-good had a nine-year-old son, who stealthily uncovered the cricket's tub one day when his father was out. Up the bug leaped and was gone like a shot, so swift that no man could have caught it. By the time the desperate boy hunted it down and trapped it under his hand, a leg was torn off and its belly was split. Moments later, it died. The boy cried out in panic. Then he told his mother, and her face turned deathly pale. "Evil Karma!" she swore. "Now comes the day of ruin! When your father gets home he'll settle with you!" The boy left in tears.

Shortly the father returned, and when his wife told him what had happened he felt as if he had been drenched with ice and snow. In a rage he looked for the boy, but the child was gone without a trace. Afterward they found him in the well.

The father's rage was turned to grief. He pounded the ground and cried out; his one wish was for his own death. Husband and wife were desperate and desolate. Their cottage sent up no smoke. Silently they regarded one another-they had nothing to live for.

As dusk approached they took the boy to be buried. Yet when they caressed him there was a slight sign of breathing. Overjoyed, they laid him on the bed. As the night wore on, the child seemed to revive. Husband and wife took comfort. But the boy's vital spirits did not rally; his breathing was low and suppressed, as if he wanted to sleep. Then Make-good turned to look at the empty cage and was again overcome by despair over the lost cricket. He could give no further thought to his son.

Make-good still lay awake, stiff with anxiety, when the sun carried the day up from the east. Suddenly he heard the crackling chirp of an insect outside. He bolted upright and went to look. There was a cricket, very large! Elated, he tried to catch it, but it leaped away abruptly, chirping as it gained speed. Then Make-good succeeded in cupping his hand over it. He could feel nothing tickling his palm, however, and decided that the cricket had gotten away. But when he lifted his hand, the bug shot out again, and Make-good followed swiftly. He turned a corner-only to lose the insect forever.

Make-good stayed where he was, looking all around, until he spied another cricket crouching on the wall. However, it turned out to be short and small, black and red in color-nothing like the one he had lost. Make-good inspected it indecisively for a moment and then resumed the search for the other cricket. But the bug on the wall dove down between his lapel and his sleeve. It had a shape like a mole cricket, wings like plum blossoms, a squarish head, and long legs. Thinking that after all it might have possibilities, Make-good decided to keep it.

He caged the cricket and took good care of it, though he was afraid that it might not please the authorities. Then an idea struck him: he would test the creature in combat first. He sent for a young wag of the village who had a cricket named Crabsh.e.l.l Green which daily won the local matches. At the sight of Make-good's cricket the wag suppressed a laugh, brought out his own, and placed it in a cage beside the other. Fl.u.s.tered, Make-good stared at the long, imposing Crabsh.e.l.l Green. "What a miserable insect I have raised," thought Make-good. "It will never amount to anything. But I might as well risk it, if only for laughs." So he put his cricket into the tub for combat.

Make-good's small cricket crouched and did not move, like a warrior steeling himself for combat. The village wag was now guffawing. Make-good brushed his bug's antennae with a bristle to arouse it. Still it did not move. The young man held his sides. Then Make-good succeeded in provoking the cricket, which exploded in fury and charged headlong. The two creatures tumbled together, striking heavy blows. They shook and strained, the clicks and clacks of battle rising. Presently the smaller one leaped forth, extended its tail, stretched its antennae, and chomped into the enemy's throat. Panicking, the wag pulled the insects apart and stopped the fight. The smaller bug chirped in exultation, as if it had repaid its master's faith in it.

The elated Make-good was admiring his cricket when a rooster came up from behind him, made straight for the victorious insect, and gave it a vicious peck. Make-good shouted with alarm. Luckily the peck had missed its mark, and the bug leaped several feet to safety. But the rooster advanced; already the cricket was under its claw. Pale and frantic, Make-good stamped his feet helplessly. Soon he saw the rooster stretch its neck and shake its head vigorously up and down and from side to side. Looking more closely, he found the insect lodged in the bird's comb and energetically biting it. Overjoyed, Make-good plucked out his cricket and placed it in the cage.

Next day he presented the cricket to the magistrate, who angrily rebuked Make-good for bringing such a puny little bug. Make-good told him what had happened, but the magistrate did not believe it. The magistrate tested the cricket in combat, however, and it defeated all other insects. He matched it against a rooster, with the result that Make-good had described. So Make-good was rewarded, and the insect was presented to the governor. Delighted, the governor offered the insect to the emperor with a detailed account of its prowess.

After the champion cricket had been installed in the royal palace, it was matched against all other fighters of the realm: b.u.t.terfly crickets, dragonfly crickets, smooth-agile strikes, blue-stripe foreheads, and many other extraordinary specimens. But none could defeat it. Moreover, Make-good's cricket could dance in rhythm to the music of a zither.

The emperor was so pleased that he gave the governor prize horses and silks for clothes. The governor did not forget where the insect had come from, and before long the magistrate received commendation for outstanding service. He too was overjoyed. He excused Make-good from his post as neighborhood head and instructed the educational officer to grant Make-good a degree.

More than a year after these events Make-good's son regained consciousness, his vital spirits restored. "While I was sleeping," he told his father, "I became a cricket. My body felt light. I had the power to make swift leaps, and I grew skilled in combat."

The governor himself richly rewarded Make-good. Within a few years the former neighborhood head acquired one hundred hectares of farmland, a two-story building with ten thousand rafters, and thousands of sheep and oxen. And wherever he went in public, his splendid carriage and finery surpa.s.sed those of any n.o.bleman of the age.

-P'u Sung-ling.

The Waiting Maid's Parrot.

A young waiting maid had been taken into a great household of Szechwan province. She was so beautiful and intelligent that the master favored her over all the other servingwomen and kept her apart from them. It happened that a certain official presented the family with a rare parrot, one so cunning and clever that it could speak with a human voice. The master charged his favorite waiting maid with the care and feeding of the bird as her sole duty.

One day when the maid was feeding it, the bird suddenly spoke: "Take good care of me, sister, and you'll deserve a proper husband for it." Abashed, the maid slapped at the bird with her fan, but it did not flinch. From that time the maid would respond with a jest or a scolding whenever the bird had something to say, until the practice of chattering to it became a habit that she was no longer conscious of. For after all, she was alone in a single room with only a bird in a hanging cage. And if the confidences whispered between them made them intimate companions, whose business was it?

One day the maid was in the bath when the bird had just finished bathing. The creature was so tame that she had not locked its cage, and to her surprise it shook its wings and flew out, circling the room. She s.n.a.t.c.hed at it frantically, but the bird punctured the paper window, looped through it, and was gone, leaving the maid watching helplessly.

Terrified of her master, the girl contrived to hide her guilt. She dressed and moved the cage to the eaves outside her room, then went to him and said tearfully, "Your obedient waiting maid forgot and closed her door to bathe, never expecting to be taken advantage of by someone who came in and released the bird. But I gladly bear the blame and would even die without resentment for my offense."

The master, who knew full well that the other maids were jealous of her, accepted her story. He questioned the rest of the household but could not find the culprit, and the investigation was dropped.

Ten days later the master's wife sent the waiting maid on an errand to a matron named Liang. The matron's unmarried son, Liang Hsu, was spending the day reading in his study. Presently a bird flew in and settled itself on his desk. In a human voice it said, "I have been searching for an ideal mate for you. Why don't you go and have a look?" Startled, Hsu put down his book and chased after the talking parrot. It led him out of his room, and he spied an enchanting maid of sixteen, dressed in dark colors except for a red skirt, shyly enter the house. Now the parrot was nowhere to be seen.

Hsu looked into the girl's face and saw that her beauty was truly exceptional. He found an excuse to follow her into the inner hall, where she conversed softly and fluidly with his mother. There he learned that she was a waiting maid in a mighty household. Yet her demure air utterly captivated him. The waiting maid also noticed the highborn youth and glanced at him from time to time. Though they could not exchange a single word, their affections were engaged.

On returning to her house the waiting maid went to her room, where the empty cage sat beside her bed. Perched on top of it was the bird, peacefully resting with eyes shut and talons curled. As happy as if she had found a royal jewel, the waiting maid s.n.a.t.c.hed at the bird, which fluttered away and protested loudly: "Here I am, sister, nearly spent from dashing about on your behalf, and by good fortune I have found a fine husband for you. Why do you still want to lock me up?" Marveling, the maid listened while the bird told its story.

The bird concluded: "Though I cannot carry you two off beyond the compound wall as the heroic slave of fiction did, I can communicate your heart's desire to him, sister, if he is indeed the man you care for."

The waiting maid blushed but made no reply. "Young people in love were ever this way," the parrot scoffed. "But someone may be coming, and I must leave now." With that the bird set its feathers in motion and flew off.

The girl had been deeply attracted to Liang Hsu and felt ashamed to be joining the ranks of the master's concubines. Tossing and turning through the night, she was tormented by these two emotions.

The next day when the bird saw that no one was around, it returned to its original perch. The maid beckoned to it and said, "The master dotes on me and will never surrender me to the Liangs. To him that would be 'using a pearl to shoot down a sparrow.' Then again, young Liang is handsome, talented, and rich. Suppose he were attracted to a fresh flower; would he stoop to take a waiting maid for his proper wife? I thank you for your trouble, but I fear such an affair must fail. Nothing can be done."

The bird stirred its wings, swept away, and did not come back until evening. Then under cover of darkness it flew into the room and told the maid, "Young Liang shows his feelings for you in this verse." The parrot recited a poem written by the young man: I care not if your fan be plain,

My love is for your face so fair.

If we could mount the nuptial bird,

We'd soar aloft, a wedded pair.

The maid rejoiced to hear this and confided her heartfelt wish to the parrot. As morning approached, she set the bird free.

In his lonely study, Liang Hsu had been thinking of the maid night and day. When he rose that morning and saw a hovering bird, it looked to him like the one that had come before. He joked with it, saying, "My good fellow, can you tell me something of the lady of my heart? Certainly you are a bird among birds; we shall have to have a biography of you so that you will be remembered for all eternity!"

The bird flew down and furled its wings, settling upon a painted screen. It told Liang of the maid's affection and the depth of her anxiety. Elated, Hsu asked if the maid could read. "Somewhat," the bird replied, and then and there Hsu wrote a letter revealing his love and vowing to marry her. He sealed the note and set it on the ground. The parrot swooped down, took the paper in its beak, and flew away, leaving Liang Hsu more astonished than ever by the oddness of it all.

For several days the young man did not see the bird. All news of the maid was abruptly cut off, and he was racked by yearning and despair. Then he heard that a maid in the great household where his beloved served had died and been hastily buried. Suspecting the worst, he made inquiries and verified that it was his own heart's love, though he could not discover the cause of her death. So great was his grief that he almost lost his voice from weeping.

What Liang Hsu did not know was that the maid had seen his note and, ashamed of her inability to write, had removed an earring and given it to the bird to carry back to her intended. The bird was to tell him the location of her parents' home and ask him to visit them and make a gift of money. Her freedom could then be redeemed and she could marry Liang Hsu.

The bird took the earring in its beak and flew aloft, but midway in its course a young tough struck it in the cheek with a rock. The talking parrot tumbled lifeless to the ground.

It was not long before disaster struck the maid also. At first the master had favored her because of her beauty, and everyone had expected that she would take her place among the master's concubines. But she had resisted the idea and had grumbled behind the master's back. When she had put the blame for the lost bird on the other maids and servants, they had looked at her askance even though they had escaped a whipping. They feared that she would cause trouble for them once she became the master's favorite concubine, so they soon attacked her in unison. Having heard her talking to the bird in her room during the night, they spread the slander that she was involved with some man. The tale was quickly sowed in the ear of the master, who began to nurse a deep jealousy. Presently he made a search of the maid's room and came across Liang Hsu's love letter. Enraged now, he had the maid interrogated under torture. Since the story of the parrot partook somewhat of the absurd, the maid herself could not give a clear account of it, and so she was beaten until her body was covered with bruises and her breath scarcely came. Though she was near death, the master did not wait but put her alive into a coffin and ordered her buried in the wilds.

After he learned of her death, Liang Hsu treasured the memory of his buried jewel. He sat, wounded in spirit, and dozed off at his desk. Suddenly a woman entered his dreams. Clothed in feathers, she walked with a dancing gait as she came before him and pulled her lapels together in the ceremonial salute traditionally required of women. "I am the parrot," she said, "and my elder sister, your heart's love, is a parrot as well. Thanks to her virtuous conduct in our previous lifetime, she was transformed into a human, and by chance I was reunited with her. I became concerned that she would be humiliated in an unworthy match, so I respectfully made an occasion to introduce her to you. Who would have thought I would die before accomplishing my mission-leaving my sister's virtue to be defiled, a wrong she bore unto death. The pity of it! And yet something of her vital force still remains, though none save you can help her."

In his dream Liang Hsu was overjoyed and rose to question the vision. Pointing a finger, she said, "One hundred paces beyond the city ... the tomb of the fair one is not far away ..." The woman fell to the ground, turned into a crane, and soared to the heavens.

Liang Hsu awoke with a start. At once he ordered his horse and rode out beyond the city wall. He knew of a certain hamlet whose name had the same sound as "hundred paces," the hint in the dream. There he found the burial site, although he did not dare open it right away. He took a room in the hamlet, and when night came he paid his servant to accompany him to the dread place and help him open the tomb. It was not very deep, and when they reached the coffin he thought he could hear the sound of breathing. He broke open the lid, and the maid returned to life.

Delirious with joy, Liang Hsu went to a nearby Buddhist convent and humbly knocked at the gates. He related in full his reasons for coming, and the nuns, who took pleasure in acts of charity, agreed to help him lift the maid from the hole. Liang Hsu carried her to the convent on his own back and left her with the nuns. After seeing to the costs, he went home.

It was over a month before the maid regained her strength. Then Liang Hsu asked a nun from the convent to be his matchmaker and explain as forcefully as possible to his mother that his heart belonged to a girl from a poor home.