The Maniac's Mite

An interesting story is told of a lady named Ch'en, who was a Buddhist nun celebrated for her virtue and austerity. Between the years 1628 and 1643 she left her nunnery near Wei-hai city and set out on a long journey for the purpose of collecting subscriptions for casting a new image of the Buddha. She wandered through Shantung and Chihli and finally reached Peking, and there--subscription-book in hand--she stationed herself at the great south gate in order to take toll from those who wished to lay up for themselves treasures in the Western Heaven. The first pa.s.ser-by who took any notice of her was an amiable maniac. His dress was made of coloured shreds and patches, and his general appearance was wild and uncouth. "Whither away, nun?" he asked. She explained that she was collecting subscriptions for the casting of a great image of Buddha, and had come all the way from Shantung. "Throughout my life," remarked the madman, "I was ever a generous giver." So, taking the nun's subscription-book, he headed a page with his own name (in very large characters) and the amount subscribed. The amount in question was two cash, equivalent to a small fraction of a farthing. He then handed over the two small coins and went on his way.

In course of time the nun returned to Wei-hai-wei with her subscriptions, and the work of casting the image was duly begun. When the time had come for the process of smelting, it was observed that the copper remained hard and intractable. Again and again the furnace was fed with fuel, but the shapeless ma.s.s of metal remained firm as a rock. The head workman, who was a man of wide experience, volunteered an explanation of the mystery. "An offering of great value must be missing," he said. "Let the collection-book be examined so that it may be seen whose subscription has been withheld." The nun, who was standing by, immediately produced the madman's money, which on account of its minute value she had not taken the trouble to hand over. "There is one cash," she said, "and there is another. Certainly the offering of these must have been an act of the highest merit, and the giver must be a holy man who will some day attain Buddhahood." As she said this she threw the two cash into the midst of the cauldron. Great bubbles rose and burst, the metal melted and ran like the sap from a tree, limpid as flowing water, and in a few moments the work was accomplished and the new Buddha successfully cast.

The City-G.o.d of Yen Ch'eng

The following story of the Ch'eng-huang P'u-sa of Yen Ch'eng (Salt City) is told by Helena von Poseck in the _East of Asia Magazine_, vol. iii (1904), pp. 169-171. This legend is also related of several other cities in China.

The Ch'eng-huang P'u-sa is, as already noted, the tutelary G.o.d of a city, his position in the unseen world answering to that of a _chih hsien_, or district magistrate, among men, if the city under his care be a _hsien_; but if the city hold the rank of a _fu_, it has (or used to have until recently) two Ch'eng-huang P'u-sas, one a prefect, and the other a district magistrate. One part of his duty consists of sending small demons to carry off the spirits of the dying, of which spirits he afterward acts as ruler and judge. He is supposed to exercise special care over the _k'u kuei_, or spirits which have no descendants to worship and offer sacrifices to them, and on the occasion of the Seventh Month Festival he is carried round the city in his chair to maintain order among them, while the people offer food to them, and burn paper money for their benefit. He is also carried in procession at the Ch'ing Ming Festival, and on the first day of the tenth month.

The Ch'eng-huang P'u-sa of the city of Yen Ch'eng is in the extremely unfortunate predicament of having no skin to his face, which fact is thus accounted for:

Once upon a time there lived at Yen Ch'eng an orphan boy who was brought up by his uncle and aunt. He was just entering upon his teens when his aunt lost a gold hairpin, and accused him of having stolen it. The boy, whose conscience was clear in the matter, thought of a plan by which his innocence might be proved.

"Let us go to-morrow to Ch'eng-huang P'u-sa's temple," he said, "and I will there swear an oath before the G.o.d, so that he may manifest my innocence."

They accordingly repaired to the temple, and the boy, solemnly addressing the idol, said:

"If I have taken my aunt's gold pin, may my foot twist, and may I fall as I go out of your temple door!"

Alas for the poor suppliant! As he stepped over the threshold his foot twisted, and he fell to the ground. Of course, everybody was firmly convinced of his guilt, and what could the poor boy say when his own appeal to the G.o.d thus turned against him?

After such a proof of his depravity his aunt had no room in her house for her orphan nephew, neither did he himself wish to stay with people who suspected him of theft. So he left the home which had sheltered him for years, and wandered out alone into the cold hard world. Many a hardship did he encounter, but with rare pluck he persevered in his studies, and at the age of twenty odd years became a mandarin.

In course of time our hero returned to Yen Ch'eng to visit his uncle and aunt. While there he betook himself to the temple of the deity who had dealt so hardly with him, and prayed for a revelation as to the whereabouts of the lost hairpin. He slept that night in the temple, and was rewarded by a vision in which the Ch'eng-huang P'u-sa told him that the pin would be found under the floor of his aunt's house.

He hastened back, and informed his relatives, who took up the boards in the place indicated, and lo! there lay the long-lost pin! The women of the house then remembered that the pin had been used in pasting together the various layers of the soles of shoes, and, when night came, had been carelessly left on the table. No doubt rats, attracted by the smell of the paste which clung to it, had carried it off to their domains under the floor.

The young mandarin joyfully returned to the temple, and offered sacrifices by way of thanksgiving to the Ch'eng-huang P'u-sa for bringing his innocence to light, but he could not refrain from addressing to him what one is disposed to consider a well-merited reproach.

"You made me fall down," he said, "and so led people to think I was guilty, and now you accept my gifts. Aren't you ashamed to do such a thing? _You have no face!_"

As he uttered the words all the plaster fell from the face of the idol, and was smashed into fragments.

From that day forward the Ch'eng-huang P'u-sa of Yen Ch'eng has had no skin on his face. People have tried to patch up the disfigured countenance, but in vain: the plaster always falls off, and the face remains skinless.

Some try to defend the Ch'eng-huang P'u-sa by saying that he was not at home on the day when his temple was visited by the accused boy and his relatives, and that one of the little demons employed by him in carrying off dead people's spirits out of sheer mischief perpetrated a practical joke on the poor boy.

In that case it is certainly hard that his skin should so persistently testify against him by refusing to remain on his face!

The Origin of a Lake

In the city of Ta-yeh Hsien, Hupei, there is a large sheet of water known as the Liang-ti Lake. The people of the district give the following account of its origin:

About five hundred years ago, during the Ming dynasty, there was no lake where the broad waters now spread. A flourishing _hsien_ city stood in the centre of a populous country. The city was noted for its wickedness, but amid the wicked population dwelt one righteous woman, a strict vegetarian and a follower of all good works. In a vision of the night it was revealed to her that the city and neighbourhood would be destroyed by water, and the sign promised was that when the stone lions in front of the _yamen_ wept tears of blood, then destruction was near at hand. Like Jonah at Nineveh, the woman, known to-day simply as Niang-tzu, walked up and down the streets of the city, warning all of the coming calamity. She was laughed at and looked upon as mad by the careless people. A pork-butcher in the town, a noted wag, took some pig's blood and sprinkled it round the eyes of the stone lions. This had the desired effect, for when Niang-tzu saw the blood she fled from the city amid the jeers and laughter of the inhabitants. Before many hours had pa.s.sed, however, the face of the sky darkened, a mighty earthquake shook the country-side, there was a great subsidence of the earth's surface, and the waters of the Yangtzu River flowed into the hollow, burying the city and villages out of sight. But a spot of ground on which the good woman stood, after escaping from the doomed city, remained at its normal level, and it stands to-day in the midst of the lake, an island called Niang-tzu, a place at which boats anchor at night, or to which they fly for shelter from the storms that sweep the lake. They are saved to-day because of one good woman helped by the G.o.ds so long ago.

As a proof of the truth of the above story, it is a.s.serted that on clear days traces of the buried city may be seen, while occasionally a fisherman casting his net hauls up some household utensil or relic of bygone days.

Miao Creation Legends

If the Miao have no written records, they have many legends in verse, which they learn to repeat and sing. The Hei Miao (or Black Miao, so called from their dark chocolate-coloured clothes) treasure poetical legends of the Creation and of a deluge. These are composed in lines of five syllables, in stanzas of unequal length, one interrogative and one responsive. They are sung or recited by two persons or two groups at feasts and festivals, often by a group of youths and a group of maidens. The legend of the Creation commences:

Who made Heaven and earth?

Who made insects?

Who made men?

Made male and made female?

I who speak don't know.

Heavenly King made Heaven and earth, Ziene made insects, Ziene made men and demons, Made male and made female.

How is it you don't know?

How made Heaven and earth?

How made insects?

How made men and demons?

Made male and made female?

I who speak don't know.

Heavenly King was intelligent, Spat a lot of spittle into his hand, Clapped his hands with a noise, Produced Heaven and earth, Tall gra.s.s made insects, Stories made men and demons, Made male and made female.

How is it you don't know?

The legend proceeds to state how and by whom the heavens were propped up and how the sun was made and fixed in its place, but the continuation is exceedingly silly.

The legend of the Flood is another very silly composition, but it is interesting to note that it tells of a great deluge. It commences:

Who came to the bad disposition, To send fire and burn the hill?

Who came to the bad disposition, To send water and destroy the earth?

I who sing don't know.

Zie did. Zie was of bad disposition, Zie sent fire and burned the hill; Thunder did. Thunder was of bad disposition, Thunder sent water and destroyed the earth.

Why don't you know?