Chinese Fairy Tales and Fantasies (Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library) (8 page)

Thereupon his wife was brought in and thrown onto the stairs before him. “Speak, and we will spare her,” they said. They whipped her till her blood flowed freely, some shooting her, some hacking her, some scalding her, some burning her. Unable to bear it, she cried out, “Truly I am but a poor and simple woman, unworthy of a gentleman like yourself. Yet fortune has enabled me to serve you as a wife for over ten years. Now their honors, these ghosts, have taken me, and the pain is more than I can endure. I would never dream of having you crawl on hands and knees to beg for me, but a single word will save my life! Who among men should be considered more heartless if you would deny me that?” She wept, cursed, and scolded, but Tzu-ch’un would not glance at her.

“You think we won’t put her to death?” The General said. He ordered a chopping block brought, and they began to cut her up inch by inch, beginning with the feet. She shrieked frantically. But to the end Tzu-ch’un took no notice of her. “This villain is a master of the black arts,” said the General, “and must not remain among the living.” He ordered his men to cut off Tzu-ch’un’s head.

When Tzu-ch’un’s head was struck off, his soul was brought before the king of the dead. “Isn’t this the heretic of Cloud Pavilion Peak? Throw him in hell!” Tzu-ch’un tasted the torments of hell to the fullest—molten bronze, the iron rod, pounding, grinding, the fire pit, the boiling cauldron, the hill of knives, the forest of swords. But he kept the wizard’s words firmly in mind and bore the pain without letting a moan pass his lips. Then the torturers reported to the king that the punishments were completed.

“So devious a villain does not deserve to be reborn a male,” decreed the king of the dead. “Let him go back as a female, in the home of Wang Ch’üan, the deputy magistrate in Shanfu county, Sungchou.”

After her birth the child suffered many ailments. Hardly a day went by that she was spared acupuncture, cauterization, and harsh medicines. Once she fell into a fire and could get no relief
from the pain. Yet not a sound escaped her. She matured into an exceptional beauty, but she never used her voice, and the family regarded her as mute. She never responded to the liberties relatives took with her or the innumerable little insults she suffered.

In the same locality lived an advanced degree holder, one Lu Kuei, who became fascinated by the reports of her beauty and sought her hand through a matchmaker. The offer was declined by the family on account of the woman’s muteness, but Lu Kuei argued, “So long as she is worthy as a wife, what need for speech? Rather, she may discourage women who talk too much!” And so the wedding came to be allowed. The young man welcomed his new bride with full ceremony.

For several years the young couple shared a tender, deepening love. They had a son, who showed exceptional intelligence at the age of two. Lu Kuei would cuddle the babe and speak to his wife, though she never replied. He tried many tricks to lure her into speaking, but she remained silent. Then in anger he said to her, “In olden times Lord Chia’s wife held him in such contempt that she would not spare him even a smile. However, Lord Chia humored his wife out of her vow of silence by shooting a pheasant. I am not so ugly as Lord Chia, and I have more culture than skill in archery. Yet you do not speak. If a man’s wife scorns him, what use has he for the son?”

Lu Kuei grasped the babe’s feet and smashed its head against a rock. The babe’s head cracked at once, and blood spurted several paces. Tzu-ch’un felt a sharp pang of love surge in her heart. Her vow of silence slipped from her mind, and a cry of anguish slipped from her lips. And even as the brief cry was escaping her, Tzu-ch’un was sitting where he had been once before. The wizard stood before him. The last watch of night had just begun. Tzu-ch’un saw purple flames coming up from the roof and leaping into the sky. Then the fire closed in on them and burned building and interior.

“Wretched scholar, how you have wronged me!” said the wizard as he lifted Tzu-ch’un by his coiffed hair and threw him into the cistern of water. At once the fires went out and the wizard said, “Your mind had rid itself of joy, anger, sorrow, fear, loathing and desire—all forgotten. Only love remained. Had you not cried out just then, my medicine would have worked and you would have risen beyond your human state to become an immortal. Alas, such men are all too rare. I shall have to make this medicine over again, and you shall have to find your place in the world of men.” Then the wizard gestured toward the faraway home. Tzu-ch’un climbed onto the pavilion and looked: the furnace was ruined. Inside was an iron rod as thick as a man’s arm. Stripped to the waist, the wizard was hacking it with a knife and demolishing what remained.

After Tzu-ch’un returned home, he was ashamed of forgetting his vow of silence. He took himself to task for his mistake and traveled to the Cloud Pavilion Peak. But he found no human sign and, sighing ruefully, returned home.

—
Li Fu-yen

Young Wang, seventh son of an established family, lived in town among town comforts. Since childhood he had been fascinated with the occult, and hearing that many immortals could be found on Hardwork Mountains, he traveled there with his book bag on his shoulder.

He made his way to a hilltop where a Taoist temple was secluded. Seated on a mat was a meditating priest. White hair hung down his neck, but he looked brisk and agile in body and mind. Wang paid his respects and spoke with the priest, whose explanation of the powers of the universe seemed wonderfully mysterious. Wang asked to study under him. “I am afraid,” the priest replied, “that one who has been so indulged as you may not be able to withstand the hardships.” “I’m sure I can,” said Wang.

The priest’s many disciples gathered as dusk approached. Wang paid his respects to all and remained in the temple. At the crack of dawn the priest summoned Wang, gave him an axe, and told him to join the disciples in searching for firewood. Wang followed his instructions earnestly.

More than a month went by. Wang’s hands and feet grew thick with calluses. And as the priest had predicted, he felt that he could not bear the hardships and inwardly resolved to go home.

Returning to the temple one evening, he saw two men having dinner with the master. The sun had already set, but the lamps
had not been lit. The master cut a piece of paper into the shape of a round mirror and pasted it on the wall. Presently the moon’s light filled the room, and the tiniest thing could be seen.

The disciples scurried to and fro attending to the master’s wishes. One guest said, “The pleasure of this wonderful night should be shared by one and all.” From the table he took a jar of wine, poured it into the disciples’ bowls, and bade them drink their fill. “How can this one jar of wine serve the seven or eight of us?” Wang wondered. But the disciples surged forward again and again to fill their bowls, yet the wine did not diminish.

Soon one of the guest said, “We are honored by this gift of moonlight, but what a shame to drink alone! We should call Ch’ang O, fairy of the moon, to join us.” So saying, he tossed a chopstick neatly into the moon, and a beautiful woman materialized out of the moonbeams. Hardly a foot high when she first appeared, she attained human size upon reaching the ground. Her waist was slender, her neck ample. With ethereal grace she performed the Dance of the Rainbow Robe. Then she sang, “Must the Lady of the Moon return to the solitary confinement of her Cold Palace?” Her voice was ringing and resonant, distinct as the flute’s tone. When she ended her song she rose in a circling motion and came to rest on the table. Before their startled eyes she turned back into a chopstick.

The three men laughed. One said, “I have never passed a more entertaining evening. But the wine is becoming too much for me. I wonder, could we have our last round in the moon palace itself?” Gradually the three, still seated at the table, entered the moon. The throng of disciples saw them sitting and drinking inside the glowing ball. Even the hairs of their beards and eyebrows could be seen, like reflections in the mirror. In a little while the moon began to dim. When the disciples brought lighted candles, they found the priest seated alone; the guests had vanished. Delicacies remained on the table. The moon on the wall was nothing but a round piece of paper.

“Was there enough to drink?” the priest asked the assembly. “Enough,” came the reply. “Then quickly to bed, for you must not miss the morning’s firewood gathering,” the priest said. Nodding, the disciples retired. Wang was so fascinated by the evening’s events that all thoughts of returning home vanished.

After another month, however, he again found the hardships more than he could bear. And the master had not told him how to do a single magic trick! Overcome by impatience, Wang went
to the priest and said, “Your humble disciple came hundreds of leagues to receive the teaching of an immortal master. Even if I could not have the secret of eternal life, is there not perhaps some minor teaching you might grant me as a consolation? During the several months I have spent here, I have done nothing but rise early, gather firewood, and return late. At home I never went through such an ordeal.”

“I said you couldn’t endure it.” The priest smiled. “Now I am proved right. Tomorrow evening you shall be sent home.”

“Your disciple has labored many days,” Wang persisted. “Master, could you not spare me one small trick so that my visit shall not go altogether unrewarded?”

“What technique do you wish to learn?” asked the priest. “I have often observed,” said Wang, “that wherever you walk, walls pose no obstacle. I would be happy to learn this one technique.”

The master granted the request with a smile. He told Wang the secret and ordered him to recite the spell himself. “Now pass through!” the priest cried. Wang faced the wall but was afraid to enter. “Try to pass through,” the priest insisted.

Wang attempted to walk nonchalantly through the wall, but it remained solid and he was blocked. “Lower your head and rush in,” said the priest. “Stop shilly-shallying!” Wang stood a step away from the wall. Then he rushed at it headlong—and found it immaterial, as if nothing were there at all. When he turned to look back, he was already past it. Overjoyed, he reentered and thanked the priest.

“Keep yourself pure after you leave; otherwise the technique will not work,” the priest warned him. Then he provided Wang with traveling expenses and sent him home.

Once back in town Wang postured like a peacock, preening himself on having hobnobbed with an immortal and boasting that hard walls posed no obstacle to him. His wife would not believe him, however, and Wang decided to amaze her with his trick. He stood a few feet from the wall and then rushed forward—but he bashed his head against the hard surface and fell down. His wife helped him to his feet and jeered when she saw a giant egg swelling on his forehead. Humiliated and indignant, Wang cursed the old priest for having no conscience.

—
P’u Sung-ling