Chinese Fairy Tales and Fantasies (Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library) (9 page)

This is a story about a man who belonged to the secret Buddhist sect known as the White Lotus. The sect was often at odds with the royal court, and its members were frequently hunted down. The man came from Shansi province, though his name is now forgotten. Probably he was a follower of the rebel leader Hsu Hung-ju, for both men practiced what the court described as “black arts to delude the common folk.” Many people became fascinated with his magic and served him as disciples.

One day this magician left the house after placing in his room a basin covered with another basin. He instructed a disciple to keep watch over the basins but not under any circumstances to look inside. The moment his master departed, however, the follower lifted the top basin. He found that the lower one contained water and a tiny reed boat, complete with sail and mast, that floated on the surface. Intrigued, he nudged the boat with his finger, causing it to list. He hastily righted it and put the cover back on.

Presently the master returned. “Why did you disobey me?” he demanded angrily. The follower protested that nothing had happened, but the master said, “My boat has just capsized on the waves. Don’t think you can fool me!”

Another evening the master lit a giant candle in his room. Telling his follower to guard the flame carefully and keep the wind from blowing it out, he left and was gone for hours. It was the second watch by the waterclock, and still the master had not returned. Fatigued from guarding the flame, the disciple went to bed for a brief nap. But when he awoke, the candle had gone out. He rushed to relight it.

The master returned shortly and again took the follower to task. “I never fell asleep,” the disciple protested. “I don’t know how the candle could have gone out.” “You made me walk ten leagues in the dark,” said the magician angrily.

Some time later the master’s favorite concubine fell in love with one of the followers. The master found out but kept it to himself. Then one day he sent that disciple to feed the pigs, and as the young man entered the pen, he turned into a pig on the spot. The master immediately called for a butcher, had the animal slaughtered, and sold the carcass. No one knew anything about it.

The victim’s father came to ask after his son, who had not been home in some time. He was told that the disciple must have left, because he had not been seen for a long while. The lad’s kinfolk made a wide search but they found nothing at all.

Then another disciple discovered the truth and told the dead
man’s father. The father reported it to the local magistrate, who decided that a thousand armed men would be needed to make the arrest so that the master could not get away by some trick of magic. The troops surrounded the master’s home. With no trouble they took him and his family into custody, placed them in a pen, and began marching with it to the capital.

On the way, when they were crossing the T’aihang Mountains, a giant appeared. He was tall as a tree, with eyes like pots, mouth like a basin, teeth a foot long. The soldiers stood aghast, not daring to proceed. The magician, however, said, “This is a demon that my wife should be able to drive away.” The soldiers willingly freed the woman. She shouldered a spear and went up to the giant who swallowed her with one gulp. The soldiers were greatly astonished.

“Since the demon has taken my wife,” said the master, “my son will have to do the job.” The troops immediately let the son out of the pen, but the demon swallowed him alive as he had the mother. The soldiers gaped at one another; no one knew what to do.

Gnashing his teeth, the master said, “The demon has killed my wife and now my son. It is more than I can bear. I shall have to go myself to take care of it.”

Now the soldiers freed the master himself, gave him a weapon, and sent him forth. Full of ire, the giant met him and they tangled. The demon grabbed the master and put him in his mouth, extended his neck, and swallowed the magician down. Perfectly calm and content, the giant then went his way—just like that.

—
P’u Sung-ling

Once when I was young, I went to the regional capital during the official examinations. It happened to be the time for the festival to celebrate the beginning of spring. The day before the festival, according to custom, all the merchants and tradesmen paraded to the governor’s mansion in a grand show complete with drummers, pipers, and decorated floats.

I went with a friend to watch the parade, which is known as the Presentation of Spring. The masses of tourists and onlookers seemed to form a great wall. Four officials who sat in a hall were dressed in red, the color of celebration, and faced one another east to west. (I was too young then to recognize their ranks.) The hubbub of the crowd and the musicians’ din rang in my ears.

From nowhere a man who carried a load on his shoulders approached the hall leading a boy with unbound hair. The man was talking to couriers from the officials. In the clamor of myriad voices I could not hear what he said, though I could make out sounds of laughter from the hall. Soon an attendant dressed in black appeared and loudly ordered a performance. The man climbed the steps of the hall and asked what he should perform. The dignitaries conferred briefly among themselves and spoke to an attendant, who turned to the man and asked what his specialty was.

“We can produce anything out of season!” came the reply. The attendant went to inform the officials, and in a short while came down again to say that the pair should produce a peach.

The man consented, removed his outer clothes, and placed them atop a bamboo box. Then, pretending to talk to the boy
who was with him, he said loudly, “Their excellencies don’t quite comprehend. How can we procure peaches before the thaw has arrived? But I fear their wrath if we fail. What can we do?”

“Father,” the boy replied equally loudly, “you have given your word. There is no way to get out of it.”

The performer pondered his problem with an air of dejection. Then he said, “Here’s what I think. It is early spring, and the snow is thick. In the world of men there are no peaches to be found. But in the gardens of the Western Queen Mother, the land of perpetual bloom, where the peaches ripen once every three thousand years, nothing fades or falls. So we may find peaches there. We shall have to steal them from the very heavens!”

“How can we climb to heaven?” cried the boy.

“The technique exists,” said the father, opening his bamboo box. He took out a coil of rope several hundred feet long, freed one end, and threw it up in the air, where it remained suspended as if hanging from something in the sky. The further he threw it, the further it rose, until it vanished among the clouds. When the rope was fully played out, the man called to his son, “Come here. I’m old and tired—too heavy and clumsy to go. You’ll have to make the climb.” Handing the rope to his son, the man said, “If you hold onto this, you can manage it.”

The son looked reluctant and complained, “My dear father, this is absurd. Do you expect such a slender line to support me thousands of feet in the air? What will keep my bones together if it should break midway?”

But the father pressed him, “I’ve already made the mistake of agreeing to fetch the peaches. It’s too late for regret. I must trouble you to take the trip. Don’t complain, and if we can get away with the fruit, we are sure of a reward of a hundred silver pieces—enough to find you a lovely wife.”

And so the boy took the rope and began to squirm up it. As he shifted his hands, his feet followed, the way a spider moves along its web, until he had slowly made his way into the emptiness of cloudy space and could be seen no more.

After a long while, a peach the size of a bowl dropped to earth. Delighted, the performer took it and presented it to the officials. They took their time passing it around for inspection; they seemed uncertain whether it was a real fruit or a fake one.

Suddenly the rope fell to the ground. Alarmed, the performer said, “We’re ruined! Someone up there has cut the rope. Where will my son find safety?”

Moments later, something landed on the ground. He looked: it was the boy’s head! In tears the man held it up in both hands and cried out, “The theft of the peach must have been discovered by the watchmen! My son is done for!” A moment later a foot dropped from the skies. In another instant the limbs fell down this way and that, until all the pieces were scattered on the ground. In great sorrow the performer picked up each piece and put it into his bamboo box. When he was done he closed the lid.

“I am an old man who had only this one son, and he traveled by my side all my days. Little did I dream, when he took my order, that such a bizarre fate would befall me. Now I must carry him to his resting place.” Having spoken thus, the performer ascended the steps of the hall and kneeled. “For the sake of a peach,” he said, “I have lost my son. If you would pity this humble soul and contribute something to the funeral expenses, I will be ever vigilant to repay you—even from the beyond.”

The awed officials each gave some money, which the performer
took and tied to his waist. Then he knocked on the bamboo box and shouted, “You can come out, sonny boy, and thank the donors.” A tumbleweed head lifted the cover as a lad emerged and kowtowed to the officials. It was the same boy!

I learned later that the White Lotus Sect could perform this strange trick, and it would not surprise me if the two performers were descended from them.

—
P’u Sung-ling