Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all my readers and your families!

圣诞快乐，新年快乐，万事如意！

Fred Lobb  羅老师

Weird & Eerie Stories From Old China -- Series Two

The weird, bizarre, and inexplicable from old China--just about everything anomalous except ghosts.  

(1) Fox Pearl

The following is a story told by Mr. Liu Quanbai.

Liu's wet nurse had a son named Xing'ai, who, when he was young, would hide himself beside some country path and set up a net as a booby trap to catch boars and foxes.

Liu's estate was at the foot of a mountain, and so on one evening, Xing'ai set his net up to the west of the estate, half a li down the road. Xing'ai was patiently sitting by the road, hidden, when he heard footsteps on the road.

In the darkness he could make out some kind of small figure on the ground near the net. By and by, the figure slowly stood up, revealing itself to be a young woman clad in red. The woman then sidestepped the net and ran towards two old disused carts by the road. There, she stopped and grabbed a rat, which she devoured alive.

It was then Xing'ai sneaked up on her, dropping his net over her, ensnaring her. Xing'ai then gave her a clubbing, which would normally kill a fox. However, the fox woman remained alive, and this gave Xing'ai pause for some thought. He had seen her transform herself from a smaller figure into that of a human; however, the transformation had largely been in the dark, in the shadows. In the back of his mind, there was still some doubt she could very well be an actual person; on the other hand, if she did happen to be a shape-shifting fox, it would be too dangerous and irresponsible of him to let her roam the roads. And then there was the fact that he had seen her eat a live rat on the spot, an act people were not normally known to do.

He decided to throw her, enclosed in the net, into the [dried, empty] pond for the night. He then went home and told his parents about what had happened.

Early the next morning, Xing'ai returned to the pond, where he discovered the woman had long since revived. Convinced she was a shape-shifting fox, he struck her with an ax. Immediately, she fell to the ground and turned back into a fox.

Xing'ai was overjoyed. He had subdued and killed a noxious being, and so he carried the fox back home.

On the road back home, he encountered an old monk, who pointed out to Xing'ai that the fox was indeed still alive.

"Don't kill it," the old monk said. "Let it live. In the mouth of such a fox, there is a 媚珠 (meizhu, "a pearl of attraction"), which would make the owner, if he can obtain it, the most beloved, desired person around! Now, allow me to tell how you may extract this pearl . . . "

Xing'ai took the fox home, bound her front paws and then her back, and placed her in a cage, where he kept  and fed her for the next several days. Then, the old monk came over and outside Xing'ai's home, buried some bottles in the ground so that the mouths of the bottles were level with the dirt. In each bottle were two
slabs of fresh roast pork.

Xing'ai  next let the fox loose near the bottles.

If there's one thing a fox loves, it's eating roast pork. The fox instantly ran towards the mouths of the buried bottles. The fox, however, could not retrieve the pork from the bottles, for the openings of the bottles were much smaller than her own mouth. She lay before bottle after bottle, her mouth locked onto each opening, desperately trying to get the meat.

The slabs of pork grew cold, so while the fox was restrained,  Xing'ai added some fresh, sizzling roast pork to each bottle.  Once again the fox attacked the mouth of each bottle, attempting to get to the pork but all to no avail.

The process was repeated over and over. Soon, each bottle was nearly full of savory pork that the fox could not reach. Finally, the fox lay before one bottle, again tried to reach the pork, and salivated copiously. A small object rolled out of her mouth, and she put her head down and died.

Xing'ai bent down to look at the small round object, no bigger than a weiqi, or go, tile. Before him lay the fox pearl.

Xing'ai gave the fox pearl to his mother, who kept it on her person. It is said that Xing'ai's father, for the first time or not, became totally infatuated with his wife.

from
Guangyi ji [Record of broadly odd things] by  Dai Fu in Zhongguo qitan [Talks on bizarre matters in China],
Lin Yaochuan, ed. Taipei: Changchunshu Shufang, 1977; pp. 68-69. 

I wish to thank Dr. Ulrich Theobald, a specialist in classical Chinese history, literature and technology, for his very kind help and time spent in providing me information about Dai Fu. For those interested in Chinese culture, technology, literature and art prior to the establishment of the Republic, I highly recommend Dr. Theobald's encyclopedic website: www.chinaknowledge.de

Dai Fu was a writer who flourished between the Tang Tianbao and Zhenyuan eras (respectively, A.D. 742-756 and 785-805), dying at the age of 57. A biographer and short story writer, he came from what is now Anhui Province.  Liu Quanbai was a scholar who likewise lived during the Tang Dynasty. 

Foxes are prime shape-shifters in East Asian folklore and possess an alluring essence. They can turn themselves into men or women, usually women, though, and do great  harm to those they encounter and bewitch, the result of which is often a fatal encounter for the incautious human. While the Japanese have two attitudes towards foxes--reverence towards the fox spirit Inari, the Shinto deity of rice and agriculture, and fear and avoidance towards the arch-trickster Kitsune of folktales--the Chinese attitude in popular secular literature and folklore is less ambiguous. The fox shape-shifter is regarded as a malevolent enchanter/enchantress and troublemaker, though, to be fair, there are also Northern Chinese traditions in which the "fox immortal" (狐仙) is respected. Specific shrines exist where offerings are made to this spirit. 

The shape-shifting fox in this story, unlike those in many other stories, doesn't utter human speech. She doesn't attempt to beguile Xing'ai with sweet words or her alluring charm, hallmarks of the fox enchantress. 

Pearls in general are linked to the moon and water and are reputedly aphrodisiacs and symbols of feminine nature and romance, not to mention all the different applications of pearls in Western religious iconography. A pearl is, of course, a priceless object, and those pearls which do not exist in nature, even more so. A single dragon pearl, for example, was supposed to be worth a king's fortune or more. However, a dragon pearl or, here, a fox pearl, like the elusive blue rose of European alchemists, does not occur in nature; hence, the high value placed on that which we can never own but which we can in our imaginations cherish as representations of various unattainable ideals. 

Motifs: D313.1, "Fox transformed to person"; D1355.3, "Love charm"; H481, "Fox in human form betrays identity."  


(2) Night Watchman

In Hedong Prefecture (now in Shanxi Province) during the reign of the Tang Emperor Wenzong (A.D. 836-840), there lived a young man who served as night watchman. He very energetically and earnestly applied himself to his job, eager to, in his small corner of the empire, uphold the order of the mighty Tang Dynasty.

It was on a night when the moon shone like a mirror in the sky that the night watchman found himself patrolling the area just outside the gates of the Jingfu Temple. Nearby, he spotted someone all in black, or painted in black, sitting on the ground, head tilted forward, knees drawn up to the chin and with arms hugging his forelegs, someone the night watchman suspected was sleeping.

"Hey, you!" he shouted. "This is a public place with strict laws against anyone sleeping here! Don't you realize how badly you are reflecting the great Tang Empire? Do you hear me? Hurry and get up! Outside the city wall, there's an abandoned temple you can sleep in! Don't let me catch you here again!"

The figure remained in the same position,  not moving a muscle.

The night watchman looked about; he and the figure were the only ones around at this time of night. The night watchman was a bit worried but girded up his courage.

"Did you hear what I just said? If you don't beat it, I'll bang this gong, and moments later every guard in the prefecture will be here! Then, you'll be in for it!"

The night watchman stood near the figure and dramatically waved the gong mallet around to scare the figure into getting up and leaving.

The figure indeed suddenly jumped to its feet and, instead of fleeing, headed towards the night watchman. The whiteness of the figure's face contrasted with its black, seemingly painted body and the night. Equally visible were the figure's long teeth. The night watchman was petrified as the figure rushed him, picked him up and threw him upon the ground like a rag doll. The figure then trampled the gong, crumpling it.

The night watchman, with great effort, managed to get to his feet and flee for his life as the figure laughed insanely behind him in the growing distance.

The next day the night watchman told everyone he knew about his encounter with the strange being the night before, but no one believed his story.

A few months later, the main gate of Jingfu Temple was being replaced. Digging a hole for the new gate's foundation, workmen excavated a bizarre painted manikin. The night watchman happened to be there and caused a one-man uproar. That dirt-caked, lifeless black manikin with the white face was the very thing that had attacked him that night!

from
Xuanshi zhi (Records of the revealed room) by Zhang Du in Meiying zhixia (Small box of bewitching shadows), Chen Peng, ed. Guizhou: Guizhou Renmin Chubanshe, 2011; pp. 194-195. 

Zhang Du was a chronicler of the strange and flourished during the Dazhong period (A.D. 847-860) of the Tang Dynasty. 

Motifs: cD1620.0.1, "Automatic doll"; cD1639, "Automata"; and F990, "Inanimate object acts as if living." 

(3) Fruits of the Forbidden Valley

When the official Li Lun was traveling through Qizhou (today, Jinan, Shandong Province), he passed the time doing some hunting in the countryside. He happened to come across a temple, where he took a room and rested. While there, he suddenly smelled the powerful sweet scent of a fruit, most likely peaches. His curiosity got the better of him, and so he asked a monk about the fruit with the strong fragrance. The monk handed Li Lun a couple of the fragrant peaches.

They were small, about the size of chicken eggs and had an irregular shape. Li Lun, as it turned out, was hungry and ate one of the peaches.

"These are not ordinary peaches, are they?" he asked the monk.

He told Li Lun that the peaches were an offering from the owners of a private orchard.

Li Lun wasn't content with only knowing about the peaches' general location of origin. He pressed the monk for more information about them.

"Well," said the monk, laughing, "this place is about ten li from here, in a deep, dark valley. There, you'll find several hundred peach trees, each bearing the most incredibly sweetest peaches you've ever eaten, peaches like these! By chance, your humble poor monk has actually been there, picked a few peaches and returned with them. Sadly, everyone just about ate them all up, leaving none for me . . ."

"Take me to this place."

"No, that's not possible," said the monk. "The place is too inaccessible; there's not even a road there. It would be too arduous."

Li Lun was so insistent that, finally, the monk relented.

So, they set off!

For the first five li,  they did nothing but navigate through and cut down brambles and thorns. Then, they came to roaring river which would normally discourage nearly anyone from crossing.

"Are you up to this? Is this where we turn back?" asked the monk.

"Don't underestimate me," Li Lun replied. "I'm not some weak, effete scholar!"

"All right, then," said the monk, "let's jump in!"

"Wait! Hold on. I don't know how to swim. Will you carry me across?"

The monk nodded, and Li Lun hopped onto his back as the monk swam across the river. Fortunately, this monk could swim like a duck, and so they made it to the other side.

Reaching the opposite river bank, the monk then led Li Lun in a northwest direction. The pair now had to cross two streams, climb a tall mountain, and ford a water-filled ravine. After several more li along a mountain path, they finally arrived at the hidden valley, a place blanketed by clouds and resounding with the sound of trickling spring water.

And there were the peach trees, hundreds of them.

The monk and Li Lun climbed down and began to pick peaches from the tree, eating peach after peach as if there were no tomorrow.

When they were full and ready to return, the monk caught Li Lun stuffing his robes with peaches.

"Sir, you mustn't do that!" said the monk. "This place is the realm of immortals! You mustn't be too greedy. After all, you are an official, not someone planning to open a fruit stand! My abbot told me that once before someone attempted to take back as many peaches as you have there. He almost ended up getting lost and dying out here!"

Li Lun thought about what the monk had just told him and decided it had merit. Before leaving that place, he decided to take back only two peaches.

They returned back to the temple. Before parting, the monk made Li Lun swear never to tell about what they had done or to reveal the location of the valley. Li Lun agreed.

Once back at his government office, Li Lun took out one of the deep valley peaches  to eat. He was suddenly overcome with the desire to have more and more peaches; the two he had with him would not satisfy him. He sent a courier to the temple to tell the monk to fetch him more peaches. However, the courier came back with the news that the energetic, strong young monk had already passed away while meditating in the lotus position.

from
Youyang zazu (Sundry offerings from Youyang's chopping board) by Duan Chengshi in Meiying zhixia; pp. 13-14. 

Duan Chengshi (A.D. c.803-863) lived during the Tang Dynasty and came from what is today Binzhou, Shandong Province. The son of a former prime minister, Duan Chengshi became a proofreader and later found renown as a poet. 

Peaches are important symbols of spring time and immortality. The particular peaches in this story are in a restricted, tabooed area, and one of the two men who enter that area pays the ultimate price for the taboo violation of taking/eating food from fairyland. The magical power of the peaches in this story is implied. The description of the peach orchard accentuates its otherworldly, supernatural nature.

Motifs: cC211.1, "Eating in fairyland forbidden"; cC225, "Taboo to eat certain fruit"; c*C621, "Forbidden fruit"; D950.3, "Magic peach tree." 

Stinky Tofu & Eight Treasures Rice Pudding -- the Legends Behind the Two Specialties

(1) Stinky Tofu

Anyone even slightly familiar with Chinese cuisine knows about and has eaten soybean curd, or tofu, the Japanese name for what Chinese people call doufu (豆腐). Tofu was introduced to the Japanese during the Tang Dynasty. I also remember reading somewhere that the famed Japanese soup miso shiro, made from a soybean base with curds floating in the soup, is actually based on a Song or Yuan Dynasty recipe, enjoyed by the ancestors of today's Chinese eight or nine hundred years ago.

There's regular tofu, and then there's stinky tofu (臭豆腐), delicious but truly odoriferous, now enjoyed widely outside Taiwan and China. What follows is the legendary origin of stinky tofu, as explained by writers Shao Wenchuan and Guo Xiangshi:

It seems during the reign of the Kangxi Emperor (1661-1722), there lived in Beijing a man, a failed licentiate, named Wang Zhihe. Having flunked the exam which would have perhaps allowed him entry into the civil service and, maybe, a post as a mandarin, Wang opened up a tofu shop to make ends meet.

One midsummer's day, business was slow, and Wang and his wife had on their hands many plates of tofu that were just not selling. The two of them couldn't eat up all the tofu themselves, so Wang cut the slabs of tofu into cubes, added some wild pepper and other seasoning, and sealed the tofu and other ingredients in some earthen jugs, sealing them tightly.

He then forgot all about the tofu in the jugs.

The autumn came.

Mrs. Wang was straightening up the shop when she first noticed the jugs. She had noticed a sour scent and assumed her husband had left some preserved cabbage nearby.

Just then, Wang entered, spotted the jugs, and said, "Aiya, the tofu! I forgot all about it. Quick, let's open up the jugs and see how the tofu turned out!"

By now, the soybean curds had fermented. Wang scooped up a small portion with his finger. He liked what he tasted.

"Not bad . . . Here, try some," he said, turning to his wife.

His wife agreed. It was delicious.

Together, they poured themselves a bowl of the fermented bean curd and added some ginger, onions, and sesame oil. They served other members of their family, who scarfed up this new style of tofu. Wang opened the other jugs, and the odor attracted passersby. The first customers wolfed down the tofu and couldn't stop praising it.

Wang put up a sign outside his shop: "Wang Zhihe's Southern Garden Soy Sauce." This evocative advertising and word-of-mouth brought in more and more customers. Thus, stinky tofu, the name by which we now know this food, was born.  Its fame spread far and wide and right into the warrens and quarters of the Forbidden Palace itself. Eventually, the Dowager Empress Cixi (1835-1908; reigned 1861 -1908) herself was one of the many who became enthusiasts of stinky tofu. Soon, stinky tofu found its way to Japan and then, America.

from
Zhongguo xiangsu gushi (Stories of Chinese country customs), Shao Wenchuan & Guo Xiangshi; Taipei: Hanxin, 1999; pp. 55-57. 

The same thing is said of stinky tofu that is said of sausage: "You'll never eat it again once you've seen how it's prepared." Having said that, however, I still very much enjoy Taiwanese-style stinky tofu as well as a good hot dog. How about you? 

(2) Eight Treasures Rice Pudding

Who has never had eight treasures rice pudding? Maybe you ate it at a birthday or wedding banquet or during Chinese New Year. Eight treasures rice pudding (八宝饭) is a glutinous rice dish with many kinds of fruit added. Below is Shao and Guo's rather fanciful version of how this dessert came to be.

It all took place during the reign of the ill-fated Guangxu Emperor's "One Hundred Days of Reform" (1898).

While the progressive-minded emperor attempted to reestablish China as a constitutional monarchy along the lines of Japan, much dangerous palace intrigue occurred. The feared Empress Dowager Cixi, the real head of the empire, the actual puller of puppet strings and the one most to lose from any reform, fled for her life from the imperial court and had to hide. Imperial chef Xiao Dai accompanied her as she securely hid somewhere in the city outside the palace.

While in hiding, the Empress Dowager grew hungry and ordered Xiao Dai to rustle her up some food. The Dowager Empress and Xiao Dai had fled with just the clothes on their backs, and the capital was in an upheaval with the threat of all-out civil war between the Guangxu and Cixi factions. So Xiao Dai had to beg for some food while keeping a low profile.

Somehow finding a porcelain bowl, Xiao Dai went to a door and begged for some rice. Once he had the rice, he went along the street to the door of another residence to beg for something else. He received some corn. He then went to another door and received something else. By the time he felt he had enough to feed the Empress Dowager Cixi, he had already received eight different ingredients.

With the rice and other ingredients mixed together in the bowl, he rushed back to the Empress Dowager's hiding place and gave her the bowl of food.

"What is the name of this dish?" she asked, eating away.

Now, Xiao Dai had himself prepared only the finest, rarest meals for the Empress Dowager. How could he tell her that what she, the de facto supreme ruler of China, was eating were just scraps obtained by begging at eight different doorsteps?

He thought a moment and then said, "Why, this, Your Majesty, is 'eight treasures rice'!"

The Empress Dowager Cixi ate until the bowl was dry and clean, proclaiming this bowl of eight treasures rice to be finer than the all the exquisite delicacies Xiao Dai had previously prepared.

Before long, the One Hundred Days of Reform crisis was over. The Empress Dowager, with the help of Manchu general Ronglu and the secret backing of Han Chinese general Yuan Shikai, had launched a coup d'etat which swiftly and ruthlessly ended the Reform and stripped Emperor Guangxu of all real power. He was placed under house arrest; never again would he have any authority,especially any that could challenge Empress Dowager Cixi.

 The Empress Dowager could now return to the palace.

One day, the Empress Dowager called for Xiao Dai.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"I want to eat eight treasures rice. Prepare it for me."

"At once, Your Majesty!"

Xiao Dai, now that  he was back in the imperial kitchen, thought it was no great task to recreate the bowl of rice and added fruits and vegetables he had prepared for the Empress Dowager. He readily found all the ingredients and, within a short time, had a steaming bowl of eight treasures rice placed before the Dowager Empress.

She placed a spoonful in her mouth and immediately spat it out. Her face became a mask of pure rage.

"This is not eight treasures rice!"

She then made it very clear to Xiao Dai. He had until the next day to prepare eight treasures rice in the manner in which she had first tasted it; if he disappointed her again, she would deliver to him the white silk belt with which he was to hang himself.

He retired to his quarters to ponder what to do. There was a knock on the door. A messenger stood in the doorway with a package for Xiao Dai from a distant relative. He took the parcel and opened it. Inside were various fine quality sweet comestibles: lotus seeds, dried longan meat, melon seeds, winter melon strips, peanuts, peas, and dried dates.

Xiao Dai was at the point of desperation. These certainly weren't the ingredients in the original bowl of eight treasures rice, no. He figured he had no choice but to whip up something delicious in a hurry to try to appease the Empress Dowager. His life itself depended on it.

So, the next day he took the sweet snacks, added a generous quantity of sugar, and cooked them in a sticky rice pudding.

With great trepidation, he approached the Empress Dowager with his latest concoction.

"Your eight treasures rice, Your Majesty . . . "

Empress Dowager Cixi ate a spoonful of the rice pudding and beamed. "Yes! This is exactly the eight treasures rice I remember eating!"

From that day forward, cooking eight treasures rice pudding became Chef Xiao's chief duty.

In 1908, the Empress Dowager Cixi died. Shortly after that the Qing Empire crumbled. Xiao Dai retired to Jingzhou, Hupei, where he opened up a restaurant, Juzhen ("Gathering of Valuables") Garden. The restaurant's specialty? Eight treasures rice.

Thus, has this famous dish come down to us from history into popular folklore!

from
Shao & Guo, Zhongguo xiangsu gushi; pp. 81-83.

This legend is very much like another, "An Emperor Shows up for Supper" (see 3/28/08). In that tale from Fujian, an emperor escaping mutineers enjoys a very rough, rustic meal with a fancy name. When he returns to the capital, he finds he is unable to relive the enjoyment of that same dish once it has been recreated for him. Dai Xiao, however, is able to bamboozle Empress Dowager Cixi with something richer and more luxuriant to save his life. 

Ghost Stories From Ancient China -- Series Six

(1) Old Li Chiu

In Northern Liang, there lived a man known as Old Li Chiu.

One night, Old Li, somewhat tipsy, returned home from town. He was accompanied by a shapeshifting ghost which had gleefully impersonated Old Li's nephew all the way back to the old gentleman's residence. En route back home, the ghost constantly berated Old Li for having drunk over his limit, much to the latter's indignation.

Once home and once the effects of alcohol had worn off, Old Li summoned his nephew, scolding him, saying, "I'm like a father to you! I'd expect you to be more loving towards me! How dare you lecture me about having drunk too much on the way home last night!"

The nephew, tears in his eyes, knelt before his uncle, and said, "There's been a huge mistake, Uncle! I didn't do that! I wasn't even with you. Last night, I was in town requesting the repayment of a debt. You can go ask the debtor if you wish!"

"Ha," said Old Li, "now I know what happened! Some ghost attached himself to me on my way home last night.Yes, I've heard of such occurrences before."

The next night found Old Li inebriated once again in town. He was armed this time, determined to kill any ghost that dared to bother him.

When Old Li's nephew, fearful for his uncle's safety arrived to escort the old man home, Old Li assumed the young man was the ghost reappearing to harass or menace him. Old Li then took out his sword and cut down the young man, his actual nephew, thinking he had successfully dealt with the annoying shape-shifting ghost.

from 

"Li qiu zhangren" by Lu Buwei in Guihua [Talks on ghosts], Li Mengsheng, ed. Shanghai: Shanghai Shiji Chubanshe, 2010;  p. 1.

This story, from the Age of Warring States (475-221 B.C.)  is one of the oldest--maybe the oldest--in which the Chinese character for "ghost" 鬼 appears. Previously, I had thought "The Tale of Uncle Ju" (see 3/26/09) held that spot. This tale, however, predates "The Tale of Uncle Ju" by at least several hundred years and seems to be in terms of theme and plot the clear forerunner of "Uncle Ju."  Perhaps not coincidentally, Li Mengsheng, in his survey of old Chinese ghost stories through the centuries, placed "Li qiu zhangren" as the first story in his anthology. The characters in this story, like those in the later variant "The Tale of Uncle Ju," live in an age when "ghost," "demon," and "vampire" seem undifferentiated and when a "ghost" may yet be "killed."   

Motifs: D42.2; "Spirit takes man's shape"; E332.2, "Ghost(s) seen on road at night."

(2) The White Bones

A certain Mr. Liu, over sixty years of age, a native of Heshuo (an area north of the Yellow River), was returning from visiting Shangfeng Temple (in Hunan Province) when he got caught in a downpour. It was getting dark, and he quickly needed to take shelter.

By the road he spotted a large tomb mound. There was an entrance, so he went in and fell asleep until the rain stopped.

When he awoke, he saw the entire interior of the tomb was completely illuminated by the moonlight which had crept in. The spotlessly clean glazed tiles of the tomb shone brightly.

And then, there, on the other side of the tomb floor from him,  Liu saw a skeleton--a complete set of bones from head to foot. Nothing else was there but Liu and the skeleton.

Liu slowly rose to his feet.

As he rose, so did the skeleton.

Then, the skeleton ran pell-mell towards him and embraced him. Liu exerted every ounce of energy he had to free himself from the skeleton, and finally he broke free, causing the decayed bones to fall apart onto the floor in a pile.

Liu fled the tomb. He told everyone he encountered about his adventure.

Such an occurrence is not at all that strange, he was told.

from "Bai gu" by Guo Yu; Guihua, p. 39. 

From the Song Dynasty (960-1229 AD).

What Liu did would have been unthinkable according to traditional culture. It would have been considered extremely bold and foolhardy at best and suicidal at worst. However, since there are characters like Liu, rash people who "push the envelope," we can thus have ghost stories, the results of their heedless actions--related by the very protagonist if he/she survives. No wonder he was told that "such an occurrence is not at  all that strange"! What had he been thinking?

Motif: E422.1.11.4, "Revenant as skeleton."

(3) Ghosts Don't Torment the Poor!

Luo Liangfeng, a man of Yangzhou, Jiangsu, spoke of how he could see ghosts.

He said he could see ghosts at sundown, when the streets would be absolutely full of these entities that are much shorter than the living. There they would be on streets, avenues and boulevards, their facial features blurred, congregating so that they would resemble a black shadow cast over everything. So many of them would be on the street that they would walk into and out from the walls along the way. Like living people, many of them would be observed chatting while walking along, while others would walk along without any visible emotion, and while still others might  find a living human to walk behind and to follow that person to wherever he or she may go.

These and other ghosts, according to Luo, always enjoy the noisy, bustling, popular spots favored by people, thinking apparently, in their ghostly way, that wherever there is a popular gathering place, there shall one find people, not so much, though, in the empty grasslands of shepherds.

No wonder scholar Yang Xiong (53 BC-18 AD) wrote, "Ghosts always peep on what the affluent are doing."

In actuality, humans and ghosts belong to different realms but must share the same physical space. Ghosts normally don't pose humans any harm unless they, the ghosts, are out for vengeance or just in the mood to do some haunting. Consequently, it is usually very difficult for a person to see a ghost.

Since most ghosts enjoy frequenting busy, prosperous areas and since most are unable to change their habits, they tend to stay away from the shabby, depressed locations visited by the poor. This is why we have the old saying "Poor ghosts don't drop in [for a visit]." How true.

from Zi bu yu in Gao shenme gui, Yuan Mei, ed. Annotated by Wang Yuan. Taipei: Guanxue She, 2004; pp. 8-9. 

Zi bu yu [What the Master (i.e., Confucius) did not discuss] is the ghost story collection of Qing Dynasty writer Yuan Mei (1716-1797 AD). "Poor ghosts" is a play on words, meaning either literally poor, possibly "hungry" ghosts or people who are impoverished. Of course, the conclusion reached by Yuan Mei, that ghosts prefer to flock near the prosperous and seldom ever go near those who are poor, is debatable. 

The description of ghosts on the street reminded me of a story in Zhongguo yaoguai shidian [Dictionary of Chinese goblins] by famed Japanese artist and chronicler of the bizarre, Mizuki Shigeru (Taipei: Zhenxing, 2004). That story is "Gui shi" ["Ghost market"]. The gist of that story is as follows: 

    A servant was on an errand away from town. Since the daytime weather had been 
   unbearably hot, the servant decided to travel at night. One midnight, while still on the road,
   the servant stumbled into a very bustling, humming marketplace crammed full of people buying
   food from stalls. Hungry, he bought a bowl of soup noodles, devoured it, and continued on his 
   journey. He completed his task and made it back home, whereupon he came down with a sickness.
   He vomited up a toad and coiled worms . . .  (pp. 42-43). 

Such is what happens when one, in traditional thought, interacts with ghosts. The servant had more than likely stopped by a ghost market in a desolate area of tombs where spirits appear and recreate the world they had known when they were alive, using the spirit money that had been burned for them to buy whatever is available in their realm. 

Chunwang & the Ninth Maiden (Han) -- Part Three

As the Ninth Maiden wept, she heard a man's voice singing from the bushes:

"There go the Maidens flying back up into the heavens!
And I? I've taken the peahen skin and wings of one of them.
I'm ready to return them to her without much fuss.
All I ask is for one thing in return--for her to call me her one and only."

From out of the bushes stepped Chunwang, bearing the skin and wings.

What a handsome young man, thought the Ninth Maiden. Who would have thought such a handsome one existed among the mortals! She liked what she saw, laughed bashfully and sang back:

"Young man, if you say you love me, you'll need to love me with all your heart.
Otherwise, I don't care if I died--I still wouldn't call you my man.
If you truly love me, then, please hurry and give me back my skin and wings!"

Chunwang promptly returned the skin and wings to the Ninth Maiden. Right then and there, from that day forward, they became man and wife. How happy were they? There's no need to ask--they felt pure joy being in each other's presence and nothing else in the world mattered.

Nine months later, the wife and husband had a pair of twins--a boy and a girl--both soft and chubby with creamy complexions, as cute as children can be.

It was now a full year since Ninth Maiden had come down to earth for good and married Chunwang.

One day Chunwang noticed her carrying a beautiful large hulu, a gourd shaped like our number eight ("8"), from out of their garden.

"And what do you plan to do with the hulu, my wife?" he asked.

"Today's my father's birthday," she replied. "I'm presenting it to him. That means I'll need to return to the sky.  But don't worry. I'll be back before dark, so watch the children for me while I'm gone!"

"Very well."

Ninth Maiden stepped upon the hulu leaf and flew away up into the sky and out of sight.

Well, night came but Ninth Maiden had still not returned. Nor did she return by the next morning, or the morning after that.

from Tan Daxian, pp. 60-61. 

The story in the original Chinese doesn't reconcile Ninth Maiden's earlier temporary loss of her bird skin and wings and resultant lack of ability to fly with her human guise and capability of flying away on a leaf. Nor does it suggest that once married, she remains donned in her peahen skin and wings outfit.

The hulu gourd, gourd bottle, or bottle-gourd is a Taoist (Daoist) alchemy symbol, sometimes seen depicted on the windows and walls of Chinese herbalist shops. In ancient times, Taoist adepts were thought to carry medicine or magic potions in their hulu gourds. In Taiwan, a modern expression goes like this: "What's inside your hulu?" In other words, "What are you up to?"

The Midnight Bus -- an Urban Legend From Beijing

A young man and an old man, strangers to each other, got on Bus 302, the midnight bus. The old man took a seat near the front, and the young man, a seat a few rows behind. Two other passengers sat in the front close to the driver.

Shortly after the bus left the stop, the old man turned around to face the young man in the back.

"What did you just say?" asked the old man.

"I didn't say anything," the young man replied.

"Yes, you did. I heard you. Don't lie. You said something about me."

"Excuse me but I didn't say anything to you or anyone else."

"Oh, now you're suggesting I'm lying or that I am hearing things. Is that it?" The old man's face was furious.

"I didn't say anything to you! Don't bother me!"

"Why, you little disrespectful . . . I ought to . . . !"

The old man got up and marched back to the young man and boxed his ears.

"Hey . . . !" yelled the young man.

At this point, the bus driver pulled over to the curb, put the parking brake on, turned around and said, "All right, both of you get off my bus! I'm not having any fighting while I'm driving!"

"But--" the young man began.

"Get off now! You heard me!"

The young man, followed by the old man, exited the bus. The bus took off, leaving the two alone on a deserted street when night is at its blackest.

"What the hell was that all about?" the young man asked the old man. "Why in the world did you start a stupid quarrel with me? Why did you hit me?"

The old man smiled and shook his head. "I just saved your life and mine."

"What do you mean?"

"Did you see the two passengers in the front?"

"Yes . . . well, not clearly. I know there were two people with their backs turned. So what?"

"Well," the old man continued, "I happened to see them more clearly than you did.  Below their waists there was nothing there."

"So . . . they . . . were . . . ?"

"Yes," said the old man, nodding. "Exactly."

The news media reported the next day that Bus 302 had disappeared some time after midnight. No trace of it or anyone on the bus was ever found.

Notes

For another version of this urban legend, please see the posting for 3/18/18.

I just heard this story told in English by my very good friend Professor Li Yang of Qingdao, Shandong, China, an expert on Chinese urban legends. This story is now making the rounds in China. His son Andre related another version in which at the very end, once the pair have been kicked off the bus, the old man tells the young man basically the same story, then adding that he, too, is a ghost, meaning, of course, the hapless young man is now in mortal danger. 

Chunwang & the Ninth Maiden (Han) -- Part Two

Chunwang now found himself the guest of the young hunter, Brother Deer. Brother Deer's family treated Chunwang with great courtesy and affection, feeding the young man plates of fish and meat and cups of rice wine with which to down the food. Brother Deer also took Chunwang along to pay respect to other members of the deer community.

Some time passed and Chunwang began to think of his mother. As much as he had enjoyed staying with Brother Deer and his family, Chunwang longed to return to his mother. And so, escorting Chunwang to the gates of his compound, Brother Deer handed Chunwang a basket and said, "Little Brother, take this parting gift. Don't look at it as just an ordinary basket. See what happens when you place freshly cut grass into the basket!"

With tears in his eyes, Chunwang accepted the gift and prepared to say farewell. However, Brother Deer had more words to say.

"Remember this: If you should ever encounter any problem and need my help," Brother Deer said, "don't hesitate to come this gate and shout: 'Maha! Brother Deer!' Do so and I shall immediately come!"

Chunwang returned home to his worried mother. He dutifully stayed by his aged mother's side for the next few days until it came time to cut the grass.

He was cutting the grass alone when he decided to use the basket Brother Deer had given him. As soon  he placed a few blades of grass into the basket, the entire basket became full of grass and the grass on the ground to cut became that much less. With the basket, Chunwang could now cut much more grass with much less effort! What a great boon this basket turned out to be!

In his free time, Chunwang kept in contact with Brother Deer and his family, often visiting their compound.

In his eighteenth year, Chunwang's mother passed away. He made the funeral arrangements and made sure they were carried out in a filial manner. Afterwards, he visited Brother Deer.

Brother Deer took one look at Chunwang and asked, "Little Brother, what happened? Your face looks so cloudy! You can tell me."

"Brother Deer, my mother has passed away, the person who had loved me and taken care of me since birth, the one person in my little home besides myself. Brother Deer, I shall not want to live alone . . ."

"Listen to me, my little brother. Don't be upset. I think I have the answer. Just about every evening, nine female immortals come down from the sky to the West River to bathe. Here's what you can you do. Hide yourself in the grass a hundred paces from the riverbank before they come down. Wait for them to take off their beautiful peahen skins and wings. You'll see that they are incredibly lovely maidens. Note which of the group is the one most beautiful. While they bathe, take the skin and wings of that maiden and hide it. She shall come out of the water and despair when she is unable to find her skin and wings. Meet her, introduce yourself, and return her skin and wings to her. She shall then become your wife! Now, leave quickly! You need to be somewhere!"

Chunwang thanked Brother Deer, grabbed a bite to eat,  and took off towards West River. Once there, he found a spot a hundred paces from the shore that was full of tall stalks of grass and hid himself there. Then, he watched and waited . . .

The dark grayness of early evening soon turned to the black of night punctuated by the brilliance of the silver stars overhead. Chunwang continued to watch and wait.

A star descended to earth!

Now gathered on the bank of the river were nine gorgeous peahens. One by one each discarded its skin and wings to reveal itself as a ravishing beauty. The last, the ninth, was the most beautiful of all, and she dazzled Chunwang's eyes.

Yes, she's the one, he said to himself.

The nine celestial maidens entered the river water and cavorted and splashed about, unaware of Chunwang's creeping over to pick up the skin and the wings of the ninth maiden. Grabbing the wings and skin, he slipped off to a safe location where the maiden's skin and wings could be safely hidden and never found. He quietly returned to the riverbank and once again hid himself in the tall grass.

Soon, the maidens finished bathing and left the water. One by one, each donned her skin and wings to return to peahen form--all except the Ninth Maiden, of course.

"Wait! Wait!" she cried. "Where are my skin and wings? Sisters, where are they? Have you seen them?"

One by one, her sisters flew away up into the sky.

The Ninth Maiden, without a stitch to conceal herself, covered her eyes and cried.

Notes

from Tan Daxian, pp. 58-59.