That same day, at sundown, the Ninth Maiden encountered Chunwang.
"Husband, where has my father ordered you to sleep this evening?"
"Oh, he told me to sleep in the South Bedroom tonight."
"Chunwang, you'll have to take great care."
"Why?"
"I shall tell you. Remember the louse in the East Bedroom? Well, the South Bedroom has an even more cunning and dangerous and formidable creature, a 3,800 jin Worm Spirit!"
"This could be it for me," sighed Chunwang.
"Don't worry. Once again, I shall bring you a bowl of water and a plate of meat. I'll also give you a needle of mulberry wood. When the worm appears, repeat the same things you said last night: 'There's water here if you're thirsty, and there's meat here if you're hungry. If you're neither thirsty nor hungry, get out! Otherwise, the Ninth Maiden's got a needle here for you!' Then, when you've spoken those words, hold the wooden needle up for the Worm Spirit to see and wave it.
"That should do the trick," added the Ninth Maiden.
Chunwang was left alone for the night with a bowl of water, a plate of meat and a mulberry wood needle.
When it was the darkest part of the night, Chunwang felt the whole room shake and heard a chong! chong!
Nearby, coiled and as big as the largest millstone was the Worm Spirit, more disgusting and smellier than words could do justice.
Mustering up his courage, Chunwang said, "There's water here if you're thirsty, and there's meat here if you're hungry. If you're neither thirsty nor hungry, get out! Otherwise, the Ninth Maiden's got a needle here for you!"
He held up the mulberry wood needle and then waved it. As he did so, the room resounded like a volcano with the sound dengleng! dengleng! dengleng!
The Worm Spirit immediately picked itself up and scudded out of the room as fast as such a large, heavy entity could do so, not to return.
Early the next morning came the Master Immortal, once again carrying his shovel and broom, once again hoping to sweep up Chunwang's head. He opened the door to the South Bedroom a crack, and what did he see? Why, Chunwang sleeping soundly like a rock!
Oh, how the older man's face turned scarlet as he gnashed his teeth!
Fine, fine, he thought, just wait until tonight!
That same day, at sundown, the Ninth Maiden took Chunwang aside and asked, "All right, which bedroom is it to be tonight?"
"Your father told me to sleep in the West Bedroom."
"Oh, that's the worst place so far!"
"And what is in the West Bedroom?"
"In the West Bedroom," said the Ninth Maiden, "dwells the Scorpion Spirit which stings with a thick venom blacker than a bottomless well! It will be very difficult to defeat!"
"Then, I'm doomed . . .," said Chunwang.
"I said 'difficult to defeat,' not 'impossible to defeat.' The only thing it fears is the large pair of scissors my mother keeps. In a moment I'll sneak into her chamber and take them for you. Once again you'll need to have a bowl of water and a plate of meat by your side, along with the shears. When the creature appears, remember to say, 'There's water here if you're thirsty, and there's meat here if you're hungry. If you're neither thirsty nor hungry, get out! Otherwise, your mother's shears are here for you!' Did you get that?"
"Yes," said Chunwang, "only please hurry up and get those shears!"
That night, with the large scissors, the plate of meat, and the bowl of water by his side, Chunwang prepared for what would probably be a sleepless night.
Sure enough, when utter darkness rules the night, the Scorpion Spirit appeared, coiling and twisting and turning, snapping its claws, positioning its stinger.
Taking a deep breath, Chunwang said, "There's water here if you're thirsty, and there's food here if you're hungry. If you're neither thirsty nor hungry, get out! Otherwise, your mother's shears are here for you!"
He held the scissors up, snipping at the air for good measure.
The Scorpion Spirit, shaking the whole room, turned tail and fled out.
Early the next morning, the Master Immortal, with his shovel and broom, appeared outside the door to the West Bedroom, absolutely sure this time that he would finally have the pleasure of sweeping up Chunwang's remains. He opened the door to see Chunwang, sitting up and smiling at him.
"My," said Chunwang, "you get up awfully early to do your cleaning!"
The Master Immortal didn't say a word; instead, he nodded tersely, turned around and left, planning yet another way to finish off Chunwang for good.
from
Tan Daxian, pp. 62-64
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Friday, March 22, 2013
The Earth Demon, Yaksha (Han)
Our story occurred during the reign of the Guangxu Emperor (1875-1908) in Xinye, Henan Province. In Xinye there lived a prosperous jeweler, antique seller and craftsman, Lu Bancheng. Lu was extremely well-read in calligraphy and very enterprising, always scouting for valuable items. Not surprisingly, he took many business trips.
On one such trip, he was returning to Xinye from Hankou when the riverboat he was on made an emergency call to a river port due to some strong winds. However, the winds weren't strong enough to deter Lu from leaving the shelter of the berth to do some sightseeing. A temple by the river had caught his eye, and so that was where he headed.
Arriving at the gate, he discovered the temple was dilapidated and abandoned. There were weeds growing everywhere, and paint was peeling from the walls. Doors and windows were missing. Worst of all, the statue of Buddha was tilting. The whole place manifested a deep sense of gloom.
Then, Lu saw the painting.
A painting was still attached to one of the decayed walls. Lu looked at it. The painting style was definitely ancient and the style of the artist was somehow familiar to Lu, who had seen and had handled a great many such paintings in his time. The painting itself depicted Yakshas, demons or spirits from the bowels of the earth; a particularly hellish demon with a green face was wielding a bronze pitchfork.
Yes, I've seen this work before. Wu . . . Wu Daozi . . ., thought Lu. This has got to be an original painting by Wu Daozi!
Lu had seen copies of this very same painting, with the original attributed to Tang Dynasty master muralist Wu Daozi, whose works by this time were now extremely rare. Who would have guessed that a painting by this giant of Tang art would be found in a run-down, abandoned temple? As such, it would fetch an enormous price . . .
Like a feverish madman but one still sane enough to be careful, Lu took out the artist's knife he always carried and gingerly used the blade to extract the painting from the wall. He carefully rolled it up and took it with him back to the boat.
Lu Bancheng was delighted with his find. He sat on the bow of the still-docked ship and ordered a warmed pot of wine and some food for himself to celebrate. There he sat, enjoying the wine, admiring the view, and reveling in his latest acquisition, one sure to bring him great riches!
He turned his head. Someone was on the dockside of the boat, looking at him and then at the food he was eating.
It was an unkempt, emaciated female beggar, whose lion mane of disheveled hair blew in the breeze.
Lu got up and beckoned to her. He approached the side of the boat, extended his arm and helped her aboard. He then handed her a plate of steamed buns, each of which she wolfed down. He also allowed her to eat the other food, which she did without bothering to use chopsticks.
Once she had finished eating, Lu asked her about herself, where she was from and so on.
She was a local, she told him, the daughter of a hog butcher. Her mother had died young; she and her father lived off the meat he didn't sell. Eventually, her father died, and she was then adopted into a household as a "little daughter-in-law," one who, once marriageable age had arrived, would marry the young man of the house. Things didn't work out so well, however. Since she was literally addicted to eating meat, she wouldn't touch any dish that didn't meat. Her adopted parents decided she was a burden, too expensive to raise as their future daughter-in-law. So, they turned her out. With nowhere else to go, she took refuge in the abandoned temple Lu had visited earlier that day and before long became a beggar.
Poor child, thought Lu. What if one day she runs into a vicious beast or a beast in human form?
"Listen, young lady, " said Lu, "begging daily for a meal is no way to go through life. Why don't you work for me as one of my household staff? You'll have daily square meals and clothes to boot! You can have what others have, a home."
Ka-tong!
That was the sound of the beggar's head hitting the deck of the boat as she kowtowed before Lu out of deep gratitude and joy. Lu gently helped her rise and escorted her into the cabin, where, before taking leave of her, he had someone provide her with a tub of water in which to bathe, a brush for her wild hair, and a change of clothes.
An hour or so later, someone knocked on the door of Lu's private cabin. He opened it to find a very enchanting servant girl carrying a tray with a teapot and cup. Exquisite eyes and lovely brows; brilliant white teeth and ruby lips; yes, she was gorgeous, indeed.
He stared at her. She was none other than the beggar!
He decided then and there to take her as his second wife, not as a household domestic.
Five days later, they were back in Xinye. Lu Bancheng immediately proceeded with the wedding plans. At the ceremony, all were impressed by the second Mrs. Lu's beauty. Lu himself couldn't get over his fortune and this new wife who had become his very precious darling, someone for whom he would spare no expense.
All was well in the Lu house . . . for a while.
The new Mrs. Lu had made many new fans with her grace and winsomeness. Yet, there was something decidedly odd about her. In all regards but one she was wonderful; when it came to eating meat, she was a downright miserly glutton who demanded each plate of meat for herself. "Sharing" didn't seem to be a concept that she understood.
She began to eat more and more meat, and as she did so, her personality underwent a change. Gone was all her humbleness. She now treated the household staff with oppressiveness and disdain, causing the servants to gnash their teeth in resentment as they went about their duties.
The day came when Lu Bancheng wished to throw a lavish dinner party for clients. He had had more than twenty jin (more than ten kilograms) of pork cooked and placed in the kitchen on platters to await the guests. At midday, when the cook entered the kitchen to prepare the vegetables, he was astonished to find that the meat was gone, every slice of it.
Lu was called and he first suspected a member of the servant staff. He interviewed each one, and more than a few said the same thing--he or she had seen the new Mrs. Lu enter the kitchen alone sometime in the forenoon.
Aha, he thought. But could she have actually consumed all that meat?
The next day, Lu ordered half of an entire cooked hog brought into the kitchen. Lu then hid himself in a corner of his spacious kitchen.
There, he waited . . .
Not long after, the "little beauty" tiptoed into the kitchen. The second Mrs. Lu then looked around and locked the kitchen door from the inside. Suddenly, her face and body underwent a transformation. Her hair turned red as her face turned a sickly green. Her eyes had become a baleful gold. With her hands, now long-nailed claws, she attacked the half hog lying on the pallet, ripping its flesh, stuffing the meat into her now bloody mouth and doing so over and over and over.
Within minutes, the hog was gone; the pallet, as dry as a sun-bleached stone.
Lu Bancheng watched the spectacle in horror and disgust, riveted to his hiding spot, too terrified to move. He watched the demon pat her gut in delight after finishing off half of a hog . It was a good while after she had left when he was able to get up and leave the kitchen.
He went to his shop and gathered up ten of his stoutest, hardiest workers. He armed them with knives and guns.
"We're going to drive out and kill a demon," he informed them.
"We're going to drive out and kill a demon," he informed them.
He led his party back to his house, from where not only the demon had now fled but all of Lu's own family and servants as well. Lu had to dismiss the men and think of a plan to eradicate the demon he had brought into his own home.
In town he sought the services of a Taoist priest who was reputed to be a very effective exorcist.
For the next three days, the priest performed his rituals. While he did so, however, the demon went on a rampage as she searched for food. Not only pigs but sheep, cows and horses were being devoured alive.
After three days, the priest had to acknowledge all his efforts had been in vain.
"This is a very powerful malevolent entity," he told Lu Bancheng, "one that has apparently invaded our community from somewhere else, one that has been honing its evil power for a thousand years. Thus, I'm afraid I don't have the ability to destroy it."
Reluctantly, Lu and the Taoist priest parted.
Lu was at a loss about what to do. A powerful exorcist had no effect on a demon running amuck. What could he, Lu, possibly do to stop it?
Then, it dawned on him. He had seen the face of the kitchen demon before--one of the faces of Yakshas on the temple painting he had brought home. He himself had brought this demon to his community. His willingness to steal a temple painting, a painting that had undoubtedly been placed in the temple to neutralize the power of these demons, had unleashed all this destruction.
He ran into his house and into the room where he had hidden the temple painting. He grabbed the ancient, valuable work of art and headed outside. He went to a glazed well that had been built on the order of Han Emperor Guangwu (5 B.C.- 57 A.D.). The well was rumored to be bottomless. Without the slightest regret, he threw the painting down into the well. He next hired some workmen to drop a millstone down the well. For good measure, he had the well filled with earth.
The Yaksha, the second Mrs. Lu, was never seen again.
from
Qianqi baiguaide minjian gushi, Wang Fan, ed.; pp. 276-278. (See 2/21/13 for full citation.)
Qianqi baiguaide minjian gushi, Wang Fan, ed.; pp. 276-278. (See 2/21/13 for full citation.)
Wu Daozi (A.D. 680-759) was an actual artist.
This legend, the product of an earlier, less sensitive time, doesn't mention anything about the first Mrs. Lu. And like many legends, it has a cautionary tone not unlike urban legends of today, which, in many cases, are just updated versions of cautionary tales from the medieval ages or even earlier periods. The didactic message attached to the end of the tale warns young readers not to take anything without having earned it and that nothing good comes from ill-gotten gains. The demon's father had been a hog/pig butcher, an inauspicious occupation in a tale with an anti-meat eating subtext. Like today's urban legends, the story also suggests to beware of hurriedly befriending strangers of the opposite sex.
Yaksa (夜叉) comes from Sanskrit, with a number of meanings: "ghost that can eat," "ghost that can bite," "ghost that swiftly brings disease," but also "light and quick," etc. In Hindu mythology, Yaksas are friendly, benign attendants to the gods. They are associated with the air, water or land. Once Buddhism entered China, however, the Yaksa became identified with ghosts or gui (鬼), in earlier eras that catchall phrase for any revenant or demon that hated the living and that devoured human flesh but despite its supernatural powers, could be destroyed by humans . Consuming flesh, in fact, became one of their chief characteristics.
Motifs: D435.2.1, "Picture comes to life"; F402.4, "Demon eats ravenously"; F496, "Demon of gluttony"; G11.15, "Cannibal demon"; G81, "Unwitting marriage to cannibal"; and cH461, "Cannibal nature of woman recognized when she devours dead buffalo raw."
Yaksa (夜叉) comes from Sanskrit, with a number of meanings: "ghost that can eat," "ghost that can bite," "ghost that swiftly brings disease," but also "light and quick," etc. In Hindu mythology, Yaksas are friendly, benign attendants to the gods. They are associated with the air, water or land. Once Buddhism entered China, however, the Yaksa became identified with ghosts or gui (鬼), in earlier eras that catchall phrase for any revenant or demon that hated the living and that devoured human flesh but despite its supernatural powers, could be destroyed by humans . Consuming flesh, in fact, became one of their chief characteristics.
Motifs: D435.2.1, "Picture comes to life"; F402.4, "Demon eats ravenously"; F496, "Demon of gluttony"; G11.15, "Cannibal demon"; G81, "Unwitting marriage to cannibal"; and cH461, "Cannibal nature of woman recognized when she devours dead buffalo raw."
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Three Contemporary Ghost Stories From China
Note: The third story is not for children.
(1) Tofu, Anyone?
High school had let out for winter break, so A. and his friend headed home on foot.
The night was black, dry, cold, and no one else was on the street. The empty streets coupled with the bone-chilling winter made the scene all rather bleak and eerie.
The pair had not gone far when they suddenly saw someone ahead, an old woman.
It was odd enough for an older citizen to be out alone on a deserted street in such cold weather, but that was the least of it. What was truly strange was her clothing: she seemed to be dressed in women's clothes fashionable during the final years of the Qing Dynasty (1890-1912). Her hair was tied tightly behind her head, and she was shouldering a bamboo pole, carrying a container, chanting, "Tofu for sale! Tofu for sale!"
It then dawned on A. that he had heard this woman's intermittent chants outside his dorm window at least once while studying, as if she had been walking a circuit around the campus, coming and going and then returning . . .
"Hey, you see her?" A. asked his friend more than once.
Instead of replying yes or no, the friend gripped A.'s shoulder, attempting to push him past her. Very briefly did A. look upon the old woman's face, but she did not return the glance, for which A. was thankful.
Both A. and his friend tried as nonchalantly as possible to walk by her, and both were very relieved to do so quickly.
A. later would concede that he couldn't say for sure that the old woman he saw that night was a ghost, but certain questions remained unanswered. Why would an aged person be in outlandish nineteenth century garb and out on chilly nights like that, selling tofu, of all things, at that hour, likely circling their school campus?
Upon returning home, A. promptly told his mother all about the woman selling tofu on cold, deserted streets. His mother later took him to a temple to pray before the bodhisattvas and had him drink down a concoction made from the ashes or powder of an amulet.
A. admitted he had gone along with whatever his mother had told him to do, for he had truly been scared out of his wits by the strange old costumed woman hawking tofu on a dark street late one night.
from
Meiwan yige zhenshide liqi gushi: xiaoyuan guishi [An intriguing true story for each night: bizarre occurrences on campus], Zilong Qichuan, ed. Beijing: Xinshijie, 2010; p. 12.
This story comes from an anthology of what the editor and contributors claim to be true high school and college/university campus ghost stories and eerie happenings. The Chinese original was told in first person, but I adapted the narrative for third person.
A. was presumably enrolled in a boarding school. In any case, it is not explained why A. and his friend are making their way home alone on dark, deserted streets at night. We are told in an earlier section that the school is in Hubei. A. explains that his school had all the qualifications for being classified as a "haunted campus": (i) an ancient history (with roots going back to a private school in the Song Dynasty); (ii) a somewhat remote location; (iii) a large area or campus; (iv) old buildings; (v) an attached hospital; and (vi) a neighboring lake or pond (5). The original list was of five items, with "hospital" and "lake" inexplicably lumped together.
(2) Midnight Taxi Ride
This story happened in some major urban area in China. Let's say Beijing.
Late at night, a taxi picked up a fare, a young woman in white gown, leaving a party.
She gave him an address and off they went.
He delivered her to her destination, a massive housing complex. Unknown to both him and her, the place where he stopped, on the passenger's side, was just mere inches from an open ditch, where, in the daylight, construction work had been going on. She paid her fare and left the taxi via the right rear passenger's door.
The young woman took a step back and lost her footing, falling into the ditch.
"Aiiieeeee!"
The startled driver turned around to catch a glimpse of her, white dress and hair billowing upwards, disappearing before his very eyes.
Oh . . . oh . . .! thought the driver, his heart no doubt racing. That's a ghost . . . Yes, that 's one of those ghosts! I just picked up and delivered a ghost . . . like in all those stories . . .
While the driver was gathering his wits and feverishly analyzing what he believed he had just seen, the young woman had managed to claw her way back up, seemingly materializing by rising from the earth, this time, by the front passenger's door.
"Ohhh . . . help me . . . !" she moaned, more out of anger than injury, but moaning nonetheless.
"Ahhhhh!" screamed the driver, pulling away and driving off as fast as he could, leaving behind a very annoyed and perplexed woman but also, later, providing local and worldwide society with yet another true tale of an encounter with the mysterious vanishing passenger!
from
Okay, so now you know this is not a true ghost story! Professor Li Yang (surname Li), an acclaimed professor of folklore from Qingdao, China, told me this story while he was here in the United States for his yearlong research work. Professor Li is a very modest man who claims not to be a good storyteller, but his telling of the story was a lot funnier than my version. He is, in fact, an excellent raconteur. Another one of his stories, "The Midnight Bus," can be found at 8/6/12.
(3) There you are!
This story supposedly happened in Ningde, in northeastern Fujian Province. It is supposed to be true.
A couple with a child fell on hard times and began to quarrel. As their economic problems worsened day after day, the arguments became more acrimonious. Soon, their quarrels became violent to the point where one day, while their child was a way at school, the husband took a kitchen knife and murdered his wife.
The husband now had two major problems on his hand: disposal of the body and the creation of an excuse to explain away to his son where Mother was.
With great effort and stealth, he was able to bury the body somewhere without anyone's seeing him. He then went back home, cleaned up the house and waited for his son to come home. He wracked his brain trying to think of lie that would fool the child and stop him from probing his mother's whereabouts.
He apparently didn't have to worry. For the first, second and third days, the little boy didn't ask a single question about his mother's absence. The father thought this was very odd.
"You haven't seen Mom for several days now. How come, my son, you haven't asked about her?" he finally asked the child, unable to stand it any longer.
The boy's face became clouded for a moment and then he said, "Why are you asking that, Father? Mom's been right behind you, laughing . . . only I don't like the way Mom looks now, Dad . . . Her eyes look scary . And Dad, how come you keep turning your back on Mom?"
The father turned around, but no one was there . . .
from
农村真实鬼故事, accessed 3/5/13.
The story ends without further explanation or resolution.
(1) Tofu, Anyone?
High school had let out for winter break, so A. and his friend headed home on foot.
The night was black, dry, cold, and no one else was on the street. The empty streets coupled with the bone-chilling winter made the scene all rather bleak and eerie.
The pair had not gone far when they suddenly saw someone ahead, an old woman.
It was odd enough for an older citizen to be out alone on a deserted street in such cold weather, but that was the least of it. What was truly strange was her clothing: she seemed to be dressed in women's clothes fashionable during the final years of the Qing Dynasty (1890-1912). Her hair was tied tightly behind her head, and she was shouldering a bamboo pole, carrying a container, chanting, "Tofu for sale! Tofu for sale!"
It then dawned on A. that he had heard this woman's intermittent chants outside his dorm window at least once while studying, as if she had been walking a circuit around the campus, coming and going and then returning . . .
"Hey, you see her?" A. asked his friend more than once.
Instead of replying yes or no, the friend gripped A.'s shoulder, attempting to push him past her. Very briefly did A. look upon the old woman's face, but she did not return the glance, for which A. was thankful.
Both A. and his friend tried as nonchalantly as possible to walk by her, and both were very relieved to do so quickly.
A. later would concede that he couldn't say for sure that the old woman he saw that night was a ghost, but certain questions remained unanswered. Why would an aged person be in outlandish nineteenth century garb and out on chilly nights like that, selling tofu, of all things, at that hour, likely circling their school campus?
Upon returning home, A. promptly told his mother all about the woman selling tofu on cold, deserted streets. His mother later took him to a temple to pray before the bodhisattvas and had him drink down a concoction made from the ashes or powder of an amulet.
A. admitted he had gone along with whatever his mother had told him to do, for he had truly been scared out of his wits by the strange old costumed woman hawking tofu on a dark street late one night.
from
Meiwan yige zhenshide liqi gushi: xiaoyuan guishi [An intriguing true story for each night: bizarre occurrences on campus], Zilong Qichuan, ed. Beijing: Xinshijie, 2010; p. 12.
This story comes from an anthology of what the editor and contributors claim to be true high school and college/university campus ghost stories and eerie happenings. The Chinese original was told in first person, but I adapted the narrative for third person.
A. was presumably enrolled in a boarding school. In any case, it is not explained why A. and his friend are making their way home alone on dark, deserted streets at night. We are told in an earlier section that the school is in Hubei. A. explains that his school had all the qualifications for being classified as a "haunted campus": (i) an ancient history (with roots going back to a private school in the Song Dynasty); (ii) a somewhat remote location; (iii) a large area or campus; (iv) old buildings; (v) an attached hospital; and (vi) a neighboring lake or pond (5). The original list was of five items, with "hospital" and "lake" inexplicably lumped together.
(2) Midnight Taxi Ride
This story happened in some major urban area in China. Let's say Beijing.
Late at night, a taxi picked up a fare, a young woman in white gown, leaving a party.
She gave him an address and off they went.
He delivered her to her destination, a massive housing complex. Unknown to both him and her, the place where he stopped, on the passenger's side, was just mere inches from an open ditch, where, in the daylight, construction work had been going on. She paid her fare and left the taxi via the right rear passenger's door.
The young woman took a step back and lost her footing, falling into the ditch.
"Aiiieeeee!"
The startled driver turned around to catch a glimpse of her, white dress and hair billowing upwards, disappearing before his very eyes.
Oh . . . oh . . .! thought the driver, his heart no doubt racing. That's a ghost . . . Yes, that 's one of those ghosts! I just picked up and delivered a ghost . . . like in all those stories . . .
While the driver was gathering his wits and feverishly analyzing what he believed he had just seen, the young woman had managed to claw her way back up, seemingly materializing by rising from the earth, this time, by the front passenger's door.
"Ohhh . . . help me . . . !" she moaned, more out of anger than injury, but moaning nonetheless.
"Ahhhhh!" screamed the driver, pulling away and driving off as fast as he could, leaving behind a very annoyed and perplexed woman but also, later, providing local and worldwide society with yet another true tale of an encounter with the mysterious vanishing passenger!
from
Okay, so now you know this is not a true ghost story! Professor Li Yang (surname Li), an acclaimed professor of folklore from Qingdao, China, told me this story while he was here in the United States for his yearlong research work. Professor Li is a very modest man who claims not to be a good storyteller, but his telling of the story was a lot funnier than my version. He is, in fact, an excellent raconteur. Another one of his stories, "The Midnight Bus," can be found at 8/6/12.
(3) There you are!
This story supposedly happened in Ningde, in northeastern Fujian Province. It is supposed to be true.
A couple with a child fell on hard times and began to quarrel. As their economic problems worsened day after day, the arguments became more acrimonious. Soon, their quarrels became violent to the point where one day, while their child was a way at school, the husband took a kitchen knife and murdered his wife.
The husband now had two major problems on his hand: disposal of the body and the creation of an excuse to explain away to his son where Mother was.
With great effort and stealth, he was able to bury the body somewhere without anyone's seeing him. He then went back home, cleaned up the house and waited for his son to come home. He wracked his brain trying to think of lie that would fool the child and stop him from probing his mother's whereabouts.
He apparently didn't have to worry. For the first, second and third days, the little boy didn't ask a single question about his mother's absence. The father thought this was very odd.
"You haven't seen Mom for several days now. How come, my son, you haven't asked about her?" he finally asked the child, unable to stand it any longer.
The boy's face became clouded for a moment and then he said, "Why are you asking that, Father? Mom's been right behind you, laughing . . . only I don't like the way Mom looks now, Dad . . . Her eyes look scary . And Dad, how come you keep turning your back on Mom?"
The father turned around, but no one was there . . .
from
农村真实鬼故事, accessed 3/5/13.
The story ends without further explanation or resolution.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Chunwang & the Ninth Maiden (Han) -- Part Five
And so Chunwang, led by his wife, came before his father-in-law, the Master Immortal, a being that could be as sinister and dastardly as any entity from the lower regions.
Yet, at this moment, her father, much to her total amazement, instead of harming Chunwang on the spot, put on a great amount of charm. The two men sat together, with Chunwang in the seat of the guest of honor, drinking and eating happily with Chunwang, though, saying very little, as befits one whose father-in-law wields fearsome power.
Before concluding their dinner together, the Master Immortal turned to Chunwang and told him something. Then, he excused Chunwang from the dinner table and allowed him to go to his wife, the Ninth Maiden.
The Ninth Maiden had watched them from afar, and so when Chunwang came to her, she asked, "I know my father has probably told you to sleep somewhere this first night. Where is it to be?"
"Your father wants me to sleep in the East Bedroom."
"Oh," sighed the Ninth Maiden, "you could be in for some trouble, for in the East Bedroom, there dwells the Louse Spirit . . ."
"'Louse Spirit'?"
"Yes. It is a dangerous, loathsome creature that weighs 600 jin (i.e., 300 hundred kilograms) and feasts on human flesh. You won't see it when you lie down to sleep, but you can be sure it will come out in the middle of the night to eat you."
Chunwang gulped. "I hope you have some plan to save me!"
"Don't be afraid," she replied. "When you retire for the night, I shall give you a bowl of water, some meat, and a fine-toothed comb. When the Louse Spirit appears, say these words: 'There's water here if you're thirsty, and there's meat here if you're hungry. If you're neither thirsty nor hungry, get out! Otherwise, I also have the Ninth Maiden's comb to use upon you!'
"Trust me," the Ninth Maiden continued. "The creature will be scared to death of those words and flee like mad!"
That night in the East Bedroom, Chunwang prepared to sleep. Near him were the bowl of water, a plate of meat, and his wife's comb.
Sure enough, around the hours of sangeng (i.e., the third two-hour period of the ten hours of evening), Chunwang heard an ominous zong! zong!
The Louse Spirit had materialized in the East Bedroom. What did it look like? Imagine a louse as big and as heavy as a water buffalo! And there it stood before Chunwang, its every movement causing the walls and floors to reverberate.
Remembering the words the Ninth Maiden had taught him, Chunwang said, "There's water here if you're thirsty, and there's meat here if you're hungry! If you're neither thirsty nor hungry, get out! Otherwise, I also have the Ninth Maiden's comb to use upon you!"
Hearing that, the Louse Spirit turned tail, emitting gas and letting loose urine in mortal fear, and fled the East Bedroom.
Early the next morning, the Master Immortal himself, carrying a shovel and a bamboo broom, opened the door to the East Bedroom, intending with great pleasure to sweep up Chunwang's remains. Imagine his surprise when he saw Chunwang sleeping soundly, not a strand of hair ruffled upon his head!
The Master Immortal gritted his teeth and decided to come up with another plan, a better one, to do away with his unwanted mortal son-in-law.
from
Tan Daxian, p. 62
Note: "Emitting gas and letting loose urine" 屁滚尿流 is a Chinese expression appearing in the story, which means "to have the_____ scared out of you," or, in other words, " to be scared silly," "to be frightened out of one's mind," etc.
Yet, at this moment, her father, much to her total amazement, instead of harming Chunwang on the spot, put on a great amount of charm. The two men sat together, with Chunwang in the seat of the guest of honor, drinking and eating happily with Chunwang, though, saying very little, as befits one whose father-in-law wields fearsome power.
Before concluding their dinner together, the Master Immortal turned to Chunwang and told him something. Then, he excused Chunwang from the dinner table and allowed him to go to his wife, the Ninth Maiden.
The Ninth Maiden had watched them from afar, and so when Chunwang came to her, she asked, "I know my father has probably told you to sleep somewhere this first night. Where is it to be?"
"Your father wants me to sleep in the East Bedroom."
"Oh," sighed the Ninth Maiden, "you could be in for some trouble, for in the East Bedroom, there dwells the Louse Spirit . . ."
"'Louse Spirit'?"
"Yes. It is a dangerous, loathsome creature that weighs 600 jin (i.e., 300 hundred kilograms) and feasts on human flesh. You won't see it when you lie down to sleep, but you can be sure it will come out in the middle of the night to eat you."
Chunwang gulped. "I hope you have some plan to save me!"
"Don't be afraid," she replied. "When you retire for the night, I shall give you a bowl of water, some meat, and a fine-toothed comb. When the Louse Spirit appears, say these words: 'There's water here if you're thirsty, and there's meat here if you're hungry. If you're neither thirsty nor hungry, get out! Otherwise, I also have the Ninth Maiden's comb to use upon you!'
"Trust me," the Ninth Maiden continued. "The creature will be scared to death of those words and flee like mad!"
That night in the East Bedroom, Chunwang prepared to sleep. Near him were the bowl of water, a plate of meat, and his wife's comb.
Sure enough, around the hours of sangeng (i.e., the third two-hour period of the ten hours of evening), Chunwang heard an ominous zong! zong!
The Louse Spirit had materialized in the East Bedroom. What did it look like? Imagine a louse as big and as heavy as a water buffalo! And there it stood before Chunwang, its every movement causing the walls and floors to reverberate.
Remembering the words the Ninth Maiden had taught him, Chunwang said, "There's water here if you're thirsty, and there's meat here if you're hungry! If you're neither thirsty nor hungry, get out! Otherwise, I also have the Ninth Maiden's comb to use upon you!"
Hearing that, the Louse Spirit turned tail, emitting gas and letting loose urine in mortal fear, and fled the East Bedroom.
Early the next morning, the Master Immortal himself, carrying a shovel and a bamboo broom, opened the door to the East Bedroom, intending with great pleasure to sweep up Chunwang's remains. Imagine his surprise when he saw Chunwang sleeping soundly, not a strand of hair ruffled upon his head!
The Master Immortal gritted his teeth and decided to come up with another plan, a better one, to do away with his unwanted mortal son-in-law.
from
Tan Daxian, p. 62
Note: "Emitting gas and letting loose urine" 屁滚尿流 is a Chinese expression appearing in the story, which means "to have the_____ scared out of you," or, in other words, " to be scared silly," "to be frightened out of one's mind," etc.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
The Temple That Flew up Into the Heavens (Han)
There is a popular saying about the world-famous Shaolin Temple in Henan Province: "Just as there is a Shaolin Temple on the ground, there is a Zhulin Temple in the sky." "A Zhulin Temple in the sky"! How is it possible for a temple to be lodged in the heavens? The following legend explains.
On Song Mountain, one of China's five holiest peaks, there once stood magnificent Zhulin Temple, "the temple of the Bamboo Grove," with its tall, verdant bamboo stalks standing within the temple precincts. The temple housed more than ten monks who went about their daily business of burning incense and praying to and making offerings for the Buddha. This was their life day in and day out.
The abbot was a rather conniving, self-important man named Daoqi, who had aspirations to becoming an and then a buddha himself. In the daytime, he roamed the mountainsides, searching for plants and herbs by which he could concoct, through alchemy, an elixir to make his dreams come true. With all his experiments, he had boiled quite a few plants and swallowed many powdered capsules but to no avail. He remained as earthbound and mortal as the next man with the added results that his face had now taken a greenish hue and his personality had changed from goodhearted monk into something quite different. He was now said to be
"thirty percent human and seventy percent demon."
The youngest monk at Zhulin Temple was a child of little more than ten years, an orphan, given the name Daolan, for Master Daoqi always had him in a daily search for rare herbs and other plants to gather in his basket (lan = basket) to enable Daoqi to achieve his dream.
So, one morning, Daoqi screamed at Daolan to get up, get dressed, shoulder his basket and head out for the mountain slopes. With Daolan gone, Daoqi put on his robes and, with his rosary, and went towards the western peak of Song Mountain to gather some plants on his own.
While on the slopes of the western peak, Daoqi picked up the rich scent of some rare plant growing somewhere. The aroma filled him with encouragement. Could this plant, likely some kind of ginseng, he thought, be the one that allows me to enter the ranks of the buddhas, to become an immortal?
Just then he heard the sounds of giggling and laughter. He turned his head in the direction of the mirthful sounds. This led him to a cliff, where, below, he saw two boys running in a meadow, playing and having the time of their lives. He looked closely. One of the boys was none other than Daolan. The other seemed younger than Daolan.
"Daolan!" cried the master, standing on the cliff. "I sent you out to gather herbs, and instead what do I find you doing? Playing, gallivanting around when you should be working! Take care that when you return to the temple if your basket is not full! If it's not, I'll tan your hide! So, go on and play if you dare! Just mind my words!"
Early that evening, Daolan returned with a basket brimming with different kinds of plants.
"From where did you steal these?" asked Daoqi.
"No one stole anything, Master! I cut and collected all these myself."
"Nonsense! I saw you wasting time playing around with a friend. Are you going to tell me that these plants leaped into your basket on their own?"
"W-well . . ."
"Don't lie!" said Daoqi, brandishing his staff. "Those of us who have taken the vow and joined the order cannot tell lies! He who tells lies will never become a buddha himself. Now, tell the truth!"
"The boy I was with, Master, the ginseng boy, he helped me gather the plants . . ."
"'Ginseng boy'? What's his name? Where does he live?"
"His name is Shenguo (i.e., "Fruit of the Ginseng"), and he lives on the mountaintop."
"And this ginseng boy Shenguo can gather herbs and roots?"
"Can he ever, Master! Why, he can climb up the tallest tree or run up the steepest slopes to look for the kinds of plants you send me out to get, and in no time he can come back with a huge bundle!"
"All right. Tomorrow, he can accompany you. I want you two to pick as much as you can. Whatever you and he can't carry, I'll send some brothers to help you."
Early the next morning, Daoqi secretly followed Daolan up the mountain. He hid and watched as Daolan went to a cliff and whistled. Then, to Daoqi's amazement, a childlike figure seemingly unscrewed itself out of the ground. This was the ginseng boy, Shenguo. He was a little smaller than Daolan. He had three antenna-like projections jutting from his greenish head. His body was reddish and plump. Daoqi watched the two boys, hand-in-hand, skip off to collect herbs, carefree, happy, like two small boys anywhere.
Oh, thought Daoqi, now delirious, this is just too wonderful! Too wonderful! This is exactly what I had been looking for! This has got to be the flower that blooms once every three thousand years, the plant that turns into the ginseng of the immortals after five thousand years! And he's mine!
Late that evening, Daoqi called for Daolan to report to the abbot's quarters.
"Daolan," said Daoqi, "take this needle and ball of white thread. Tomorrow, when you are out with Shenguo and when it's time to come back, and when he isn't paying attention, pin the needle and thread to one of his horns. Don't let on what you have done. Return the remaining thread to me."
"But Master . . ."
"Just do it! If you come back without following my instructions, there'll be no food for you! Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Master . . ."
Small child that he was, Daolan had no idea why Master Daoqi would order him to do such a thing. In any case, Daoqi was the master, the abbot, and Daolan was obliged to follow his commands. After all, he, Daolan, was just a novice monk, and there must be a good reason for such an order.
Daolan did as he was told. As he turned to head back to the temple, he was surprised to see Daoqi heading his way, carrying a hoe, smiling like a madman.
"Ha ha! He cannot hide himself today!" chanted the older monk. "Can't hide himself today! Give me the thread."
Daolan handed Daoqi the now very small ball of thread and watched what Daoqi was up to. Daoqi followed the thread trail to a place on the edge of the cliff. He then started to heave away large rocks and dig as if his life depended on it.
Finally, he unearthed what he had come for--a giant human-shaped root, the ginseng boy.
Daolan gasped. The root was still, inert. Was this not his friend, the boy he had been playing with every day?
"Master, Master, is . . . he . . . ?"
"Yes, he's dead," lied Daoqi.
"Oh, save him, Master! Great mercy . . ."
"This is not a person!" said Daoqi. "It's only a shapeshifting mountain demon, and I'm going to boil and eat it! You should thank me for ridding the mountain of a dangerous being! So stop all your gabbing and get back to the temple!"
That afternoon, back at the temple, having ordered everyone else to stay away, Daoqi cleaned and washed the ginseng root. He then located the largest cauldron he could find and placed all the kindling he could gather under the cauldron. The cauldron was filled with water and the ginseng root was placed inside. He lit a fire beneath the cauldron.
This will have to boil for hours and hours, he thought, probably even after all these idiots are asleep for the night. Then, I'll have the root to eat all to myself. I'll have long since turned into a buddha and have ascended into the heavens, while these morons will still be scratching their heads and trying to solve the whole puzzle!
Who would have thought that right at that moment, as Daoqi greedily guarded the slowly warming cauldron, a visitor would arrive?
"Master Daoqi," announced a monk, "Abbot Wutong of Bailian Temple is here to see you!"
"All right, now listen to me," said Daoqi. "I'll be leaving the temple for a short time. Let it be known that nobody touches anything while I'm gone!"
Then, Daoqi headed to the main gate where visitors are received. Instead of courteously inviting Wutong inside to sit and enjoy refreshments, Daoqi left with him to go on a walk.
The last thing I need is for this meddlesome Wutong to know what I'm cooking! Daoqi said to himself.
As soon as the monks saw Daoqi leave, they gathered around the slowly bubbling cauldron which was already emitting an irresistible scent.
"Word is going around that the Master captured some kind of mountain goblin!" said one. Then, taking a peek under the cauldron lid, he added, "It's some kind of fat, juicy being! Oh, does that scent make my mouth water!"
"Hey," said another, "we all took orders. We're not supposed to even touch meat or wine or things like that! On the other hand, look at our Master! He's cooking this delicious meal all for himself! I'd say the old abbot is trying to pull one over on us younger monks!"
"You're right!" said still another. "Come on! Let's all grab a piece of what's cooking inside the cauldron! Let's all divide it up and enjoy it together! What's good for the old Master is also good for us! Why should he get it all?"
The luscious aroma and the sight of the juicy meat being boiled away was too much for the monks. They cut up the ginseng boy, each getting a piece, and devoured him like wolfhounds eating prey until there was nothing left.
So there they were . . . monks ravenously gorging themselves on what had been little Daolan's friend.
Daolan watched as the bits and pieces of what had been his friend disappeared into the mouths of his fellow monks. His heart pained him to see the spectacle, and he brushed away the tears with his forearm. Finally, the aroma was too much even for him to resist, and he had a spoonful of the soup the ginseng boy had been boiled in. He then put the spoon down in disgust.
Then came word Daoqi had returned. The old monk had finally been able to see Wutong off, ridding himself of what he considered a great nuisance. He immediately headed for the cauldron. He lifted the lid to discover the ginseng boy was gone and all that was left was some soup.
Daoqi was absolutely livid. He bellowed, viciously cursing every monk in the temple so loudly that none, including those trying to hide, could escape the invective.
Then, one monk appeared before him, little Daolan, the child monk.
"You old greedy demon!" said Daolan. "Taking everything for yourself! Then scolding everyone with disgusting language for daring to try a bit of what you have been coveting--the boiled remains of what had once been a living being! Very well, O Master. Watch this!"
Daolan took a ladle and scooped out the remains of the cauldron's soup into a large bowl.
"Whatever I can't finish, I'll pour out," said Daolan. "You won't get a drop!"
He proceeded to drink ladle after ladle of the soup.
Daoqi was now enraged to the point of bursting a blood vessel, yet he remained riveted to where he stood. When it became clear that Daolan had nearly finished the soup, Daoqi came to life and lunged for Daolan and the bowl. Daolan saw Daoqi coming, so, keeping the bowl level and pressed against his chest, he ran towards the front gate, with Daoqi not far behind.
Faster and faster Daolan ran . . . until he slipped, stumbled and spilled the contents of the bowl upon the ground, with Daoqi himself slipping and falling behind him, injuring his arm as he fell to the ground.
An earsplitting hua! hua! hua! immediately followed.
The sky thundered and the earth rolled and rocks flew. Those walking were knocked off balance; those lying prone on the ground rolled like ink brushes on a tilted table.
All around the temple spurted magnificent golden rays as rosy clouds gathered overhead.
Then, the whole temple--without one brick or beam left behind--slowly, surely rose into the air, ripping itself violently away from its earthly foundations, picking up speed as it ascended.
Inside the temple was everyone who had partaken of the soup. Daoqi, who had had none, desperately grabbed hold of the front gate threshold as the temple now soared upwards.
"Living Buddha!" he cried. "Please allow me to ascend with the temple . . . "
Daolan kicked Daoqi's arm with his foot, saying, "Fall, demon with a black heart, demon that dares to have drunken dreams of ascending into heaven as a buddha!"
The pain of Daoqi's injured arm was too much for him to bear, and so he let go. Down, down through the clouds he plunged, ending up as a silent, crushed lifeless heap somewhere below.
And so Zhulin Temple found itself in heaven. All the monks there immediately became immortals, with little Daolan achieving the highest status of them all. He had drunk most of the soup, which apparently housed most of the concoction's efficacy.
In time, another temple was built in the same place where Zhulin Temple had once stood. This new temple was, of course, Shaolin Temple. The two temples are said to complement each other--twin counterparts. It is also said that if one stands at the right spot in Shaolin Temple, one will be able to see Zhulin Temple way up in the sky. If this is hard to believe, there's only one to make sure it's true--to go there and see for yourself.
From
Qianqibaiguaide minjian gushi [Bizarre folktales]. Wang Fan, ed. Changchun: Jilin Daxue Chubanshe, 2010; pp. 124-128.
This particular legend, retold by Li Dongmei, appears in the above anthology without any accompanying notes as to when and where it was gathered. The anthology itself seems geared towards a middle school readership.
The story is very reminiscent of a Manchu tale, "The Ginseng Boy" (see 1/11/08). The resolution of the Manchu tale is on a much happier note. The present story is an interesting reflection on the potency of the ginseng root, suggesting when the root takes the form of a living being, which is then boiled for consumption, it has the potential literally to raise buildings off the ground and send them into the sky. The root can also enable those who who eat it or drink the soup it is cooked in to become immortals. Ironically, Daolan, technically a murderer for what he does to his abbot, ends up becoming an immortal of high rank after sampling the soup his friend is cooked in. Daoqi ,who had never tasted the ginseng root, is thoroughly castigated and meets a horrible end. Somewhat of a mixed message? In any case, the story thus remains a strong condemnation of venal monks. In a didactic note appended to the story, the editor writes: "Remember that the results of your efforts reflect you, and do not fool yourself that the means you took to achieve them do not matter" (128).
Motifs: D.431.6, "Plant transformed to a person"; F772.2.6, "Flying tower (temple)"; F773, "Remarkable church (temple)."
On Song Mountain, one of China's five holiest peaks, there once stood magnificent Zhulin Temple, "the temple of the Bamboo Grove," with its tall, verdant bamboo stalks standing within the temple precincts. The temple housed more than ten monks who went about their daily business of burning incense and praying to and making offerings for the Buddha. This was their life day in and day out.
The abbot was a rather conniving, self-important man named Daoqi, who had aspirations to becoming an and then a buddha himself. In the daytime, he roamed the mountainsides, searching for plants and herbs by which he could concoct, through alchemy, an elixir to make his dreams come true. With all his experiments, he had boiled quite a few plants and swallowed many powdered capsules but to no avail. He remained as earthbound and mortal as the next man with the added results that his face had now taken a greenish hue and his personality had changed from goodhearted monk into something quite different. He was now said to be
"thirty percent human and seventy percent demon."
The youngest monk at Zhulin Temple was a child of little more than ten years, an orphan, given the name Daolan, for Master Daoqi always had him in a daily search for rare herbs and other plants to gather in his basket (lan = basket) to enable Daoqi to achieve his dream.
So, one morning, Daoqi screamed at Daolan to get up, get dressed, shoulder his basket and head out for the mountain slopes. With Daolan gone, Daoqi put on his robes and, with his rosary, and went towards the western peak of Song Mountain to gather some plants on his own.
While on the slopes of the western peak, Daoqi picked up the rich scent of some rare plant growing somewhere. The aroma filled him with encouragement. Could this plant, likely some kind of ginseng, he thought, be the one that allows me to enter the ranks of the buddhas, to become an immortal?
Just then he heard the sounds of giggling and laughter. He turned his head in the direction of the mirthful sounds. This led him to a cliff, where, below, he saw two boys running in a meadow, playing and having the time of their lives. He looked closely. One of the boys was none other than Daolan. The other seemed younger than Daolan.
"Daolan!" cried the master, standing on the cliff. "I sent you out to gather herbs, and instead what do I find you doing? Playing, gallivanting around when you should be working! Take care that when you return to the temple if your basket is not full! If it's not, I'll tan your hide! So, go on and play if you dare! Just mind my words!"
Early that evening, Daolan returned with a basket brimming with different kinds of plants.
"From where did you steal these?" asked Daoqi.
"No one stole anything, Master! I cut and collected all these myself."
"Nonsense! I saw you wasting time playing around with a friend. Are you going to tell me that these plants leaped into your basket on their own?"
"W-well . . ."
"Don't lie!" said Daoqi, brandishing his staff. "Those of us who have taken the vow and joined the order cannot tell lies! He who tells lies will never become a buddha himself. Now, tell the truth!"
"The boy I was with, Master, the ginseng boy, he helped me gather the plants . . ."
"'Ginseng boy'? What's his name? Where does he live?"
"His name is Shenguo (i.e., "Fruit of the Ginseng"), and he lives on the mountaintop."
"And this ginseng boy Shenguo can gather herbs and roots?"
"Can he ever, Master! Why, he can climb up the tallest tree or run up the steepest slopes to look for the kinds of plants you send me out to get, and in no time he can come back with a huge bundle!"
"All right. Tomorrow, he can accompany you. I want you two to pick as much as you can. Whatever you and he can't carry, I'll send some brothers to help you."
Early the next morning, Daoqi secretly followed Daolan up the mountain. He hid and watched as Daolan went to a cliff and whistled. Then, to Daoqi's amazement, a childlike figure seemingly unscrewed itself out of the ground. This was the ginseng boy, Shenguo. He was a little smaller than Daolan. He had three antenna-like projections jutting from his greenish head. His body was reddish and plump. Daoqi watched the two boys, hand-in-hand, skip off to collect herbs, carefree, happy, like two small boys anywhere.
Oh, thought Daoqi, now delirious, this is just too wonderful! Too wonderful! This is exactly what I had been looking for! This has got to be the flower that blooms once every three thousand years, the plant that turns into the ginseng of the immortals after five thousand years! And he's mine!
Late that evening, Daoqi called for Daolan to report to the abbot's quarters.
"Daolan," said Daoqi, "take this needle and ball of white thread. Tomorrow, when you are out with Shenguo and when it's time to come back, and when he isn't paying attention, pin the needle and thread to one of his horns. Don't let on what you have done. Return the remaining thread to me."
"But Master . . ."
"Just do it! If you come back without following my instructions, there'll be no food for you! Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Master . . ."
Small child that he was, Daolan had no idea why Master Daoqi would order him to do such a thing. In any case, Daoqi was the master, the abbot, and Daolan was obliged to follow his commands. After all, he, Daolan, was just a novice monk, and there must be a good reason for such an order.
Daolan did as he was told. As he turned to head back to the temple, he was surprised to see Daoqi heading his way, carrying a hoe, smiling like a madman.
"Ha ha! He cannot hide himself today!" chanted the older monk. "Can't hide himself today! Give me the thread."
Daolan handed Daoqi the now very small ball of thread and watched what Daoqi was up to. Daoqi followed the thread trail to a place on the edge of the cliff. He then started to heave away large rocks and dig as if his life depended on it.
Finally, he unearthed what he had come for--a giant human-shaped root, the ginseng boy.
Daolan gasped. The root was still, inert. Was this not his friend, the boy he had been playing with every day?
"Master, Master, is . . . he . . . ?"
"Yes, he's dead," lied Daoqi.
"Oh, save him, Master! Great mercy . . ."
"This is not a person!" said Daoqi. "It's only a shapeshifting mountain demon, and I'm going to boil and eat it! You should thank me for ridding the mountain of a dangerous being! So stop all your gabbing and get back to the temple!"
That afternoon, back at the temple, having ordered everyone else to stay away, Daoqi cleaned and washed the ginseng root. He then located the largest cauldron he could find and placed all the kindling he could gather under the cauldron. The cauldron was filled with water and the ginseng root was placed inside. He lit a fire beneath the cauldron.
This will have to boil for hours and hours, he thought, probably even after all these idiots are asleep for the night. Then, I'll have the root to eat all to myself. I'll have long since turned into a buddha and have ascended into the heavens, while these morons will still be scratching their heads and trying to solve the whole puzzle!
Who would have thought that right at that moment, as Daoqi greedily guarded the slowly warming cauldron, a visitor would arrive?
"Master Daoqi," announced a monk, "Abbot Wutong of Bailian Temple is here to see you!"
"All right, now listen to me," said Daoqi. "I'll be leaving the temple for a short time. Let it be known that nobody touches anything while I'm gone!"
Then, Daoqi headed to the main gate where visitors are received. Instead of courteously inviting Wutong inside to sit and enjoy refreshments, Daoqi left with him to go on a walk.
The last thing I need is for this meddlesome Wutong to know what I'm cooking! Daoqi said to himself.
As soon as the monks saw Daoqi leave, they gathered around the slowly bubbling cauldron which was already emitting an irresistible scent.
"Word is going around that the Master captured some kind of mountain goblin!" said one. Then, taking a peek under the cauldron lid, he added, "It's some kind of fat, juicy being! Oh, does that scent make my mouth water!"
"Hey," said another, "we all took orders. We're not supposed to even touch meat or wine or things like that! On the other hand, look at our Master! He's cooking this delicious meal all for himself! I'd say the old abbot is trying to pull one over on us younger monks!"
"You're right!" said still another. "Come on! Let's all grab a piece of what's cooking inside the cauldron! Let's all divide it up and enjoy it together! What's good for the old Master is also good for us! Why should he get it all?"
The luscious aroma and the sight of the juicy meat being boiled away was too much for the monks. They cut up the ginseng boy, each getting a piece, and devoured him like wolfhounds eating prey until there was nothing left.
So there they were . . . monks ravenously gorging themselves on what had been little Daolan's friend.
Daolan watched as the bits and pieces of what had been his friend disappeared into the mouths of his fellow monks. His heart pained him to see the spectacle, and he brushed away the tears with his forearm. Finally, the aroma was too much even for him to resist, and he had a spoonful of the soup the ginseng boy had been boiled in. He then put the spoon down in disgust.
Then came word Daoqi had returned. The old monk had finally been able to see Wutong off, ridding himself of what he considered a great nuisance. He immediately headed for the cauldron. He lifted the lid to discover the ginseng boy was gone and all that was left was some soup.
Daoqi was absolutely livid. He bellowed, viciously cursing every monk in the temple so loudly that none, including those trying to hide, could escape the invective.
Then, one monk appeared before him, little Daolan, the child monk.
"You old greedy demon!" said Daolan. "Taking everything for yourself! Then scolding everyone with disgusting language for daring to try a bit of what you have been coveting--the boiled remains of what had once been a living being! Very well, O Master. Watch this!"
Daolan took a ladle and scooped out the remains of the cauldron's soup into a large bowl.
"Whatever I can't finish, I'll pour out," said Daolan. "You won't get a drop!"
He proceeded to drink ladle after ladle of the soup.
Daoqi was now enraged to the point of bursting a blood vessel, yet he remained riveted to where he stood. When it became clear that Daolan had nearly finished the soup, Daoqi came to life and lunged for Daolan and the bowl. Daolan saw Daoqi coming, so, keeping the bowl level and pressed against his chest, he ran towards the front gate, with Daoqi not far behind.
Faster and faster Daolan ran . . . until he slipped, stumbled and spilled the contents of the bowl upon the ground, with Daoqi himself slipping and falling behind him, injuring his arm as he fell to the ground.
An earsplitting hua! hua! hua! immediately followed.
The sky thundered and the earth rolled and rocks flew. Those walking were knocked off balance; those lying prone on the ground rolled like ink brushes on a tilted table.
All around the temple spurted magnificent golden rays as rosy clouds gathered overhead.
Then, the whole temple--without one brick or beam left behind--slowly, surely rose into the air, ripping itself violently away from its earthly foundations, picking up speed as it ascended.
Inside the temple was everyone who had partaken of the soup. Daoqi, who had had none, desperately grabbed hold of the front gate threshold as the temple now soared upwards.
"Living Buddha!" he cried. "Please allow me to ascend with the temple . . . "
Daolan kicked Daoqi's arm with his foot, saying, "Fall, demon with a black heart, demon that dares to have drunken dreams of ascending into heaven as a buddha!"
The pain of Daoqi's injured arm was too much for him to bear, and so he let go. Down, down through the clouds he plunged, ending up as a silent, crushed lifeless heap somewhere below.
And so Zhulin Temple found itself in heaven. All the monks there immediately became immortals, with little Daolan achieving the highest status of them all. He had drunk most of the soup, which apparently housed most of the concoction's efficacy.
In time, another temple was built in the same place where Zhulin Temple had once stood. This new temple was, of course, Shaolin Temple. The two temples are said to complement each other--twin counterparts. It is also said that if one stands at the right spot in Shaolin Temple, one will be able to see Zhulin Temple way up in the sky. If this is hard to believe, there's only one to make sure it's true--to go there and see for yourself.
From
Qianqibaiguaide minjian gushi [Bizarre folktales]. Wang Fan, ed. Changchun: Jilin Daxue Chubanshe, 2010; pp. 124-128.
This particular legend, retold by Li Dongmei, appears in the above anthology without any accompanying notes as to when and where it was gathered. The anthology itself seems geared towards a middle school readership.
The story is very reminiscent of a Manchu tale, "The Ginseng Boy" (see 1/11/08). The resolution of the Manchu tale is on a much happier note. The present story is an interesting reflection on the potency of the ginseng root, suggesting when the root takes the form of a living being, which is then boiled for consumption, it has the potential literally to raise buildings off the ground and send them into the sky. The root can also enable those who who eat it or drink the soup it is cooked in to become immortals. Ironically, Daolan, technically a murderer for what he does to his abbot, ends up becoming an immortal of high rank after sampling the soup his friend is cooked in. Daoqi ,who had never tasted the ginseng root, is thoroughly castigated and meets a horrible end. Somewhat of a mixed message? In any case, the story thus remains a strong condemnation of venal monks. In a didactic note appended to the story, the editor writes: "Remember that the results of your efforts reflect you, and do not fool yourself that the means you took to achieve them do not matter" (128).
Motifs: D.431.6, "Plant transformed to a person"; F772.2.6, "Flying tower (temple)"; F773, "Remarkable church (temple)."
Friday, February 15, 2013
Chunwang & the Ninth Maiden (Han) -- Part Four
When his wife, the Ninth Maiden, failed to return home, Chunwang was beside himself with worry. At the same time, the children cried and cried for their mother. Shouting at them to quiet down and stomping his foot only made matters worse.
What am I to do? he thought.
He did the only thing he could think of--he went in search of Brother Deer. He went to the mountain top and called out "Brother Deer" three times. By and by, Brother Deer appeared on the path and greeted him.
"Brother Deer," said Chunwang, "my wife has gone back to her celestial home and has not returned for more than two days now!"
"I know what happened, Chunwang," said Brother Deer. "It's not that the Ninth Maiden doesn't wish to return but that her father is keeping her from returning. Her father is not happy, you see, for marrying you, a mortal."
"What shall I do? I want my wife back! I have two crying children at home waiting for their mother!"
"Chunwang, there is a way. It is dangerous but a way nonetheless. Listen to me carefully. Tonight, when the night is its blackest, nine tiger gods will descend to drink from the banks of the West River. With your two children tied securely to your sides, and when the tiger gods have drunk their fill and when they one-by-one begin flying off into the sky, very quietly approach one from the back and grab tightly hold of his tail. The tiger god will fly into the heavens and deliver you to the realm of the Ninth Maiden."
"What are you telling me to do? To grab a tiger by the tail? And the tiger won't eat me?!"
"No, my brother, the tiger god won't. They don't turn their heads to the back to eat. The tiger god will pay you and your children no mind."
"And once I arrive there? What do I do then?"
"Once you get there, let go of the tiger's tail and give the two children a slap on their behinds. Their cries should cause their mother to come out from wherever she is."
"And," asked Chunwang, "if she doesn't come out?"
"Then, my brother, that might be it for you."
They parted but not before Chunwang said, "Thank you, Brother Deer. I'll remember what you said."
That very night, with his two sleeping children tied to his sides, Chunwang awaited the nine tiger gods to descend as he, Chunwang, kept watch by the banks of the river. One by one, the tiger gods, having drunk their water, proceeded to return to the sky. Chunwang grabbed hold of the tail of one and soon found himself, along with his children, flying through the air to a destination far beyond the clouds. He landed, let go of the tiger's tail, and slapped the two behinds of his children, who promptly cried out.
The Ninth Maiden appeared.
"Oh, you are here! You are now in deep danger, my husband!" said Ninth Maiden. "My father will certainly try to harm you!"
"So what shall I do?" asked Chunwang.
"Hmm . . . All right. He'll certainly put you to some tests. Let me know as soon as he has assigned some tasks. Now, let me take the children, for we must all go before my father!"
Notes
from Tan Daxian, pp. 60-61.
For parts one, two and three, see, respectively, 7/31/12; 8/1/12; and 8/9/12. For those who are interested in this Han Chinese version of the Supernatural Wife/ Swan Maiden, I apologize for not providing an installment earlier! This is a rather long folktale, much longer than those I usually translate. It might well run ten parts before it's completed.
What am I to do? he thought.
He did the only thing he could think of--he went in search of Brother Deer. He went to the mountain top and called out "Brother Deer" three times. By and by, Brother Deer appeared on the path and greeted him.
"Brother Deer," said Chunwang, "my wife has gone back to her celestial home and has not returned for more than two days now!"
"I know what happened, Chunwang," said Brother Deer. "It's not that the Ninth Maiden doesn't wish to return but that her father is keeping her from returning. Her father is not happy, you see, for marrying you, a mortal."
"What shall I do? I want my wife back! I have two crying children at home waiting for their mother!"
"Chunwang, there is a way. It is dangerous but a way nonetheless. Listen to me carefully. Tonight, when the night is its blackest, nine tiger gods will descend to drink from the banks of the West River. With your two children tied securely to your sides, and when the tiger gods have drunk their fill and when they one-by-one begin flying off into the sky, very quietly approach one from the back and grab tightly hold of his tail. The tiger god will fly into the heavens and deliver you to the realm of the Ninth Maiden."
"What are you telling me to do? To grab a tiger by the tail? And the tiger won't eat me?!"
"No, my brother, the tiger god won't. They don't turn their heads to the back to eat. The tiger god will pay you and your children no mind."
"And once I arrive there? What do I do then?"
"Once you get there, let go of the tiger's tail and give the two children a slap on their behinds. Their cries should cause their mother to come out from wherever she is."
"And," asked Chunwang, "if she doesn't come out?"
"Then, my brother, that might be it for you."
They parted but not before Chunwang said, "Thank you, Brother Deer. I'll remember what you said."
That very night, with his two sleeping children tied to his sides, Chunwang awaited the nine tiger gods to descend as he, Chunwang, kept watch by the banks of the river. One by one, the tiger gods, having drunk their water, proceeded to return to the sky. Chunwang grabbed hold of the tail of one and soon found himself, along with his children, flying through the air to a destination far beyond the clouds. He landed, let go of the tiger's tail, and slapped the two behinds of his children, who promptly cried out.
The Ninth Maiden appeared.
"Oh, you are here! You are now in deep danger, my husband!" said Ninth Maiden. "My father will certainly try to harm you!"
"So what shall I do?" asked Chunwang.
"Hmm . . . All right. He'll certainly put you to some tests. Let me know as soon as he has assigned some tasks. Now, let me take the children, for we must all go before my father!"
Notes
from Tan Daxian, pp. 60-61.
For parts one, two and three, see, respectively, 7/31/12; 8/1/12; and 8/9/12. For those who are interested in this Han Chinese version of the Supernatural Wife/ Swan Maiden, I apologize for not providing an installment earlier! This is a rather long folktale, much longer than those I usually translate. It might well run ten parts before it's completed.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Hearing but Not Listening & Other Modern Chinese Parables
with many thanks to Little Alys for all her encouragement
It seems on Taiwan there was a teenage lad who lived just with his mother in their small home.
From morning to night, the mother would say in a particularly grating voice such things as "Hurry up! Time to get up and read for school!" Then, she'd screech, "Your rice porridge's over there in the corner, getting cold! Hurry up and eat it!" At night, he'd hear, "Go and do your homework!" and "Get to bed! It's already late!"
Day in and day out, he'd hear the same annoying voice ordering him to get up, to wash, to eat, to go to school, and so on. He got to the point where he couldn't stand it anymore.
He ran away from home one day.
After the first two days and nights on the road, he found employment as a laborer for the owner of a small factory. After his first day on the job, the boss invited him after work to eat some beef noodle soup. The boss remained silent and smiled to himself as he watched the hungry boy dig into his meal.
"Wow, Boss," said the boy, talking between slurps, "you are so nice, much nicer than my own mother!"
"Oh?" asked the employer. "How so?"
"Well, you don't know the half of it. All day and night long, she screams at me to eat, to rest, to bathe, to study, to do this and to do that--always with the same horrible, raspy voice! I reached the point where I just couldn't take it anymore!"
The boss looked at him for a moment and then said, "You fool. Your mother worked hard to feed and to care for you! Did you ever consider what her life must be like? All she has ever done was to show you her love for you. Can't you see that?"
The boy suddenly felt ashamed. He excused himself and then ran from the noodle stall. He didn't stop until he was back on his own front porch. He entered as his mother was washing clothes.
"Where have you been, coming back so late?" she squawked in that voice of hers. "Huh! Your food's over in the corner, getting cold as usual! Hurry up and eat it!"
He had never heard such a sweeter sound, the boy decided.
(2) Let There be Justice
A young man, a scion of a family that had produced its share of judges and attorneys, had just finished his first term in law school at the age of eighteen and returned home to visit his mother and his father, a well-known and respected judge.
He sat down with his father in his father's study to catch up on family matters and other things of interest. Finally, they started discussing the law.
"Dad, in your long career," asked the son, "have you ever rendered the wrong judgment in a case?"
"A wrong judgment?" the judge asked. "Well, perhaps one could say there was one."
"Would you tell me the story?"
The judge then told his son a story that had happened when his son had just been born. It seemed there was an altercation and murder at a hotel. A tribesman from one of Taiwan's indigenous groups had gotten into a brawl with the hotel manager and stabbed him to death. The tribesman was arrested, imprisoned and sent before a tribunal. The presiding judge happened to be the man telling the story to his son. After hearing the facts of the case and the testimony from the witnesses and the accused, the judge pronounced the defendant guilty. The defendant was then given the capital sentence.
Something was bothering the judge, so he went to visit the condemned man in prison.
"Tell me now," said the judge. "Are you guilty or innocent? I'm offering you a chance."
"I'm guilty," replied the tribesman. "I took a life. That much is true and totally undeniable. You know the details, Your Honor. The man who I killed had taken my identification papers when I registered at the hotel for some kind of scam and wouldn't return them to me. I lost my temper. I guess he did, too. But yes, I did take a life. I will not deny it."
"You will not petition extenuating circumstances or other mitigating factors for a reduced sentence?"
"No. As I said, I willfully took someone's life."
"I see," said the judge. "Well, is there anything I can do for your family after the sentence is carried out?"
"Yes. My wife has just given birth to a baby. He will be doomed to poverty if some other family doesn't take him in. After I am gone, will you do whatever you can to look after him?"
"Yes. I'll do my best."
The tribesman refused to appeal, and the sentence was eventually carried out.
That concluded the judge's story.
"Well, what happened, Father?" asked the judge's son. "You just ended the story without explaining what became of the baby. Did you keep your promise?"
"Yes, I did," said the judge. "I have been keeping my promise to that boy for eighteen years so far . . ."
(3) Selling a Comb to a Monk
A small comb factory owner called in all his salesmen.
"All right," said the factory owner, "I need you to go out there and sell our product as it's never been sold before! I need people who can show me the greatest skills in sales as well as commitment. So, here's what I am going to do. I will offer a bonus to any salesman who can, within a week, sell a comb to a monk. Anyone who can pull that off has got to be one of the greatest salesmen in the world! Now, there's your assignment. Hop to it!"
The salesmen left the factory in different directions, each headed towards a temple or monastery.
Only three who were actually able to sell combs to monks came back a week later to tell their stories.
The first salesman located a monk sweeping temple grounds. The salesman made his pitch: "How would you like this deluxe comb?" The monk, being, of course, totally bald like all monks, bought one comb because he felt sorry for the salesman, especially for his having to use that very amateurish sales line.
The second salesman had better luck: he sold a monk, an abbot, ten combs. He had located this abbot of a windswept temple on a mountainside.
"You know what?" the salesman asked the abbot. "You can really use a bunch of these combs!"
"I can? Please explain how," said the abbot.
"Well, look how windy this place is!" said the salesman.
The abbot looked around at the wind surging through the palm tree fronds, the balls of dust blowing down the mountain, and the sand and dirt hitting the plastic awnings. Yes, it was windy on the mountain.
"Think of your congregants!" said the salesman. "They can comb their hair before and after kneeling and praying! Tidying themselves up before prayer would make them more respectful, wouldn't it?"
The abbot thought there was logic in this, so he bought ten combs.
The third salesman had even better luck when he visited a huge temple complex.
This particular temple was, naturally, bustling and had lots and lots of congregants, and as a result, the incense they purchased to burn in their rites made the temple quite smoky.
Interesting, thought the salesman. He knew the angle with which to approach the abbot.
"I have an idea to increase the donations to your temple," said the salesman to the abbot. "Are you interested?"
"Go ahead. I'm listening."
"Take a look at this comb I am selling. What if you offered an inscribed comb for every donation or purchase of incense? The comb could be inscribed with something like 'Goodness-accumulating comb.' Think of all the people who'd cherish a comb with such a felicitous message!"
The abbot thought for a moment. This particular abbot was a man whose imagination and vision matched the salesman's, and he could see all the possibilities.
"It's a deal," said the abbot. "I'll take a thousand combs to start with . . . "
And so of the salesmen who set out to sell combs to monks, only three succeeded, with one of the three selling more combs than he had ever dreamed of. One barely had any luck; another had a little more luck. The third succeeded beyond anyone else's wildest expectations, for he had done something the other two had not done. He had marshaled all the powers of his imagination to envision just how a monk might actually need--not merely want--combs.
Notes
I heard these three stories at a business meeting on January 25. They were related by my dear friend and brother, Joseph Tu, a great raconteur and all-round wonderful, delightful gentleman. The story of selling combs to monks already exists in many places on the web, making my translated version a Johnny-come-lately entry! In fact, more than one Chinese book on sales techniques has "selling combs to monks" or a close variation of it as a title.
The metaphor of "selling combs to monks" thus speaks for itself: to accomplish the unthinkable.
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