Ghost Stories From Ancient China -- Series One

(1) The Song of Old White Bones

During the reign of Tang Emperor Gaozong (650-683 A.D.), some travelers took a trip to Baxia (now in Fujian Province).

At midnight, the riverboat they were traveling on moored for the evening by a riverbank. The passengers and crew turned in for the night.

Shortly afterward, a male voice was heard singing the following song in a very heart-broken tone:

It's autumn and I'm on a short path.
The mounds of withered leaves grow higher and deeper.
Within this frosty white mist,
I suddenly hear the mournful cry of a monkey,
Crying once and then fading away.
Down the cheeks of this traveler,
One can see the tracks of tears!

The singer repeated the song nine more times, each time in the most tragic, plaintive voice.

All on board the boat then drifted off to sleep, each assuming someone amongst them had gone on deck to sing a song to amuse himself, albeit a rather depressing song.

In the morning, all passengers and crew members left the boat to stretch their legs and view the scenery they had missed in the darkness of night.

Someone soon discovered that their boat was gone--all traces of the riverboat, missing. It was around that time someone else discovered on the shore, lying on top of a crag, not far from where the ship had been moored, a pile of old white human bones.

Notes

from Zhongguo qitan (Strange stories from China), Lin Yaochuan, ed. Taipei: Changchun Shujufang, 1977. p. 33-34.

Originally from Jiwen (Records of what has been heard) by Niu Su.

The exact year this story was written is unknown; however, the author flourished during the Tang dynasty (618-907 A.D.).

The narrative of this story in its original elliptical Chinese requires us to infer the passengers and crew left the moored boat to stretch their legs. The only other alternative, less satisfactory in my opinion, is to assume the passengers and crew spent the night outdoors on the riverbank only to discover the boat was missing once they awoke. Otherwise, everyone would have had to disappear along with the boat, without leaving behind anyone who could have passed this story to others. Particularly chilling in this old ghost story is the lament full of death symbols/metaphors: frost, autumn, tears, withering and short (i.e., terminal) paths.

Motifs: E334, "Ghost haunts burial spot"/"Strange occurrences seen [by] spot where bones are later discovered"; E402.1.1, "Vocal sounds of ghost of human being"; E632, "Singing bone(s)."


(2) Eating a Ghost

During the reign of Dali (766-779 A.D.), there lived an intrepid fellow named Wei Pang. His physical strength was legendary among his peers, and he was also brave, not fearing to walk alone at night. Moreover, he was an excellent marksman with the bow and arrow. He was known to shoot just about anything that crawls or flies with his arrow. He was also not above eating snakes, worms and maggots, though he most likely didn't need his bow and arrows for this kind of prey!

In any case, it was well known that Wei Pang would eat just about anything.

Now one day Wei Pang journeyed to the city of Chang'an. He arrived in the evening and began searching for a place to spend the night. He came to an inn and fancied spending the night there. It seemed to be full, though. He did find the proprietor and his family in the process of moving out of their own inn, hastily shutting the door behind them once all their belongings had been removed.

"If you don't want that room," he told the proprietor, "I'd be happy to take it."

"Now just a moment. Let me explain something to you," said the owner. "Next door to this room is a sha ghost. You don't want to meet one of them; they're very dangerous. For their safety, I'm taking my family members to spend the night at another relative's. I'll probably return here alone tomorrow morning. I'd suggest you find another room. I'm sorry."

"Let me stay here," said Wei Pang. "Nothing will happen. If the sha ghost does appear, I can handle it."

"Fine, fine. Go ahead, then. Inside you'll find everything you'll need for tonight."

Wei Pang had one of the inn servants take his horse to the stable. He then had a meal and went back upstairs to his room for the night. He placed his bow and arrow quiver next to the wall, extinguished the lamp light, lay down and waited for the ghost that was surely supposed to appear.

Then around midnight, something bright and shiny, the size of a washbasin, suddenly appeared floating in the north side of the parlor, just as if it had dropped or had been lowered from a hole in the ceiling. It was very much like a small ball of fire.

Wei Pang was aware of this, and he was delighted. He grabbed his bow and arrows and immediately shot at it, hitting it with his first arrow as it hovered in the air. It still moved and emitted a bright glow. He hit it again with another arrow. This time it stopped moving, and its luminescence gradually faded to a dull gray.

Wei Pang walked over to the object and plucked out his arrows. The object immediately fell onto the floor. Wei Pang then stepped out to the hallway and called for the servant on duty to bring in a lantern.

Once he had a nice and bright light to use, Wei Pang studied the object, the sha ghost, he had shot. He discovered it was actually a rectangular chunk of meat, and each side had an eye that gave off a phosphorescent glow.

"Ha!" laughed Wei Pang. "So the legendary sha ghost is real after all!"

He had the servant immediately cook up the meat of the sha ghost. Oh, it was savory, succulent! Wei Pang devoured half of the cooked meat and saved the other half for the proprietor.

When the proprietor returned in the morning, Wei Pang recounted his adventure during the night and presented the man with the cooked remains of the sha ghost. The proprietor was simply speechless and flabbergasted.

Notes

from Zhongguo qitan, pp. 94-95.

Originally from Yuanhuaji (Records of the origins of transformations) by Huangfu Mou, year and dynasty uncertain.

"Sha" as in "shashen" means "malignant deity that brings about a calamity." Presumably a "sha ghost" would be a similar entity, though not a ghost in our Western sense of the word. The ancient Chinese use of the term "ghost," while the same character as that in modern Chinese, is more like our term "revenant," encompassing more than just visitations by those now dead who were once humans. Motif: E281.3 "Ghost haunts a particular room in house."

(3) The Tale of Zhang Anru

Zhang Anru, a man of Dongluo (now, Henan Province, Luoyang County East) during the reign of Eastern Han Emperor Shun (125-144 A.D.), was a merchant in Huai'nan and did a very brisk trade. He and his family were well off.

On a business trip from Guangdong back to Luoyang, Zhang Anru fell ill near home after one of his heels became swollen and infected. He quickly sent a servant to notify his son and to bring his son to him. His son heard of his father's distress and traveled a long distance without rest to be at his father's side. Indeed, he was at the foot of his father's bed for ten days when the unfortunate Zhang Anru died.

Zhang's son had his father borne back home, where the remains were received by the rest of the heartbroken clan.

The dead man's body was being prepared for his coffin and funeral when someone suddenly entered the funeral chapel. It was a woman totally in white, wearing a tall-brimmed hat. When members of the family asked her who she was, she said not a word. Instead of stopping to reply, she walked right up to the corpse and started warbling like a bird beside it.

The family members and attendants were dumbfounded at this behavior in the midst of their grief.

The woman in white next took of her hat and simply threw it upon the floor.

Everyone looked at her: she was dark and hideous.

By now, everyone one there to prepare Zhang's corpse and to pay their respects to him had been unnerved. Such behavior towards the dead was just too eerie and spine-chilling to watch, even if it was one's own family member. Each one fled the building and waited just outside the front door to see what would happen next from a safe distance.

Once Zhang's son, the rest of the family and the attendants were outside, the woman in white then locked the front door.

Not long after, sounds drifted out the front door--the sounds of the woman and Zhang Anru conversing and then of the two drinking wine and singing. All this was followed by what sounded like a quarrel and then an actual physical fight, punctuated by the smashing of objects upon the ground. Then--total silence.

Those outside were frightened, but by now curiosity had gotten the better of them. There were those who wanted to enter to see what had happened but still would not dare to do so.

Finally, after sundown, the son of Zhang Anru and some of his relatives could not stand waiting any longer. Together they broke the front door down and entered.

What did they find?

The body of Zhang Anru and that of the mysterious woman in white were no more; both bodies had dissolved and were now commingled ashes and dust . . .

Notesfrom Hanwei liuchao guiguai xiaoshuo (Goblin short stories from the six dynasties of the Han-Wei), Yeh Qingbing, ed. Taipei: Guojia Chubanshe, 1993; p. 39.

Originally from Soushen ji (Records of the search for the supernatural) by Gan Bao (d. A.D. 336).

The woman's demeanor and choice of clothing mark her early on as a ghost, all white clothing traditionally being reserved for those in mourning and corpses. Motifs: E422.4.4(a), "Female revenant in white clothing"; E460, "Revenants in conflict."


(4) The Holy Tree

In Luoyang there lived the son of a scholar; his name was Zhu Men and he was a sculptor.

One day he went off to another town, and while on a mountain road, he came across a very large locust tree; its shade easily covered five or six ping. What really caught Zhu's attention, however, was something else--the roots. Scattered on the roots were four large tumors. The artist inside Zhu Men desired those tumors. However, he hadn't brought any tools with him, and there was absolutely no way he could remove those tumors by hand alone. He was also worried someone else might have the same idea he did and beat him to the punch by taking the tumors first.

He came up with a plan.

From his bag he took out three slips of paper and on them, using his skills, painted characters so that the slips of paper resembled money. He then attached the "bills" to the tree so that any passerby who was saw them would assume that the tree was a holy tree and exempt from being cut, sliced or molested in any way.

Finished, he returned home. After returning to Luoyang, he spent several months recruiting a gang of workmen who could cut down the whole tree instead of just the four tumors and then carry the tree back to Luoyang.

Finally the day came when Zhu Men and his men had arrived at the spot where Zhu Men had last seen the tree. You can imagine his surprise when he saw that the four tumors were now all covered by many, many printed bills, actual paper bills of money! Not only was there money on the tree but also the remnants of many sticks of burnt incense circled the tree.

"Ha!" he snorted, shaking his head. "Are the people of this region ever ignorant! How easily fooled they are!"

He and his men had their axes out and were approaching the tree when suddenly from out of nowhere a spirit in a purple robe appeared and sternly shouted, "This tree is not going to be cut down!"

Startled, Zhu Men stepped back and responded, "Truth be told, I'm the one who first put false money on the tree! I did that to discourage others from taking those tumors. There's no spirit or god in this tree! Why are you trying to stop me?"

The spirit responded: "Yes, you were the first one to post something on this tree, artificial money! Afterwards, others in this area noted the money and came to the conclusion that this was a holy tree. Many flocked here, hoping heaven would smile upon their lives, even if just a little. In time, the numbers of people grew and grew; tens became hundreds and hundreds became thousands! Soon the area was flooded by people, so many that the rulers of the netherworld sent me here to watch over the tree. So here I am. If you cut anything from this tree, you will be visited by calamity!"

Zhu Men remained unmoved by the spirit's tale.

"Do you still insist on chopping the tree down or cutting off its tumors?" the spirit asked.

"I really want just the tumors. I'm a sculptor and plan to fashion utensils out of them."

"Suppose I bought the tumors from you for a good price. Would you be interested?"

"Yes."

"How much would you be willing to sell them for, young man?"

"Mmm . . . ten ounces of silver."

"Very well. Now half a li up the road from here is an old, now neglected cemetery. Inside is one particular tomb. Upon it you'll find one hundred bolts of silk. Go over there now and take the silk as your own. If you have any trouble finding the tomb or if there is no silk there, come back here and let me know."

Zhu Men left and headed for the cemetery, which he found easily enough. Sure enough, inside the disused plot of land was one tomb. Upon it rested one hundred bolts of silk and not one bolt less!

Notes

from Zhongguo qitan, pp. 96-98.

Originally from Yuanhua ji.

Can true ghosts be created? If you attach fake money to a tree, will ghosts be summoned? ("If you build it, they will come"?) Though not a ghost story in the strictest sense of the word, this tale reminded me of the so-called Philip Phenomenon, in which a group of Toronto experimenters decided to see if they could create a ghost, Philip, through seances, and such. In "The Holy Tree," a tree becomes holy when enough people will it to be so--a very interesting experiment in psychology and the power of belief, predating the Philip Phenomenon by about 1ooo years. Motifs: E701.3, "Soul of a tree"; H1151.10, "Tree guarded by ghost."

One "ping" is equivalent to about six square feet.


(5) The Tale of Uncle Ju

In Langyeh Prefecture (now, Linyi County, Shandong Province), there lived a man of sixty named Qin Jubo, or Uncle Ju.

Now Uncle Ju was fond of drinking, and one night he was on his way home after doing precisely some of that. He was passing by Pengshan Temple in a somewhat shaky fashion when suddenly his two grandsons came running after him to accompany home.

They hadn't gone more than one hundred paces when the two grandsons suddenly took turns pinching the old man's neck.

One of them shouted: "Old geezer! You hit me the other day, and for that I'm going to kill you!"

"Did I really hit him?" Uncle Ju asked himself. "When, though?"

He quickly thought over his situation. He suddenly turned silent and fell in a heap onto the ground. He played possum, shamming that he was dead.

The pair were apparently fooled and ran off.

As he lay on the ground, continuing for some time to pretend he was dead, Uncle Ju said to himself: "Wait until I get home and get my hands on them!"

He finally reached home and called for both grandsons. Both knelt before him. He prepared to deal with them harshly.

"Grandfather!" one of them said. "How could any grandson behave that way towards his own grandfather! Please believe us when I say it must have been some ghost stirring up trouble! Please, Grandfather, ask around and see if that is not so!"

Uncle Ju thought about his grandson's words and decided that they had some merit. He dismissed them without punishing them.

He had a plan, though.

A few nights later, he again made his way home after a night of drinking; however, on this night he was actually stone-cold sober. He hadn't had a drop. He merely mimicked the lolling gait of an inebriated man.

Once again, just as he was passing the temple, a pair of boys who were his grandsons or ghosts who could perfectly imitate his grandsons rushed out to him.

He immediately grabbed each in a headlock; struggle as they might, Uncle Ju wouldn't let them go. He dragged the flailing pair back home. In the light of his house, he recognized them, sure enough, as his grandsons--or were they?

His anger overflowing, he grabbed something hot--a torch or, perhaps, a white-hot poker--and burned the two front and back until both sides of their bodies were scorched and smoking. He then hog-tied both up, left them right there in the house and went to bed.

Early the next morning, he got up to check on the ghosts and discovered their ropes were there but they themselves were gone.

"Why didn't I just kill them when I had the chance?!" he cried to himself.

From this day on, he became obsessed with catching and killing those two annoying ghosts.

One night, like many, he had drunk some wine and though somewhat drunk, he deliberately walked in shaky, lurching manner, hoping to catch and to kill the two ghosts. He also carried with him a concealed knife to do the deed.

He had been out a little too long this particular night, for his two grandsons became worried that their grandfather had been abducted by the ghosts. They went out into the dark streets to look for him.

Off in the distance, he saw the two grandsons rushing towards him. He readied his knife. When they both came within striking distance, he killed them both. However, their bodies did not dissolve; he had killed his own two grandsons.

Notes

from (1) Hanwei liuchao guiguai xiaoshuo, pp. 30-31; (2) Tanhu shuogui lu (Records on discussing werefoxes and speaking of ghosts) by Lu Runxiang; Hong Kong: Chunghua Shuju, 1990; pp. 6-7.

Originally from Soushen ji by Gan Bao

This very grim story again reveals a type of ghost that might be best termed "goblin" and that no longer reflects the definition of "ghost" we have come to know since the worldwide codification of what a ghost is supposed to be from popular literature and film. "Ghosts" at this stage could still apparently be killed.

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

The Carp Maiden (Guangdong)

Years ago, in the port of Jiazi, Lufeng, the province of Guangdong, there lived a kindly, hard-working fisherman, a widower, who lived alone with his seventeen year old daughter. She was a very clever, filial girl who brought much joy to her father and helped him by fishing with him, side-by-side. The fisherman loved his daughter so much, and she loved him equally as well.

All would have been well in this neighborhood of close knit fishing families if it hadn't been for the local feudal ruler, the overlord, who stopped at nothing to squeeze every coin he could out of those who lived in his territory much like the way a meat eater sucks the last drop of marrow from a bone. Never one to forgo the smallest debt, he had the bereaved fisherman continue to pay compounded interest on a small loan stemming from the year the fisherman had lost his wife. Regularly did the fisherman pay both installments on the principal as well as high interest, but no matter how much he paid, he still owed the overlord a debt. With every payment given to the landlord, the fisherman felt he was right back where he had started.

Now, on a morning when the storm clouds were overhead and the sea was slowly becoming angry, the overlord was around again, but this time he was asking for something other than money.

"You know that you still owe me a lot," said the overlord, "and I'm tired of receiving pittances from you every month. I want the balance . . ."

"The balance? Surely you don't mean . . . How could I possibly . . . ?"

"Let me finish. I want the balance in three days. Find some way--any way--to repay me the balance in three days' time, or else I'll take your daughter as payment." The overlord turned and looked at the billowing waves. He then turned back to the fisherman. "You owe me a great deal of money. I suggest you don't tarry here on land but get out there and catch some fish! See if you can bring in a catch as great as three days' worth of fishing. Ha, ha! Now that would repay the debt quite well."

"Catch fish, with the sea the way it is, with a storm coming?"

"I don't know, old man. Maybe you'll be lucky today . . . "

The overlord left. The speechless old fisherman watched him leave. Holding back his tears, he prepared his fishing gear and left with his daughter for the sea, on this day of all days, when only the foolhardy ventured out on the water.

While on the rolling ocean, he spiritlessly went about his fishing chores. His daughter noticed something was not right and asked him about it.

He broke down and told her the local ruler's demand.

"To return to shore or to stay here--both mean death!" he cried.

No sooner had he finished his anguished cry than the wind stopped blowing and the waves ceased roiling. From out of the sea shot a brilliant ruby-red shaft of light. From out of this light, something appeared and was heading towards them. A golden carp was swimming their way. It stopped swimming and turned into a beautiful maiden who then walked right up to the old fisherman and his daughter in their boat.

"Do not worry. I will help you," she said.

"But . . . But how?" asked the astonished fisherman.

"Just spread your net once more. I'll take care of the rest," she replied.

The carp maiden then drove huge schools of fish right into the net. The net that day was bursting with fish!

"I hope this helps. Come back again tomorrow for more fish," said the carp maiden. She returned to her carp form and slid beneath the waves.

The next morning, bright and early, the fisherman and his daughter were out on the sea, their net unfurled. Once again the carp maiden appeared and drove an even bigger school of fish into their net.

The fisherman and his daughter returned to port. After selling their two days' bounties of fish, they had enough money to pay well over half the debt owed to the overlord. Now all he needed would be one more day of the carp maiden's help, and then he'd be able to repay the overlord in full with plenty of profit left over!

When asked by the fishmonger how just he and his daughter could bring in so many fish while other fishermen were finding it nearly impossible to catch one-third that number, the old fisherman told how the carp maiden appeared at sea and drove the fish into the net.

Well, that was a mistake! The fishmonger told a customer and the customer told his friend and his friend told someone else . . . Before the day was over, the overlord had heard the news, and he was not happy. He didn't want the fisherman to be able to repay his debt; he really wanted instead to keep the man's daughter!

Early the next morning, the overlord released his falcon with the order to find the carp maiden and to stop her from helping the fisherman and his daughter.

The keen-eyed falcon spotted the golden carp. It swooped down right over the golden carp and said, "If you are planning to help the fisherman and his daughter catch more fish today, you'd better not. If you do, my razor-sharp beak will rip you to shreds! Farewell for now . . . You've been warned . . ."

The golden carp--the carp maiden--was both deeply angered and afraid. She sank below the sea.

Soon the fisherman and his daughter arrived in their fishing boat. They sailed up and down, looking for the carp maiden, but she was nowhere to be found. They waited and waited for her, but she didn't appear.

"Carp Maiden, Carp Maiden, come to us, please!" they cried.

After no response, the pair became very nervous. This was the third day, the day they had expected to bring in the final big catch of fish. What if the carp maiden didn't appear? How would the fisherman be able to pay off the overlord and to stop him from taking his daughter away?

"Carp Maiden, where are you?"

"I'm over here!"

The fisherman and his daughter turned and looked. The telltale red shaft of light appeared, and then, from out of that light, came a large golden carp, which then turned into the beautiful maiden.

"This may be the last time I can help you," she said. "I've been threatened by your overlord with death if I help you one more time. Anyway, I am here, so let's get to work. Get your net ready for the fish I send your way."

She submerged herself. Shortly after a huge school of fish entered the fisherman's web.

Her work done, she came to the surface as the golden carp and was swimming out to the middle of the ocean when suddenly, from seemingly out of nowhere, the overlord's falcon swooped down from the sky and ripped into her with his talons and beak. The falcon had witnessed the carp maiden help the fisherman and his daughter. All along, this evil bird had been lying atop a rock jutting out of the ocean, flattening his body against the rock to appear to be part of it.

The fisherman and his daughter watched from afar, powerless to stop the falcon.

They returned to port with heavy hearts. They sold the final catch of fish, and now the fisherman had enough to pay back the local master. But at what a price--the loss of the carp maiden who had valiantly helped them, even though she knew very well doing so would likely cost her her life.

So the local ruler was handed all the money that was owed to him. What could he do? What excuse could he come up with now to keep the girl? The fisherman had now presented the remainder of the debt with interest. The overlord frowned and took the money. The fisherman had saved his beloved daughter from a life of misery and slavery.

The father and daughter had not forgotten the sacrifice of the carp maiden. Not far from the shore, among the ocean outcrops that included the one the falcon had hidden itself on and nearby the spot where the carp maiden had lost her life, was a particular rock that very much looked like a large shimmering golden carp. In fact it even had a surface that resembled fish scales. The fisherman and his daughter decided that by this rock they would forever more memorialize the carp maiden by lighting incense and praying for her spirit.

The overlord's sleepless eye, the falcon, saw this and reported back to the overlord.

"The carp maiden's back!" he said.

The overlord was incensed. He wanted to destroy the carp maiden once and for all. He commandeered a small vessel and, followed by his trusty falcon, went over to this rock. He leaned over closely to the rock and took out a large hammer.

"Nice disguise," he said. "Let's see how much of a rock you really are!"

He then brought down the hammer upon the surface of the rock with all his might. The top of the rock shattered, and the "scales" turned into deadly arrow-like shards. One pierced and then split the overlord's head like a melon, while another "scale" drilled a nice-sized hole right through the falcon. Both falcon and master pitched forward into the deep sea.

What's left of what later became known as "Carp Maiden Rock" can still be seen jutting from the ocean today.

Notes

from Jia Zhi & Jian Sunbing, eds. Zhongguo minjian gushixuan, pp. 183-185

It would be difficult to overstate the prominence of the carp in Chinese iconography. Determination, bravery, doggedness, prowess, manliness, perseverance--all these are qualities that have come to be associated with the carp. (To the above list, the Japanese would add "stoicism." The carp, once finally caught and placed upon the cutting board, supposedly no longer resists, suggesting to the rest of us the proper to die, by being dispassionate and manly.) The carp's ability to swim up rapids endeared it to generations of students who sought inspiration to pass their examinations.

The Ox That Knew a Thing Or Two (Zhuang)

This happened long ago, when people and animals still understood each other's language . . .

One day a farmer led an ox into a muddy paddy to do some plowing. The ox found himself up to his belly in the mire and felt most miserable. He raised a leg here and raised a leg there, moving very slowly. After what seemed like all day, the farmer discovered he had plowed an area probably not bigger than a banana leaf.

The farmer was furious and took a stick to the ox, beating him and scolding him.

"Oh, was there ever a beast more stupid and slower than you?" the farmer asked. "All day long we've been here, and just look at the ridiculously small patch you've managed to plow! Not all animals are as stupid and slow as you, though! No, indeed. Look at the tiger. He is both clever and fast. You ought to be more like him, as if you could!"

"Just wait a moment!" replied the ox, unable to hold his feelings in any longer. "I am better than any tiger when it comes to having any abilities!"

"Oh, is that a fact?" The farmer snorted. "I just bet . . ."

"You don't believe me?" asked the ox. "Fine. Tomorrow take me to see the tiger. I'll show you who is smarter, who is more able!"

"It's a deal," said the farmer. "Now let's get some more work done here!"

The next day the farmer led the ox to the tiger's lair, a cave. Long before the ox arrived, the tiger had already smelled the scent of approaching beef, so he bared his fangs, crouched and waited for the ox to arrive.

When the ox did show up, he lowered his horns and pointed them at the approaching tiger.

"Tiger! Tiger!" shouted the ox. The tiger halted. "Listen to me, Tiger. I did not come here today to fight you to the death. That can wait. No, I came here to tell you that your fangs are dull, as dull as spoons. So I'll suggest something to you. I'll return here in three days' time. During the next three days, I suggest you sharpen your fangs. I'll sharpen my own horns a bit too. Then we shall see who can beat whom. What do you say?"

"I'll be waiting, Ox." The tiger snarled and skulked back inside his cave.

So for the next three days, the tiger went about sharpening his fangs until they were as finely honed as razors.

The ox, meanwhile, sharpened his own horns but only for a day. For the next two days, he gathered all kinds of long, thick stalks and grasses and bound them to his body by wrapping them here and stuffing them there until they made up many layers. Next, he rolled himself in the mud until he was covered with mud from head to tail. When the mud dried, he repeated the process, and then, when that layer was dried, he rolled upon the ground until everything was good and plastered to his body. He then waited until the whole thing dried and hardened.

With the way he looked now, one would not be able to tell that beneath the mud was was layer upon layer of grass and stalks!

Finally the day of the duel to the death arrived. The ox arrived at the appointed place. As expected, the tiger was waiting. Off to the distance stood the farmer to witness the event.

"Why did you show up all covered with mud?" asked the tiger.

"Are you ever dumb!" replied the ox. "Is it not summertime? All day long I plow under the hot sun. Everyone knows oxen like me have to cool ourselves off by getting ourselves nice and muddy!"

"Oh. Well, anyway, Ox, you certainly look . . . beefier, fatter, juicier. I'm really going to enjoy ripping into your flesh!"

"Not so fast, Tiger. I'm not some weak goat or fat hog you can just kill without worry. You'll have your chance."

"You bet I'll have my chance. My fangs were a bit dull a few days ago, but they're more than able now to shred you!"

"Is that so, Tiger? I'll tell you what. I'll give you the first shot. I'll lie down on the ground and let you bite into me three times. If after that, I'm still alive, you must lie down on the ground and let me gore you three times. What do you say?"

"Fine by me!"

The ox nonchalantly lay down on the ground as if to rest.

"Well, come on . . . "

The tiger then immediately sprang upon the ox and sank his fangs into the ox's back, thigh, and then ribs--all without any effect on the ox, all without drawing so much as a drop of blood from the big beast busily switching his tail.

"All right, Tiger. You had your three chances. Now it's my turn . . ."

The tiger lay down, now shaking, now not quite as cocky as before.

The ox then raised himself up and attacked the ox. He gored the tiger's stomach, back and ribs. Blood flowed profusely . . . the tiger never knew what hit him . . . he lay dead in his own pool of blood.

From that day on, the farmer showed the ox newly found respect; he never again scolded or laid a finger on the ox.

To this day, you can ask any farmer about his own ox. He will tell you that, no, an ox is not a graceful, beautiful animal, but, yes, it certainly does know a thing or two!

Notes

from Jia Zhi & Sun Jianbing, eds. Zhongguo minjian gushixuan (A selection of Chinese folktales.) pp. 369-370.

Motifs: B264.3, "Duel of tiger and buffalo"; H1122, "Task: Preparing large quantities of grains."

Winter Melon Boy (Hmong)

There once were an old farm couple who had never had been blessed with any children. Though happy with each other, they were very lonely, not having the laughter and shouting of children to brighten up their days.

Now this old man had a farm field into which he put a lot of effort and, despite all his hard work, was only able to grow a rather large winter melon one particular season.

He lugged the winter melon back home.

"What's this?" asked his wife. "One winter melon? Are you joking?"

"This is our harvest! This is the yield this year! And on this we'll need to get by!" he answered.

Just then, the old couple were ready to fall over in a faint, for the winter melon started speaking to them!

"Don't worry! Make me your son and you can 'get by' on me!" it said.

"You are a winter melon!" the old people cried. "How can you be our son?"

"And why not? You planted me, and that makes me your son! Just call me Winter Melon Boy."

And so it was . . . Winter Melon Boy quickly grew from a melon into a strapping young man who single-handedly took over all the planting, hoeing, watering and harvesting on the small farm. From that day on, the old couple never had to fear starvation ever again; day and night they, thanks to their son Winter Melon Boy, had plenty to eat.

They had three good years, the two old folks and Winter Melon Boy, and then war came . . .

It was a war that touched every corner of the empire, turning everything upside down, destroying much, leaving crying fathers and mothers behind to watch as their young sons were dragged away.

The emperor sent, along with all the soldiers and generals, a mandarin to choose young men for the army. This mandarin arrived at the doorway of the old couple's home and insisted that Winter Melon Boy become a soldier of the emperor.

"Please, sir," the old father begged the mandarin, "don't take our son away from us!" Then he thought of something. "He's not even a real boy! He's just a winter melon!"

"I don't care if he's a winter melon or a pumpkin!" said the mandarin. "He's going right into the lineup of all those other young men you see over there, straight to the camp to learn to be a
soldier! If you don't like it, there's only one thing you can do."

"What, sir? Please tell me."

The mandarin's eyes danced as he smiled. "Cough up some money."

"How . . . How much?"

"Enough to pave the road from the door of your cottage all the way to the gates of the emperor's palace with gold. That's how much!"

The old man fell against the threshold of his doorway; his wife had to come to support him.

"Why," said the old man, "I've never even seen a gold coin, let alone possess one!"

The mandarin smiled. "Then, old man, you have your work cut out for you. Until then, your son needs to come along and . . . "

"Hold it!"

The mandarin's words were interrupted by Winter Melon Boy, who had climbed out a side window to confront the man who wanted to take him away from his mother and father.

"I can come up with all that gold!"

"Oh, is that so?" asked the mandarin, smiling and shaking his head. "All right. I'll tell you what. I'll be generous. I'll give you two full days to come up with the gold. After two days, if you haven't paved the road from here to the palace with gold coins, I'm coming back for you, and I won't be in such a pleasant mood!"

"That's fine," replied Winter Melon Boy. "Two days' time is all I need."

"Very well, boy. Just make sure I can walk on gold nuggets or coins all the way to His Imperial Majesty's palace gate, or it won't go well for you and your parents!"

The mandarin left, driving a chained line of young men to the camp for training.

As soon as the mandarin had left, the old father and mother turned to Winter Melon Boy.

"How are you going to come up with all that gold?" they asked. "We're in a fix now! You heard him! If you don't produce that gold, we're all in for it!"

"Don't worry," Winter Melon Boy said. "I can come up with the gold. Trust me."

"And how will you gather up so much gold in such a short time?" his father asked.

"Here's what you and Mother have to do. Quickly find a three-legged female dog, one red fish, and one white fish."

"What?!" the old people cried.

"Where on earth are we going to find such odd things?" his mother asked.

"In an odd world," replied Winter Melon Boy, "you shall find odd things. One of you search by the riverbanks, while the other go up to the mountains."

Well, the mother and father went off on their separate quests. That very evening, they both returned, one with a three-legged female dog and the other, with one red fish and one white fish.

Winter Melon Boy immediately went to work. He fried up the two fishes and fed them to the three-legged dog. He then went to a bamboo tree and sliced off a thin but sturdy section.

"Now what?" asked the father.

"This is what you do," said Winter Melon Boy. "Tomorrow you and the dog set out on the road to the palace. As soon as you close our front door, start to whip the dog with the bamboo switch. Do so every so often. You shall then walk on gold all the way to the gates of the palace."

And that's what the father did. As soon as he and the dog left the hut, he began to whip the dog's backside. Each time the dog was whipped, it would stop and relieve itself. The old man looked. What he saw drop onto the road was not dog dirt; no, it was a small nugget of gold, one at a time!
So the old man continued to the palace gates with the dog, whipping it every so often so that by the time he and the dog had arrived at the gates, a road of gold nuggets stretched all the way back to the old man's hut!

The emperor had received word that an old man and a dog had practically paved an entire road of gold to the gates of the palace. He came out to look for himself.

"You and your dog accomplished this? Is that true?" asked the emperor.

"Yes, Your Highness. Your mandarin who was in my village gathering young men up for your army told me that if I paved a path of gold from my humble home to your palace you would exempt my son from the army."

"I see . . . I hereby declare your son to be so exempt!" Then, turning to his guards, the emperor barked an order. "I want every bit of gold picked up, collected and taken to my storehouse! Do so immediately!"

"Immediately, Your Highness!" the guards replied in unison. And so thousands of men with huge sacks picked up each piece of gold and put in their sacks. They then brought all the sacks to keep in the emperor's storehouse.

The old man, his spirits much lightened, returned home with the dog to tell his wife and son the good news--Winter Melon Boy would not have to go off to fight the emperor's war! The three returned to their farming and lived in happiness and peace.

A few years later, a horrible stench wafted through the whole imperial palace. No one could escape smelling this odor; all who did felt like gagging and heaving, and many did the latter. The emperor ordered all guards and imperial chamberlains to scour the palace to locate the source of the smell. One man finally did trace the odor--to the emperor's storehouse. The emperor, his face covered, hesitantly approached his storehouse, unlocked the doors and threw them open. Inside, all the sacks were still there. However, what had once been the sacks of gold, were now sacks of . . . nothing . . . but . . . coiled . . . stinky . . . fly-covered . . . dog dirt.

The emperor was beside himself with rage. He ordered all available men to search for the Winter Melon Boy and his parents. The emperor's men scoured the countryside, mountains and forest, but no trace of the three was ever found.

Notes

(1) Li Yingqiu, ed. Miaozu minjian gushi (Hmong folktales). pp. 311-315; (2) Jia Zhi & Sun Jianbing, eds. Zhongguo minjian gushixuan (A selection of Chinese folktales). Volume I. pp. 318-320.

The story is reminiscent of motif F743.5, the Japanese "Momotaro," the boy who sprang out from a peach. (The Japanese have a number of versions, including "Konbitaro," the boy made from bodily dirt! See Ancient Tales in Modern Japan: An Anthology of Japanese Folk Tales, edited by Fanny Hagin Mayer. Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana University Press, 1984, pp. 3-6). The title of the version collected by Jia & Sun translates as "Eastern Melon Boy," with "eastern" and "winter" both having the pronunciation of "dong1." Motifs: B101.1.3, "Dog with droppings of gold"; D1716.2, "The magic power of the lame."

Some Proverbs From Southwestern China

Bai

He who tries to keep a foot in one boat and the other foot in another will end up getting nothing done. (Such a person must be too ambitious, "biting off more than he can chew.")

Water spilled on the ground can never be collected; mistakes, once made, can always be rectified.
(All that's happened before is "water under the bridge.")

Happiness and sweat are brothers; luck and hard work are a family. (Industriousness and the fortune that come from it cannot be divorced from each other; one definitely leads to the other.)

The more you sharpen a knife, the quicker it cuts; the more you use your brain, the faster it thinks. (The brain works if one would only use it.)

Buyi (Buyei)

For each day an evil man lives, the decent common people must suffer for a year. (The evil of one bad person spreads like a cancer.)

Jinuo

The loudest bird is not necessarily the biggest. (Looks may be deceiving. "All that glitters is not gold.")

Zhuang

You wouldn't ask a monkey to collect fruit anymore than you would tell an otter to watch over the fish. (Taiwanese would say, "Don't send a ghost to the pharmacy to fill a prescription." Trying to cut corners while doing something important can lead to disaster.)

Sticking your hand out won't block the wind, and pulling your ears close to your head won't keep you dry from the rain. (To engage in pointless, useless activities, tasks that are doomed to failure from the start. Mandarin speakers would say "to look up a tree for a fish." Japanese speakers would say "to look for oysters in a field.")

Wood not drilled cannot be connected with other wood; a person not taught remains ignorant. (Like so many other proverbs, this rhymes in Chinese. Think of learning as akin to drilling, with information, wisdom, etc., being drilled into the brain so that one may become learned, better connected to the world around him/her, and disabused of his/her innate ignorance.)

Just as loud thunder usually means only a little rain, an arrogant loudmouth is usually one with only a few accomplishments. (Some people are all talk. "Talk is cheap.")

From

(1) Yanhai Langhua, Zhang Dingya, et al. (2) Zhongguo minzu minjian wenxue (Folk literature of the peoples of China). Zhongyang minzu xueyuan xiaoshu minzu wenxue yishu yanjiusuo. Beijing: Zhongyang minzu xueyuan, 1987.

Old Grandpa Money Rock (Hmong)

There were once two brothers who lived together and cultivated a vegetable patch. When the older brother got married, he gave his younger brother a grass rain-cape and hoe and told him to fend for himself. 

 The younger brother headed for the mountains to seek out some land unclaimed by others where he could grow his own crops. There, up in the mountains, near a large rock, he started hoeing. As he hoed, from time to time he'd look at the nearby rock sticking out of the ground. 

 Huh, he said to himself, that rock looks just like an old grandpa. 

 The sun came out; it was no longer chilly; there was no longer any chance of rain. He took off his rain-cape and laid it on top of the rock. 

 "Old Grandpa Rock!" he said affectionately. "Please help me out by holding my rain-cape for me, all right?" 

 When the day's work was done, he sat down by the rock and started talking to it as if it were an old friend. 

 "If I could be as sturdy as you, old Grandpa Rock," he said, "I'd never get tired, never get worn out."

 The younger brother worked there daily.

 Now one particular day, when he was taking a break and, as usual, talking to the rock about how hot and tired he was, the rock suddenly spoke back. "Hey, young fella, just listen. You think you're hot and tired? Every day you come here and place your hot and scratchy rain-cape on top of me! It's heavy too! Take the rain-cape off me and I'll give you something!" 

 "You'll give me something?" asked the younger brother, thinking he must be in a dream. 

 "Yes, that's what I said," replied the rock. "Tomorrow come here with a three-foot-long sack. I'll fill it up with silver coins for you!" 

 The younger brother did just exactly that. The next day he showed up with a three-foot-long burlap sack. 

 "All right," said the rock, "open it up . . . " 

 The younger brother did. As he did so, the rock opened his mouth and spat out hundreds of sparkling silver coins right into the sack. Pretty soon the sack was largely full.

 "How's that?" asked the rock. "Is that enough?"

 "Oh, it's too much!" said the younger brother. "Too much!" 

 "'Too much!'?" The rock laughed. "Few ever say 'too much.' Anyway, take the coins with you and make a fine home and life for yourself. You're a hardworking young man and deserve every coin." 

 The younger brother happily took his sack of coins back home with him. Before long his older brother discovered his riches, for they still lived near each other. 

 "How is it you became so rich, Little Brother?" he asked. The younger brother told him the whole story--about the strange rock up in the mountains, about his leaving his rain-cape on the rock, about the rock's being able to speak, about the silver coins, and so on. 

 "And this rock is easy to find?" asked the older brother. 

 "Of course! Just go up the path all the way into the mountains. You'll find a clearing on your right. In the middle of this clearing, sticking right out of the ground, there's this rock that looks like an old grandfather . . . " 

 The older brother was off like a shot up the mountain carrying his own rain-cape and hoe. He soon located the rock that looked like a grandfather. He laid his raincape on the rock and began hoeing. After hoeing all day, he sat down next to the rock for a break. 

 "Well, how are you, old Grandpa Rock?" he asked. "Is it warm enough for you today?" There was no answer. "Hello? Did you hear me, old rock? Hello?"

 Again, there was no reply. 

 The older brother spent the whole afternoon trying to get the rock to speak but all to no avail.

 "All right, all right," the man said. "I think I know how to make you talk."

 He piled stone after stone atop the rock. Soon the rock was covered with scores of other rocks. 

 "Take these stones off me!" cried the rock. "Take them off me, and I shall reward you!" The older brother greedily rubbed his hands and then removed the rocks. "Do this: Be here tomorrow with a three-foot-long sack. I'll let you fill it up with silver coins!"

 "Yes!" said the older brother. "I'll be here!" 

 Bright and early the next day, the older brother was there with his own burlap sack. 

 "All right," said the rock. "Open it up." 

 The rock then spat out a stream of silver coins. Pretty soon the sack was 98 percent full. 

 "How's that?" asked the rock. "Is that enough?"  

"No!" cried the older brother. "It's not enough! More!"

 "All right," said the rock. More shiny silver coins flew out until the sack was absolutely bulging with coins, ready to burst. "Now, how's that?" asked the rock. 

 "More, more!" cried the older brother. 

 The rock tried and tried, but he just didn't have any more coins in him. When he saw no more coins coming out, the older brother stuck both his hands into the mouth of the rock. 

 "Come on, old man rock! I know you have more coins in there!" Just then, the rocks mouth closed right on the older brother's two hands! "Aiyoooo!" screamed the older brother. "Hurry up and let go of my hands!" He stomped the ground and kicked the rock with his two feet, but the rock did nothing. It just stood still, showing no life. "Please! Please let go of me!" The old man rock showed no sign that it heard him or even cared. 

 Nightfall came and the older brother was still there, his hands stuck inside the rock. And then came a powerful downpour, soaking him and washing away his sack of coins. At daybreak, the older brother looked around. Where there had been some silver coins still lying around after the little flood, there was now nothing but dirt. Still another full day and night passed before his wife finally found him. Seeing her husband stuck this way, she burst into tears. 

 "Hey, hey, don't cry! There's no time for that now! Pull my hands out of this rock!" 

 Climbing up onto her husband's back, she tried and tried to pull his hands free but only managed to make him scream in pain. She tried again and again, but all her efforts got her nowhere. 

 Sighing, the older brother said to his wife: "Well, you might as well go back down the mountain to our house and fix me something to eat. Perhaps with some food in my belly I'll have the strength to pull my hands out of this cursed rock!" 

 The wife did so. As a matter of fact, from then on she had to prepare three meals daily for her husband since he couldn't get himself free. There he stayed for three years! He stood by the rock all through the day and night, through sticky, sweltering summer heat and the spring rains. He was ready to go mad! 

Then one day, with his wife by his side, he made up a little song and started to sing: All through the rain and wind, three full years and another April is here! Back at home, the rice shed is empty; Everything I've done has come to naught. Might as well cut you off, my two hands! 

 The rock heard this song and started to chuckle. He then laughed out loud. When the rock opened his mouth, the older brother instantly fell backwards. His hands were free! He was free! He and his wife immediately scurried down the mountain path and never again returned to that spot. 

From (1) Miaozu minjian gushi (Hmong folktales). Li Yingqiu, ed. Taipei: Mutong Chubanshe, 1978; pp. 324-329; (2) Minhua ji (A collection of popular tales). Qiu Meidai, ed. Taipei: Yongan Chubanshe, 1978; pp. 13-18. 

 Years ago I learned from an American professor who is an expert on Hmong culture that these people of Thailand, Laos, and Southwest China resent their name in Chinese (Miao) and regard it as pejorative. Thus, in accordance with their wishes, I'll refer to them by the name they themselves prefer, Hmong.

Sultan of the Pomegranate Tree (Uighur)

There was once a poor man named Aimutai'ke, and all this man owned were his hut and a pomegranate tree.

Now he loved the tree dearly, so he took good care of it, pruning it frequently and, of course, watering it like clockwork. When he wasn't working, he watched over his tree every chance he could get. In fact, when the evening weather was warm, he spent the night under the pomegranate tree, lest someone or something come by and do so much as touch one branch or disturb one leaf. Once in a while, a child might climb the wall and try to steal a pomegranate. Aimutai'ke would yell at the child and say some things that are not very nice; that usually did the trick and would make the child scurry away. If the child was in striking distance, he'd lash out with a stick, if he could.

Because of all this, everyone in the neighborhood, young and old, gave Aimutai'ke a nickname--"the sultan of the pomegranate tree."

Early one autumn his pomegranates were plentiful and ripe. He kept a special eye open on them. However, we are all only made of flesh and can only do so much. Aimutai'ke had counted his pomegranates and then fell asleep a little earlier than he expected. When he woke, one was gone!
He was furious with himself for letting that happen. He wondered who or what had taken his pomegranates, but, oh, well, nothing could be done about it now. He resolved, though, not to let a thief get away with stealing his pomegranates again.

The next night, he slept indoors by the window, all the better to keep an eye on his tree. He fell asleep watching the tree. He awoke with a start; a few more pomegranates were missing!

Well, that was that! He decided to stay awake at all cost to get sight of the thief. The next night he drank many cups of tea to stay awake. He lay down by the trunk of the tree and pretended to be asleep, slyly keeping his eyelids slightly open. Then, sometime during the night he spotted it: a fox had crept over the wall and was now approaching his tree . . .

He leapt up, startling the very silent fox that now turned tail and crawled back up and over the wall.

"You . . . you thief! Come here again to steal and I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget!"

The fox was long gone.

Aimutai'ke wanted to trap the fox to protect his remaining pomegranates but didn't know how to go about preventing a very sneaky fox from coming over the wall. His old neighbor had a solution.

"It's very simple," said the old gray-bearded man. "Heat up a pot of paste. Then apply it all along the top of the wall where the fox climbs over. I guarantee you that you'll catch your fox yet!"

Aimutai'ke did just that the very next night and waited behind the tree, keeping a thick cudgel by his side. Sure enough, in the middle of the night, the fox crept up to the top of the wall. It stood on the top and was prepared to jump down onto Aimutai'ke's side of the wall when it discovered it couldn't budge. It was stuck! It tried to turn around and run back the other way, but all it could do was twist and turn but not leave the spot.

"Aha! I've got you, thief!" shouted Aimutai'ke, grabbing his club. "I'll teach you!"

He ran over to where the fox sat hopelessly stuck and raised his cudgel.

"Sultan Aimutai'ke of the Pomegranate tree!" cried the fox. "Spare my life, please!"

With the cudgel raised in midair, Aimutai'ke looked at the fox and asked, "And why should I, thief?"

"Spare me and I'll serve you well for the rest of my life! I'll even find a very fine wife for you!"

"Ha! You take me for a fool!" Aimutai'ke squinted his eyes as he prepared to club the fox to death.

"No, no! Don't beat me! Spare me and I'll keep my word! You'll see! You won't be sorry!"

"I won't be sorry? Why won't I be sorry? How could you, an animal, find a wife for a poor egg of a man like me?"

"Not only will I find you a bride," said the fox, "but she shall be a princess! Do you hear me? A princess!"

Aimutai'ke put down the cudgel, laughing so hard.

"You shall find a princess for me to marry? Oh, that's funny! All right, fox, I'll spare you, not because I believe you but because I want to see you try to find a princess bride for me!"

"I shall keep my promise!" said the fox, running away into the night. "I will get to work on our project right away! You shall see . . . "

The next day, the fox ran over to the royal palace in the neighboring land to see the old sultan who ruled there.

"Your Majesty, could I possibly borrow your royal sieve?" asked the fox.

"My royal sieve? What for?"

"Well," continued the fox, "it's actually my sultan who needs to borrow it, so he sent me. We got ourselves into a mess, you see. We had a large load of agate stones somehow mixed in with a lot of dirt and dust. My sultan said you had the only sieve around that could separate the dirt from the agates!"

"Is that so?" asked the old sultan. "And who is this sultan of yours?"

"Sultan Aimutai'ke!"

"Ah, Sultan Aimutai'ke! He's very famous. Has a large, wealthy sultanate, I've heard. Well, of course! By all means borrow my sieve."

The fox then ran off with the sieve. Before he left the palace, he made sure to steal a few precious stones--agates and pearls. Several days later, he returned with the sieve. With the gems in his palm, he handed the sieve back to the sultan, letting the pearls and agates drop out of his palm, into the sieve, and down onto the palace floor.

The princes and the princesses were nearby and couldn't help notice the gems rolling around on the floor. The fox looked at them as they looked at the gems.

"Oh? Do you like agates, pearls, and other gems too? I wish you had told me! I would have taken you to see Sultan Aimutai'ke. He'd be more than happy to let you sift for more jewels. He has plenty of 'em!" The fox winked at them.

The sultan's ears perked up when he heard about Aimutai'ke's "jewels." He stopped himself from licking his lips and rubbing his hands together.

"Fox, " said the sultan, "let me make an offer. I have three daughters. Suppose you play matchmaker for your sultan and help him to choose one of my daughters for a bride. My daughter will bring him great happiness, and, of course, his marrying her would be a great honor to me as well. What do you say?"

As soon as the three princesses heard what their father said, they started quarreling among themselves about who would be most qualified to be Sultan Aimutai'ke's bride.

"Now, now, Your Royal Princesses! No need to excite yourselves at this moment!" said the fox. The three princesses quieted down. "I don't know if my sultan even wants to marry! May I have permission to return to his palace to ask him?"

Once back at Aimutai'ke's hut, the fox said to Aimutai'ke: "Well, it's all settled. The neighboring sultan has agreed to let you marry one of his daughters. Tomorrow we're off !"

Aimutai'ke was overjoyed, but then he suddenly thought of something.

"Wait a minute, fox!" said Aimutai'ke. "This is all wonderful, but what will I wear? I can't show up at the sultan's palace looking like this, can I?"

"Never mind about what to wear. I'll take care of that tomorrow."

The next day, the fox and Aimutai'ke were in view of the sultan's palace when they came to a river.

"All right, Sultan Aimutai'ke. Take off your clothes."

"What?!"

"Yes," said the fox, "take off your clothes and wade into the river. When you get to the point where your head is just above water, wait there and don't move until I come back and tell you to come out again!"

Aimutai'ke did as the fox told him, and the fox rushed off to the palace.

The fox was let in before the startled sultan, panting and wiping his brow.

"Fox, whatever happened?" asked the sultan.

"Oh, Your Majesty! Your Majesty! It's so terrible!"

"What? What?"

"My master, Sultan Aimutai'ke and his caravan laden with jewels and gems were crossing the river when the water suddenly surged, washing away his forty camels! The sultan himself was nearly drowned!"

"Oh, my . . . "

"Yes, Your Majesty! And Sultan Aimutai'ke waits for you now, still in the river. You see, his robes were also taken right off him by the violent water!"

The old sultan thought about the forty mules, each carrying a load of jewels and gems. How he would have loved to have gotten hold of all those now lost jewels and gems! But what could he do?

He sighed.

"All right, fox. Lead my men to Sultan Aimutai'ke so we can rescue him. I'll give him some clothes to wear. I'm sorry about the ordeal he has gone through. Since I cannot receive the dowry of jewels and gems he was bringing, I'll just have to accept them in my heart. Let him still choose a princess, and let the wedding go on!"

The fox showed the sultan's men where Aimutai'ke was. The poor shivering naked man climbed out of the river and let the sultan's men dress him in the finest robes.

"Now, Your Majesty, Sultan Aimutai'ke," said the fox, "we're ready to enter the palace!"

"Yes, yes," said Aimutai'ke.

The pair, followed by the the able men of the sultan's guard, entered the palace. The old sultan took a good look at his future son-in-law and liked what he saw. He presented his three daughters, and, taking his time, Aimutai'ke chose one, the one he thought was prettiest.

This was the start of the forty days of the wedding celebration.

On the fortieth day, when just Aimutai'ke and the fox were alone in Aimutai'ke's chamber in the palace, he turned to the fox and said, "Look, fox. I'm married now to an actual princess, and that is as wonderful as can be, but there's one huge problem. Tomorrow we're leaving this place, and I'm supposed to take my bride back to my palace! I don't have a palace, a castle, a fortress or anything! I just have a miserable hut and a pomegranate tree! What am I going to do?"

"Don't worry. I have it all figured out. All you need to do is just to remain calm and quiet and to let me do all the talking."

In the morning a troop of men and horses, led by the one of the old sultan's top officers, the commander, was ready to escort Sultan Aimutai'ke, his bride and the fox back to their "palace."

After all had said their goodbyes and the party was ready to ride out, the fox turned to the commander and said, "Commander, allow me, if you will, to go on ahead of you and your group to lead you to the palace of Sultan Aimutai'ke."

"Of course, but why, fox?"

"Allow me to be your guide and your eyes and ears on the road. At the earliest sign of trouble ahead, I'll run back to report to you. This is how I travel with Sultan Aimutai'ke in our land."

"By all means, go ahead."

So the fox ran ahead. On the road, way before Sultan Aimutai'ke and his party came into view, the fox crossed the paths of a camel herder and his herd of camels.

"Hey, there, fox!" shouted the camel herder. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"Ohh . . . ," replied the fox, barely slowing down, "you'd be wise be to hurry off too! Behind me on the road are a gang of cutthroat bandits who'd just as soon kill you as look at you!" The fox then slowed down further and turned back to look behind him. The dust raised by the hoofs of Aimutai'ke's group could be seen in the distance. "And there they are! Run for your life!"

"Yikes!" cried the camel herder. "I see them! I'll never get these camels off the road and hidden in time! What am I going to do? You're a fox; you must have some plan!"

"Actually," said the fox, "I just thought of something. You really have nothing to fear. Here's what you do. When the bandits show up, they'll want to know who owns all these camels. Just tell them that they all belong to the great and mighty Sultan Aimutai'ke . . . "

"S-Sultan Aimutai'ke . . . "

"Yes, Sultan Aimutai'ke, and that you are the royal and official camel herder for the sultan. That should do the trick! Those bandits won't dare touch a hair on your head! Good luck!"

And the fox was off!

"Sultan Aimutai'ke . . . Sultan Aimutai'ke . . . " The camel herder quickly memorized the name. He had his story all prepared by the time the commander and the Sultan Aimutai'ke party arrived.

"You, there! Camel herder!" shouted the commander.

"Y-Yes, s-sir?"

"To whom do all these camels belong? I've never seen such a large herd!"

"Why, t-to S-Sultan Aimutai'ke! I'm his official and royal camel herder!"

"I see," said the commander. He must be the grandest, wealthiest monarch on the planet, he thought.

Meanwhile, still ahead of everyone else on the road, the fox came across a horse trader leading a herd of beautiful, magnificent stallions.

"Fox, my goodness!" yelled the horse trader. "Why are you running in such a hurry? You'd think the devil himself were after you!"

"If you saw who was on the road," said the fox, "you wouldn't laugh! The most dangerous, evil gang of vicious bandits is behind me. Take a look behind me!"

Off in the distance, the cloud of dust raised by many hoofs could be seen.

"Oh, no!" cried the horse trader. "They'll surely cut my throat for all these horses! Quickly, O he who is wisest of animals! What can I do? I'll never get these horses hidden in time!"

"All right, listen carefully," said the fox. "The bandits will ask to whom these horses belong. Just tell them that they are owned by the great, all-powerful and mighty Sultan Aimutai'ke . . ."

"Sultan Aimutai'ke?"

"Yes, that's right, Sultan Aimutai'ke. Tell them that you are the sultan's personal horse trainer. They won't dare harm you! Now remember what I said! Good luck!"

And the fox was off.

The horse trader had just gotten Sultan Aimutai'ke's name straight when the commander and the rest of the group rode up.

"You, there!" called the commander. "Yes, you with all those horses! Who owns this herd?"

"The wise, great, all-mighty, all-powerful Sultan Aimutai'ke, sir!"

"I see," said the commander. I might have guessed, he said to himself. Such a magnificent ruler wouldn't have just a bunch of bony nags running about, would he?

Of course the princess had witnessed everything the commander had seen so far on the road.

A herd of camels that stretches for as far as the eye can see, she said to herself. A herd of gorgeous horses the likes of which I've never seen! Such wealth . . . My father's riches pale to nothingness next to my groom's!

Before long, the fox came across a shepherd and his flock of sheep.

"Ha!" laughed the shepherd. "Look at that fox run! Where are you off to, boy?"

"Think it's funny, do you?" asked the fox. "Well, take a look at the horizon!"

The shepherd looked; a large cloud of dust is what he saw.

"What of it?" asked the shepherd.

"Why, man, that is a gang of murderous, bloodthirsty bandits! Hope you have a small army to defend yourselves and to keep these sheep!"

"I . . . I see them!" The shepherd gasped. "What . . . what am I going to do? I am just one fellow out here! Fox, do you have any clever idea?"

"Well, I might. All right, here's what you must do. Their chief will ask you who owns all these sheep. Tell him they are owned by the mighty and powerful Sultan Aimutai'ke. Believe me--when they hear that, they'll head on without so much as bothering you!"

"'Sultan Aimutai'ke,' you say?"

"That's right! Now, good luck!"

With that, the fox was off.

No sooner had the nervous shepherd committed the name "Sultan Aimutai'ke" to his memory than the group of riders arrived.

"Hey, you over there! Yes, you! Come here!"

"Y-Yes, s-sir? M-May I h-help you?"

"Do you own all these sheep?"

"N-no, sir. They all belong to the great, mighty, wise, powerful, amazing and awful Sultan Aimutai'ke! I'm just his humble shepherd."

The commander and the group rode on.

This is ridiculous, he thought. Is there anything that this man doesn't own? I'll just have to stop asking.

Now the fox was on the path that led to the castle of the King of the Demons, a place nobody in his/her right mind would even venture near.

The fox ran through the unattended front gate, opened the front door and entered the demon's chamber.

The Demon King was amused to see a fox right before him, panting, trying to catch its breath.

"Ha! A fox!" He laughed and shook his head. "What are you doing in my chamber? Why are you struggling to catch your breath?"

"Oh, great King . . .," said the fox, "I'm here to warn you!"

"Warn me about what?"

"It's Sultan Aimutai'ke! He's on his way with a great army. He plans to kill you!"

"What? Sultan who?!"

"Sultan Aimutai'ke! He tried to kill me already but I got away! Quickly hide before he enters your castle!"

"Sultan Aimutai'ke, you say?"

"Yes, yes! Please hide quickly!"

"Well, you're a fox, the most cunning creature around. Do you have any suggestions where I should hide?" asked the Demon King.

"Oh, let me think . . . let me think . . . I've got it!" cried the fox. "Hide up your fireplace! I'll then stack firewood underneath. He'll never look inside!"

The demon ran to the fireplace and squeezed himself up the chimney. He wriggled all the way up until the soles of his boots couldn't be seen. The fox then busily placed firewood beneath him.

"How's this, fox?" asked the Demon King.

"Fine, just fine. Now don't say anything!"

The fox then lit the wood in the fireplace, and the fire roared right up the chimney itself, roasting the King of the Demons to the bone. And that was the end of him and all his evil!

Shortly afterwards, the commander led Sultan Aimutai'ke, his bride and all his men right into the castle, unopposed.

And that is how Sultan Aimutai'ke took possession of a whole castle!

Now for some time Sultan Aimutai'ke and his wife lived in the castle, along with the fox. One day the fox came to speak to Aimutai'ke.

"Mighty Sultan, I think you'd have to admit that I kept my original promise to you, wouldn't you say?"

"Absolutely. You certainly did keep your promise!"

"I also think you couldn't deny that I have been of tremendous service to you , could you?"

"Of course I could never deny that! Everything I have I owe to you!"

"Then," continued the fox, "let me ask you something. If I died, what would you do?"

"If you died, fox? Why, why I would honor you!"

"Oh? How so?" asked the fox.

"I would wear you on my very head!" Aimutai'ke replied. "That way I would remember you forever and ever."

"I see."

A few days later, the princess came to Aimutai'ke with an urgent and sad look upon her face.

"Your Highness, my husband, I have sad news," she said.

"What is it?"

"It's the old fox. He's dead!"

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yes, my husband. What shall we do?"

"With him? Oh, just toss him into the furnace!"

"You treacherous man!"

Sultan Aimutai'ke suddenly turned around. Standing in the doorway was none other than the fox himself.

"You had told me that if I died you'd wear me upon your head for remembrance's sake. Is your word as heavy as a mountain or as light as a feather?" asked the angry fox.

"Fox, dear friend, I'm sorry! Don't be angry. If you should really die, I swear before you and under heaven that I shall truly wear you upon my head!"

As it turned out, the fox did die a few days later. This time Sultan Aimutai'ke kept his promise. He took the fox's pelt and head and fashioned it into a head covering. Now the people of the area thought this was mighty strange but didn't say anything, of course. In time, though, it became quite fashionable to wear a fox on one's head. That fashion has continued down to our time!

Notes

from Zhongguo minjian gushi xuan, vol. 1, pp. 267-271.

It seems a function in nearly every Indo-European fairy tale, like this one, for characters to act like clueless fools, never questioning the obvious or suspicious, taking everything at face value. At the end, we are not told how the castle operated without even a minimal staff. Were the commander and his men invited on to stay as well? The story doesn't tell us.

This story is, of course, a variant of AT 545B, "Puss-in-Boots." Many variants end with the death of the helpful animal. In some tales, the cat, reluctantly slaughtered by her master, turns into a beautiful princess. Here, the dead fox serves to establish the origin of fox-fur caps.

I chose to translate guowang as "sultan" here instead of "king" in keeping with the Islamic traditions of the Uighur people. The story never specifies whether the "King of the Demons" is an actual demon or the nickname of a fiercesome bandit or warlord. I chose to treat him as the former.