Ghost Stories From Ancient China -- Series Three

(1) Father Comes Home

In Wuxing (Wuxing Town, Xinye County, Henan Province or Wuxing County, Zhejiang Province), there lived a farmer, his wife and their two sons.

Now one day this farmer went up to his two sons who were plowing in the fields and started berating them. Not only that but he proceeded to beat them mercilessly. The sons, hurt and bewildered, left the field and went straight home. There, they told their mother what had happened.

Later, when the father had returned home, the mother asked him about it.

Simply put, he was devastated; he would never treat his two sons that way. No, he insisted, he had not been the one scolding and beating his two sons in the field. It must have been some devilish ghost playing a prank in the manner they were known to do so, by impersonation.

He took his two sons aside.

"Listen," he said, "if someone who is my spitting image should ever again come up to you while you two are at work and try to harm you, take an ax and kill him. It will be a ghost overstepping his bounds, and you will teach him a lesson."

That seemed to take care of that.

Some time later, though, the farmer had time to think over his words. The more he thought about what he had advised his sons, the more alarmed he became.

Why, he thought, my sons might mistake me for a ghost anytime I go out to help them with the plowing! No, I'd better caution them about acting too rashly.

He then went out to where they were plowing. Before he had gotten too close to them, his sons, assuming the ghost had once again impersonated their father, immediately cut him down with an ax. They then buried the body under the tall grasses.

Now the real ghost had witnessed all this. He just simply transformed himself into the likeness of the farmer and returned home at the end of the work day.

"Congratulate our sons when they return home," he told the unsuspecting wife. "They took care of that annoying ghost once and for all!"

The sons soon came home and, like their mother, never suspected the older man in the house was not the farmer whose body lay decaying under the soil but rather the cunning ghost impersonating him. As if all this weren't bad enough, the ghost stayed with the family for many years without raising anyone's suspicions.

One day years later, a traveling Taoist priest happened to pass by the ghost masquerading as the farmer. The priest went directly to the farmer's wife.

"Madam, I need to tell you something," said the priest. "Your husband has an evil qi about him."

The two sons overheard this conversation and instantly ran out to tell the "farmer," who was absolutely enraged. He returned to the farmhouse as the priest had just stepped outside.

"That liar!" he screamed to the wife. "That priest is spreading filthy lies!"

The priest heard this and stormed inside the house.

The "farmer" immediately changed back into his original form, that of an old fox. The fox then scurried under the bed. Everyone in the house cornered the fox in its hiding place and succeeded in pulling it out and killing it.

The two sons then made sure their real father was exhumed and buried properly.

That's not the end of the story, however. Not long after, one of the sons took his own life, while the other son sank into deep despondency, became ill and eventually died.

Notes

from Guiguai xiaopin, pp. 51-52.

Originally from Bowu zhi (The Annals of Strange Things) by Zhang Hua (232-300 A.D.) of the Jin dynasty (265-420 A.D.)

This story is reminiscent of "Qin Jubo" (see "The Tale of Uncle Ju," in "Ghost Stories From Ancient China--Series One," 3/26/09), and like other ghost stories, it shows the inevitably fatal consequences of interacting with ghosts. Here, however, as with the Qin Jubo story, the term "ghost" must be used flexibly. The "ghost" in this story is not yet in the codified form recognizable to most people around the world--the misty and/or partially transparent image or form of a recently or long ago deceased person. It can also be "killed," an ultimate fate that escapes the already dead ghosts. Here, the "ghost" is the malevolent shapeshifting fox goblin known throughout Chinese, Japanese and Korean folklore. There is no intimation of this "ghost's" connection to a dead human. However, one thing remains true: this entity is a thoroughly evil and implacable foe of the living, qualities traditionally ascribed to many, if not most, East Asian ghosts.

The compilers of Guiguai xiaopin write that ghosts (presumably those that are shapeshifters or

revenants) are "bored" and thus mercilessly torment and kill for fun (53). To this we can add that ghosts, as the dead, are the polar opposite of the living and, therefore, if they manifest themselves after death, are very much unresigned to their status and harbor ill will to the living.

Motifs: A13370.2, "Disease caused by ghost"; D42.2, "Spirit takes man's shape."


(2) The Wedding Must Go On

Zhang Yacheng, a licensed scholar of Xinjian County, Fujian Province, had a peculiar hobby when he was younger: he enjoyed making miniature suits of armor, hair clasps and the what-not out of gold foil paper and using them as playthings, keeping them in his room, never letting anyone see them. Apparently he possessed some skill, though no one else was supposed to know about it.

Imagine his surprise when one day a thirty-something year old woman knocked on his door.

"Yes?" he asked. "How may I help you?"

"I want to commission you to make some gold foil ornaments for me."

"Oh? What kind of ornaments?"

"Hairpins, bracelets, pearl ornaments for the hair . . . "

"I see," said Zhang. "May I ask what for?"

"Wedding ornaments . . . for my daughter to wear."

Zhang thought the woman had to be joking, but she appeared very earnest and assured Zhang he would be paid for his work. He accepted the job and said no more about it as she left.

The young woman returned the next day.

"My surname is Tang," she said, "perhaps related to the family of the mandarin surnamed Tang who lives in the nearby village. I need to ask a favor of you."

"Surely."

"On this strip of paper, please have someone write in a nice calligraphic hand the name of that official, my kinsman, so I can place it on one of the wedding lanterns, as is the custom."

Again Zhang thought the woman was joking with him. Why would she need him to do this? Why not approach her distant relative, the local official, herself and have him or someone else do this? But he played along.

"Allow me, please, Miss Tang. I shall write the name for you."

Supressing his mirth, he went ahead and wrote the name of the official on the strip of paper. The woman, satisfied, then left.

Several days passed. The designated day for the woman to pick up her daughter's wedding accouterments had arrived. Zhang handed them over to her; she in turn paid Zhang very handsomely with hundreds of certificates redeemable in silver and many lucky wedding biscuits. They thanked each other and the woman left.

That was that, or so Zhang had thought.

Early the next morning, after arising Zhang went to look at the payment he had received from the woman. What had been many fancy gourmet biscuits were actually individual little clods of dirt. What had been silver certificates were actually partially silver-foil embossed "hell bank notes," the money reserved and then burned for the dead.

Now Zhang Yacheng realized the truth; the woman had been a ghost.

Several days after that, everyone in town was woken from his or her dreams at an unholy time early in the morning by musicians blaring trumpets and beating drums. The racket went on and on, and it all seemed to emanate from one place: the top of the hill where there no houses but only a cemetery with its forlorn graves.

A lonely hilltop cemetery with loud music in the wee hours of the morning . . . nobody in his right mind would be up there . . . nobody but ghosts . . .

Some local foolhardy teenage boys decided to creep up the hill to look at the ghost musicians performing for what--a ghostly funeral? They did so and saw that the spectral musicians were wearing the red sashes worn by those attending a wedding, and on the dragon lantern illuminating the show was the strip of paper written in the nice cursive writing of Zhang Yacheng, displaying the name of an official, a local mandarin, a man surnamed Tang . . .

Notes

from Guiguai xiaopin, pp. 75-77; Yuan Mei, Gao shenme gui. (What the devil are you doing?). Wang Huan, ed. Taipei: Guanshe chubanshe, 2004; pp. 58-60.

This not terribly ancient story is from Qing dynasty (1644-1911) writer Yuan Mei (1716-1797), a collector and compiler of ghost lore. We first get the impression that Zhang Yacheng is inviting trouble with his habit of playing with foil paper, a medium used in preparation for "Bank of Hell" ghost bills burned as offerings to the dead. His misuse of such an item ensures a visit from a ghost.

Yuan Mei himself, commenting on this story, suggests it shows that the world of the dead is not far removed from that of the living in that the desire "to keep up with the Joneses," to maintain a front or to keep face, is an undying human need for both the living and the dead. Here, the ghost mother, originally from a less wealthy background, desperately wishes to have the aura of respectability and affluence attached to her daughter's name through the imprimatur of a living or (more probably) now dead mandarin.

Apparently Zhang Yacheng comes out none the worse after his repeated encounters with a dead woman. Yuan Mei notes that later in life Zhang Yacheng entered the ranks of the licentiates after passing his literary examinations and went on to become a renowned local scholar.

Motifs: D476.2.1, "Food changed to dirt"; E334.2, "Ghost haunts burial spot"; E402.4, "Sound of ethereal music"; E554, "Ghosts play musical instruments."

(3) The Disciple of Shixu

In Wuxing (now, Wuxing County, Zhejiang Province) there lived a very influential man named Shixu who had a student whose name is lost to us.

This student was a very stubborn fellow, always blathering about his opinions and never diverging from them. One of his favorite topics with which to argue was ghosts. "There are no ghosts!" he would say.

One day, probably by the road, this student encountered a traveler wearing a white upper garment. They exchanged greetings, and the traveler stopped to chat. Before long, the student of Shixu brought up his favorite topic--the non-existence of ghosts--and a debate soon commenced. They argued and argued, well after the sun had already set behind the trees.

In this debate, the student got the better of the visitor.

During a lull in the argument, the visitor turned to the student and said, "You're a real tongue wagger, aren't you? I suppose you think you know just about everything. You've got me where I can't reply to your position. Very well.

"In any case, allow me to tell you something. I happen to be a ghost myself. What do you have to say about that?"

The student chuckled and dismissively asked, "So you're a ghost. Very good. Answer me this: what do ghosts want out of us?"

"What do ghosts want? It's very simple. We collect lives, lives from those about to die. In fact I'm here to collect your life. Tomorrow noon your time shall be up."

Now the student was scared, where before he had been smug, cocky.

"Please spare me! Don't let me die!" he pleaded.

"Hmm . . .," said the ghost. "Is there anyone around here who resembles you?"

"Yes! Yes! At Shixu's estate there's a military officer who looks a great deal like me!"

"All right. Tomorrow we shall go there together, and I'll have a look . . . "

The next day the student led the now invisible ghost to Shixu's estate. There, the student announced his intention to visit this military officer he was supposed to resemble. The student was admitted inside with, of course, the invisible ghost following him all the way. The student sat down on a chair across from his friend, the officer, and the two began to chat.

While they were chatting, the ghost took out a metallic needle and, stepping behind the officer, jabbed the needle right into the man's skull.

Immediately the officer cried out, "I have a headache!"

The headache grew worse, and by noontime, the poor man had already died.

Notes

from Hanwei liuchao guiguai xiaoshuo, p. 46; originally from Soushenji by Gan Bao.

Motifs: *D1855.2, "Death postponed if substitute can be found"; E247, "Ghost kills man"; E421, "Invisible ghost"; P316, "Man killed in friend's place."


(4) An Unnamed Husband and Wife

Long ago there once were a couple whose names have been lost through the years.

Early one morning the wife got out of bed earlier than her husband and went outside to wash her face. Unknown to her, her husband got up shortly afterward to bathe.

Neither one encountered the other outside.

The wife returned inside and peeked in the bedroom. Sure enough, she saw what looked like her husband still sleeping. Not wishing to disturb him, she quietly got ready to leave to do some chores.

As she was ready to go out the door, however, the servant boy came inside the house and took a mirror.

"What are you doing with the mirror?" the woman of the house asked.

"The master said I could use it," replied the boy.

"Now how could that be? He's inside the bedroom sleeping. How could he give you permission to borrow the mirror while he is asleep?"

The boy looked befuddled.

"I was outside just now and asked him! He's still out there. Let me go get him!"

Before she could say anything, the servant boy shot outside and immediately came back in with the husband, who looked very concerned.

Together the husband and wife entered the bedroom.

There, on the bed, was the split image of the husband, still sleeping away. In complete disbelief, the husband approached his twin lying motionless upon the bed. The husband bent down to touch his counterpart; as he did so, his hands, arms and the rest of him gradually merged with those of his lookalike until both were once again one person.

Needless to say, both the wife and husband were totally shaken and left speechless by this event.

Shortly after, the husband suddenly came down with an illness from which he was never to recover.

Notes

from Hanwei liuchao guiguai xiaoshuo, p. 48; originally from Soushenji by Gan Bao.

By now we can see it is just about axiomatic that to encounter a ghost or, here, a doppelganger, is usually a fatal occurrence. The doppelganger phenomenon is also highly unlucky, frequently fatal, in German folklore as well. A similar story of bilocation, but one with a much happier outcome--"Chunmei's Journey"--can be found at the posting for 7/15/07.

Motifs: A13370.2, "Disease caused by ghost"; E723, "Wraiths separate from body."


(5) Chen Jia

Chen Jia had lived in Beixiangting, Wu Prefecture, Haiyan County, Jiangsu Province, and then, sometime during the reign of the Jinyuan emperor (276-323 A.D.), he moved to nearby Huating.

Just outside Huating, by the eastern marshes, he spotted a huge snake while hunting. It was enormous, being six, seven or even eight zhang long, lying just below a ridge. It looked like a long boat turned on its side, and it was black, yellow and other colors.

He shot an arrow at the creature, killing it, but then turned and left the area in a great hurry.

Back at home, he thought about his encounter with the huge serpent and was overcome with an inexplicable uneasiness over the matter. He decided not to tell anyone about what he had seen or done.

Three years passed . . .

Chen Jia, along with a local Huating man, was again out hunting in the marshes near the same area where he had killed the huge snake three years before.

Remembering the event that had so shaken him up several years before and without really thinking, he turned to the Huating man and said, "You know it was right over here that I had once killed a gigantic serpent a good number of zhang long!"

His companion was astounded that such a thing had happened; he had known Chen Jia for some time and had never heard him say a word about the serpent.

That night, Chen Jia had a dream. In that dream, a man in black with a black scarf wrapped around his head approached him.

"I was once resting on the path along the ridge," said the man in black, "minding my own business and not harming a soul, when you came along and killed me. Why? What had I ever done to you?

"I had just been sleeping off after being drunk. I never saw the face of the man who had killed me. I pledged to myself to wait for this enemy of mine who had done this to me. Now, three years later, you returned to the spot to brag openly of your deed! Today, you brought all this upon yourself . . . "

Chen Jia woke up, trembling and soaked with sweat, his heart madly palpitating, his intestines in knots. Before the day was over, he was dead.

Notes

from Hanwei liuchao guiguai xiaoshuo, p. 56; originally from Soushenji by Gan Bao.

Snakes are generally looked upon with suspicion and dread but also acknowledged to be wise, due to their proximity to the ground and knowledge of what lies beneath the earth. Snake or serpent spirits supposedly can foretell the future and may take human form, as so many Chinese folktales and legends attest. The most famous is, of course, the legend and opera, Madame White Snake.

One zhang is 3 1/3 meters.

Motifs: B731.10, "Multicolored serpent"; D391, "Serpent transformed to person"; E265.3, "Death caused by ghost"; E526, "Ghost of snake."

Stories of Filial Children -- Series Two

(1) Cai Shun (Later Han Dynasty)

Cai Shun of the Later Han dynasty (c. A.D. 23-220 A.D.) was from Ancheng (now Ru'an County, Henan Province).

When Cai Shun was very young, his father died. Cai Shun then served his mother as a very filial son.

Around the year 17, the nation was in turmoil. The brief rule of the Xin Dynasty (9-23 A.D.) had interrupted the Han; the Chimei rebels roamed the countryside; and there was famine everywhere.

Young Cai Shun had to go off into the backwoods to pick mulberries so that his mother and he wouldn't starve. Whenever he went off to get food, he always took two sacks--one for red mulberries and one for black mulberries.

One day on a road in the forest, Cai Shun came face-to-face with a pair of Chimei bandits. They had their swords out, barring his path.

"What's in those two bags of yours?" one of them asked.

"One bag contains red mulberries," he answered. "The other, black."

"And why do you need both kinds?" the other bandit asked.

"The black ones are sweet; they're for my mother. The sour red ones are for me."

The two fearsome bandits were moved by Cai's filial devotion to his mother. They let him pass but not before giving him three big cups of rice and a whole ox leg to take home.

Notes

from Sanshiliuxiao, p. 28 This is story #9 in the Wu edition.

The Chimei ("Red Eyebrows") were insurrectionists who opposed the Xin with their own Han candidate for emperor. They helped end the Xin dynasty of Wang Mang and went on to war with armies that supported other Han emperors. In the end, the Chimei lost out in the power struggle. Their name derived from their painting their eyebrows red as a way of recognizing each other in battles.

(2) Huang Xiang (Later Han Dynasty)

Huang Xiang of the Later Han Dynasty (c. 23-220 A.D.) came from Anlong, Jiangsha (now, Anlong County, Hubei Province). He lived during the reign of Emperor Yongping and died during the reign of Emperor Yanguang (58-124 A.D.).

At the age of nine, Huang Xiang lost his mother. From then on, he continually served his father as a devoted filial son, never missing an opportunity to work for or to help his father.

Of the many things he did for his father, we can note one special thing in particular.

In each evening of the summer, he would fan his father's mat and pillow to cool them off for his father, before the older man turned in for the evening. In each evening of the winter, he would lie down first on his father bed to warm up the mat and pillow for his father.

He also heeded his father's call to study diligently. As he grew older, he became famous for his erudition. In the era when Loyang was the national capital, a proverb circulated through the city: "Under heaven there is no one else like Huang Xiang."

During the reign of Emperor He, Huang Xiang became an official. In his later years, during the reign of Emperor An, Yanguang, he served as a prefect in Wei.

Notes

from Sanshiliuxiao, p. 36; Xiaodao, p. 58. The story is #13 in the Wu edition.

This and #4 below are particularly famous stories.

(3) Xun Guan (Jin Dynasty)

Xun Guan of the Jin Dynasty came from Yingchuan, Linyan (now, Linyan County, Henan Province).

In the year 315 A.D., while her father, Xun Song, served as prefect of the city-fortress Xiangyang, Hubei Province, the fortress was surrounded by the rebel troops of General Du Zeng.

The defending garrison was short of men and supplies.

The situation was very grim!

There were reinforcements under the command of Prefect Xun's old subordinate General Shi Lan, over in Pingnan; however, without anyone's being able to get word to General Shi of the garrison's plight, those reinforcements would never come to help. All those men under loyal General Shi might as well not exist!

Filial daughter Xun Guan saw the grave concern on her beloved father's face. Now Xun Guan was no ordinary, pampered thirteen year old daughter of a high official. She had learned martial arts from her father and was an accomplished rider. So she did something very bold. Without her father's knowledge, in the darkness of the night, she led a suicide team of eighteen veteran riders out from one of the fortress's passages. She and her riders streamed past a gauntlet of enemy troops, breaking through General Du's circle and onto the road for Pingnan!

As soon as she arrived in Pingnan, she immediately reported the situation to old family friend General Shi. As General Shi was concerned he didn't have enough men to attack General Du's force, he contacted nearby General Zhou Fang for support. With General Zhou's troops, General Shi now had over 3,ooo men. This force set out for Xiangyang. Once General Shi and his men arrived within site of the rebel camp, the besiegers instantly lost heart. The entire rebel force of General Du's army dissolved before the walls of Xiangyang, with the rebels fleeing in all directions.

The siege was finally over!

The enemy was defeated and peace came to Xiangyang--all thanks to a gallant thirteen year old girl named Xun Guan.

Notes

from Sanshiliuxiao, p. 44., #17 in Wu edition.

This is a very rare story of a daughter; the vast majority of the stories deal with boys.


(4) Fan Xuan (Jin Dynasty)

Fan Xuan of the Jin dynasty was originally from Chen Liu County (Henan Province). He was well known as a scholar during the reign of Emperor Cheng (circa 335 A.D.).

When he was small, he showed much filial devotion to his parents.

Once, when he was eight, he was in his family's garden, pulling up vegetables when suddenly he scraped his finger. He stood in the garden, crying.

"Are you in pain?" one of his parents asked him.

"No." He continued to cry. "I'm not crying because I am in pain. It is because the Classic of Filial Piety teaches us that our bodies, hair and skin all come from our parents and that we cannot harm them. I've hurt you, my parents. That's why I cry."

Fan Xuan believed he had injured his own beloved parents when he had hurt his finger and was thus not filial. Contrast him with all the belligerent, morally confused, wine-swilling, gambling, hedonistic ruffians around today! Their conduct is anything but filial, and they need to get on the correct path.

Notes

from Sanshiliuxiao, p. 46. This is story #18 in the Wu edition.

True filial, thus, entails having one take care of one's body as one's flesh and blood come from parents. The very last two sentences have been translated and adapted from the very end of the story and represent no extraneous moralizing or editorializing on my part!

The Classic of Filial Piety dates back to 400 B.C. and contains a series of conversations between Confucius and his disciple Zeng Zi.

(5) Xie Dingzhu (Ming Dynasty)

Xie Dingzhu of Guangchang, Datong (now Laiyuan County, Hebei Province) was born in 1401 A.D., during the reign of the Yongle Emperor of the Ming (1360-1424).

One day when Dingzhu was twelve, his mother grabbed Dingzhu's infant brother and went after an oxen that had wandered away. Dingzhu followed along, carrying a club.

While the three were out on the road, a tiger suddenly appeared and attacked the mother. It clamped its jaws onto her ankle and began to drag her away. The woman tossed her infant son onto the road and cried for Dingzhu to help her.

Dingzhu rushed the tiger and hit it repeatedly with his club. Finally, the tiger let go of the mother and retreated back from where it had come. Dingzhu then went to the assistance of his mother. He picked his brother up and let his mother lean her weight against him as the three headed back home.

Halfway home, the tiger reappeared! Again it tried to bite the mother, and, again, Dingzhu fought it off with his club.

The tiger then ran off. The three continued home.

Yet again the tiger returned, this time very stealthily, and attacked the mother from behind, biting her ankle. Dingzhu picked up a large rock and flung it at the tiger. This time the tiger left for good.

With Dingzhu's help, everyone made it home safely.

News of Dingzhu's heroism traveled to the court of the Yongle Emperor. The emperor ordered the young man to Beijing, where Dingzhu was granted a personal audience with the imperial monarch, who commended him for his bravery. Xie Dingzhu was also given a reward of silver and rice. Finally a stela proclaiming Dingzhu's filial piety and courage was erected outside his home.

Notes

from Shanshiliuxiao, p. 70, #30 in the Wu edition.

Xiaodao also has a very similar story from the earlier Jin dynasty (265-420 A.D.). A fourteen year old boy named Yang Xiang was helping his father in the fields with the harvest when a tiger suddenly appeared and menaced his father, holding onto the older man with its jaws. Without any concern for his own safety, Yang Xiang threw himself upon the tiger and grabbed its hide with all his strength. The tiger let go of Xiang's father and fled. (Xiaodao, p. 53).

Ghost Stories From Ancient China -- Series Two

(1) The Abandoned House

During the era of Baoying (A.D. 762-763), at the end of the second month, a man named Yuan Wuyou took a trip by himself to Jiangsu Province. He arrived at the outskirts of Yangzhou just as it began to rain. It started as a drizzle and then increasingly came down in torrents.

Now, not long before, Yangzhou had been the scene of civil war, and so not many people were about. Many of the buildings were also abandoned. Yuan Wuyou dashed into one such building to wait out the rain, but the rain kept coming down. Soon it was evening, with a bright moon up in the sky, so Yuan Wuyou decided to stay the whole night.

He was quietly sitting by the window on the north side of the building when he heard the sounds of footsteps coming from the hallway which faced west. He got up and crept over to the door and peaked through a crack.

In the hallway there were four men, each dressed in strange, outlandish clothes.

One of the four said, "It's just like an autumn night with that beautiful moon, isn't it! Let's sing some songs."

"Fine," said another. "I'll begin." He then adjusted his hat and clothes and began to sing this song:

The states of Qi and Lu!
Is that frost? Or is it snow?
A brief view of beautiful scenery! And along with some melodious sounds too!
Oh, this is the land in which I was born!

The second man, short, and dressed from head to foot in black, then began to sing:

On this cold, crisp night,
The guests cheerfully come to the banquet.
The fire from the lamps dazzles their eyes.
This is the home in which I live!

Then it was the turn of the third man, who was dressed in shabby yellow clothes. He too was very short. He sang:

Oh, the chilly waters of the spring,
Every day I see you!
The country life--to carry over bucket after bucket of spring water!
Ha, ha! This is my small universe!

Finally the fourth man, dressed in slightly worn black clothes, started to sing:

That which burns is fire, while that which overflows is water.
Over there, that which is atop the burning flames . . .
It is none other than that which fills the empty stomach,
For me, who must labor tirelessly day and night!

Yuan Wuyou listened to the four singing through the night and wasn't very impressed. He found their impromptu songs to be rather shallow and conceited. Neither did he go out to introduce himself to the four "poets." Instead, he curled up in a corner, stopped paying attention to them, and soon fell asleep . . .

Yuan Wuyou awoke at daybreak. He was curious to see what the four looked like in the light of the day. He opened the door and entered the hallway where just shortly before they had been singing.

All he found were these obviously old items: a flattened stone block for laundry, a candlestick, a water bucket, and a frying pan. The four men he had heard in the night were not men but actually the spirits of these discarded objects.

Notes

from Zhongguo qitan, pp. 116-118 (See the post for 3/26/09).

Originally from Xuanguai lu (Records of the occult and goblins) by Niu Sengru (A.D. 780-848).

This story is apparently a spoof of supernatural tales. The name of the character "Yuan Wuyou" can be translated as "Originally nothing."

Despite this story's being a lampoon, belief that inanimate objects could be haunted existed in the Far East, perhaps more in Japan than in China. In Japan, any very old object, if allowed to exist long enough, could house a spirit. Hence, there are stories about haunted tea kettles. In one story that can be recounted briefly, a traveling Buddhist priest spends the night in an abandoned temple regarded to be haunted. In the middle of the night, a little onyudo, a type of one-legged goblin, appears to do him harm. However, he turns the tables and beats the onyudo to death with his bamboo walking stick. He then picks the entity up by its leg and flings it down the temple steps. In the morning, he tells the villagers that have come to check in on him that they should be able to find the body of an onyudo at the foot of the steps. The astonished villagers report that at the spot where the onyudo lay is just one old wooden sandal, once one of a pair of geta. Motif: E530ff, "Ghosts of objects."

(2) The Maiden in White

One summer, a young man came to Guanghua Temple, located atop Culai Mountain in Yizhou County, Shandong, to rent a room. It was his intention to pour all his energy into the study of Confucianism.

On one fairly cool day, he left his room to stroll about the veranda of the temple and to admire all the many paintings and ink scrolls hanging there. While he was doing so, he noticed a young lady in white approaching. As she got closer, he saw that she must have been around fifteen or sixteen, and she was absolutely exquisite, just gorgeous beyond description.

The scholar was totally smitten and, rather boldly for the circumstances, asked her from where she came.

"My home is just down the mountain," she replied.

The scholar was familiar with the area and wasn't aware of a girl such as this living nearby; however, he didn't suspect her of lying. Instead, he fell in love with her, love at first sight.

They started a conversation to know each other better.

Very shortly, they became husband and wife.

The day they were wed, the bride turned to her husband and said, "We belong to each other now, and we shall be together 'when our heads are white in our old age.' This evening, though, I must return to my family home, but just for tonight! Starting tomorrow, though, we shall never be separated again!"

"May I at least go with you?" he asked.

"No," she said. She insisted she must return home alone.

Well, the young scholar, now the young groom, was disappointed, of course, but his bride remained unyielding. The arrangements would just have to be this way. So, before his bride left to go back down the mountain, the groom gave her the white jade ring he normally wore.

"Let the ring be a reminder to you whenever you see it," he said. "Let it remind you to return to me as soon as possible!"

They walked to the gates of the temple.

"May I at least accompany you to the door of your family home?" he asked.

"No. My family members will probably be waiting for me outside. It would be a bit awkward with you there, with our marriage and such. Please stay here and wait for me to return to you."

He said goodbye to her and watched her walk down the hill. She never turned back. Before she had gone one hundred paces, though, she suddenly vanished into thin air!

The groom was beside himself with fear and shock. He ran to the spot where his bride had disappeared. It was a fairly flat field that was on the slope of this mountain. He started scouring amidst the tall grasses way into the darkness of night without stopping.

And then it became just too dark, so he headed back to his room at the temple. Just as he started to turn back, he spotted a clump of brilliant white lilies in the vicinity of where his wife had disappeared. For some reason, he bent down and plucked them up by the roots and took the flowers back to his room.

Would they somehow hold the key to her astonishing disappearance?

Once in his room, he took the lilies--there must have been a hundred of them--and started to separate them. Out from amongst several stems fell the white jade ring.

He then realized the awful truth--he had been married to and in the intimate presence of a ghost. How he regretted what he had allowed to happen, but there was nothing he could do about it now. It was too late.

Not long after, he came down with an illness. Within ten days, he was dead.

Notes

from Zhongguo qitan, pp. 200-201.

Originally from Jiyi ji (Records of the Collected Extraordinary) by Xue Yongruo (flourished in the ninth century A.D.)

The original Chinese seems to imply that the pair became husband and wife that same night, which would be a courtship and marriage the speed of which to rival Romeo and Juliet's, a detail that stretches credibility.

This tale is reminiscent of urban legends--such as the Ghostly Hitchhiker--in which an object from the living, the ring, is received by the dead and then finds itself located in a place associated with the dead. This story, like so many other old Chinese ghost stories, also attests to the Chinese attitude towards ghosts as ultimately malevolent and fatally toxic, possessing an enmity that overcomes all who cross over and that targets those still living.

In any case, despite there being a huge corpus of ghost and supernatural literature (mainly the Liaozhai of Ming dynasty writer Pu Songling, the Tang dynasty collections from which many of these postings come and modern anthologies of ancient works like Zhongguo qitan), many have an outright aversion to ghosts and even to the mere discussion of the supernatural. This attitude could be encapsulated this way: To discuss the unknown is to summon the unknown.

Motifs: A13370.2, "Disease caused by ghost"; E265.3, "Meeting ghost causes death"; E422.4.4(a), "Female revenant in white"; E470, "Intimate relations of dead & living"; E474, "Cohabitation of living person & a ghost"; E495.2, "Marriage of a living person to a ghost."

(3) Spotted Dog

In the southern part of Zhejiang Province, in a military garrison, there lived a soldier named Hu Zhizhong.

One day he was sent as a courier to the north of Zhejiang Province, to Huiji.

One night during his journey up north, he slept and had a dream. In this dream, somewhere up in Zhejiang, on the road at night, he spotted a bizarre creature--it had the body of a human but the head of a dog.

Now this creature approached him and said, "Look, I've already been a year without any food. You're on the road to Huiji, aren't you? Could you stop by my house and let me have some of your leftover rations?"

"No!" Hu Zhizhong roared in his dream.

The next day, he continued his trip with the dream already forgotten. He continued on the road to Huiji until nightfall, when he came across an inn. He decided to spend the night there.

"Well, traveler," said the innkeeper, "there is a problem with my building here. It is haunted by a strange creature so much though that not only people don't sleep inside but no one can sit down in the dining hall to eat. I do have an annex on the eastern side, untroubled by the spirit that haunts the main building. Would you like to stay there?"

"No, a room in the main building would be fine, " the soldier replied. "I'm an honest man and a man who doesn't fear evil. All who know me will tell you that. Let what evil spirit exists come, and I shall deal with it. I shall, in fact, kill it."

"Very well," sighed the innkeeper.

That night Hu Zhizhong had a boy from the inn bring him a meal. As the boy then left and Hu picked up his chopsticks to eat his dinner, an monstrous apparition suddenly appeared in the room. It was a man with an enormous head. This monster stood right before the table where the boy had placed Hu's food.

The boy wanted to flee but seemed riveted to the spot as the monster glowered at him. He just stood there, looking helpless at the giant creature before him.

Hu Zhizhong was not petrified, however. He leapt up and attacked the creature with his fists, pummeling him without a break.

If all this wasn't strange enough, what came next was even stranger. The monster started howling, like a dog. Then it cried like a man and spoke to Hu Zhizhong.

"Stop beating me! Stop beating me! If you hit me one more time, I'll be dead!"

Hu didn't let up, however. He kept striking the creature.

The creature then cried out a question: "Where's the spotted dog?"

From behind Hu Zhizhong, behind the standing screen, came something, a blur. It too attacked Hu Zhizhong, coming at him while he was still fighting the big-headed monster.

Hu Zhizhong, his hat knocked off his head and his belt askew, reached for the nearest weapon, a broom handle, and wielded it with effect. He soon battled his two attackers, pushing them outside all the way to the annex of guest rooms on the eastern side of the property.

All who heard the noise of fighting that night swore it sounded as if the whole building were collapsing.

And as odd as all this was, back in Hu's room in the inn's main building, Hu's hat, which had fallen during the battle in the room, climbed up and sat down right on the table where Hu had attempted to eat dinner. The hat looked to the east and seemed to sigh.

And then all was silent for the night . . .

The next day, Hu Zhizhong reemerged from the annex room and outside posted a sheet of paper.

"While I'm away, no one is to enter this structure. For one to do so before I return will be to invite a catastrophe upon one's head!"

He then left without looking back.

Ten days later he returned to the east annex. He had a servant bring him a scroll, brush and ink stone. Then, with tears in his eyes, he wrote out the following poem:

To engage in one rash act of bravery can bring about self-destruction.
To depend on my physical prowess can mean to encounter danger.
You are given this one thread of a precious life,
So why waste it combating goblins?
Your poor deluded soul!
Don't bother now reporting for duty at the yamen!
No, instead you shall remain here in this inn,
And walk on the dark road bound for Hades.

Upon finishing the poem, Hu Zhizhong simply threw the brush to the ground and there, in front of the astonished servant who had brought the calligraphy supplies, he disappeared into the air.

The servant later reported he had felt a rush of icy air that sent shivers up and down his spine as Hu Zhizhong vanished from the earth.

The prefect was notified. He sent men specially entrusted to look into the matter. They entered the now totally deserted eastern annex only to discover the bodies of Hu Zhizhong and two dogs lying in the northwest corner of the room.

Notes

from Zhongguo qitan, pp. 201-204.

Originally from Jiyi ji by Xue Yongruo.

There is definitely one very surrealistic motif in this story, namely the animated hat. This story, like the one above and most likely a number of stories yet to come, reflects the inevitable deadliness and futility of battling ghosts and other supernatural agents.

Motifs: E281.3, "Ghost haunts particular room in house"; E461, "Fight of revenant with living person"; *E542, "Ghost's nearness to person felt as a chill"; *E542.6, "Icy wind indication of ghost's presence."

(4) Xing Daodu

In Longxi County, Gansu Province, there lived a scholar named Xing Daodu who once traveled far and wide for his education. He once found himself in Yongzhou, in what used to be called Cao, or the country of Cao. Here he became short on funds and forced to beg for food on the road.

He was particularly hungry on this day when in the distance he spied a house. He walked towards the house. In the front was a girl in blue-green clothes.

"Miss," said Xing, "I'm Xing Daodu, a student from Longxi. I've traveled far and now find myself here without any money for food. I'm hungry and can't find anyone who will give me any money to buy food. Could I possibly trouble you for a bowl of something to eat?"

The girl excused herself to enter the house in order to ask her mistress, Madame Qin.

"Well," Madame Qin said, "since he's a student from far off and since he doesn't look like a bad man, just invite him in!"

Xing Daodu entered. Madame Qin bade him sit on the right-hand sofa and told the girl to feed him.

When Xing Daodu had finished eating, Madame Qin said to him: "I was the daughter of King Min of Qin. Betrothed, I came here to Cao, but before I could be married, I died. It's now been twenty-three years since then, and I've remained in this place all these years. Now you are here! I am willing to become your wife. Are you willing to become my husband?"

"H-How could I?" asked Xing. "You are of a royal house!"

But Madame Qin asked him, again and again. Finally he consented. They then became husband and wife.

Three days later, Madame Qin said to her groom, Xing Daodu: "You, my husband, are of the living, while I am a ghost. The longest we can live together is three days without grave harm befalling you. Think of our happiness we have shared these past few days! I shall give you something as a token of my love for you."

Madame Qin took a box from under her bed. She opened it and took out a golden pillow, which she then gave to Xing Daodu.

They both shed tears and said their farewells.

Xing Daodu left the house and walked down the road. He turned to look back, but the house was gone. In its place was was a tomb overgrown with weeds. He walked back and tended to the tomb, removing the weeds, tidying it up, and left.

He headed for the country of Qin. There, in the marketplace he offered the golden pillow for sale to the market-goers.

Passing by in her coach was none other than the royal concubine to the King of Qin. She saw the golden pillow through her window. She had the coach stop and asked Xing Daodu how he had come into possession of the pillow, her daughter's funerary pillow. He told her the truth--the whole story. The royal concubine became upset; she also suspected Xing was trying to carry out a fraud.

The royal concubine had Xing Daodu remain in Qin and ordered a squad of men to return to Cao to open the tomb of Madame Qin. They did so, finding everything except one item was intact. The missing item? Madame Qin's golden pillow.

As soon as she received the report, she summoned Xing Daodu before her.

"My daughter has been gone for twenty-three years, and now I learn that she was able to marry a living man. It is a miracle! To be sure, you are my son-in-law!" She wept.

That certainly meant one thing: Xing Daodu was the King's official son-in-law. The concubine presented Xing Daodu with horses, a coach and much gold and allowed him to return to Longxi.

Notes

from Hanwei liuchao guiguai xiaoshuo, pp. 43-44. (See the post for 3/26/09.)

Originally from Soushen ji by Gan Bao.

Now we are given a formula--a length of time--by which one may coexist with a ghost in close proximity, three days. A surprising detail: Xing Daodu decides to sell his ghost wife's golden pillow, probably a type of hard headrest. However, maybe he was suspicious about its origins . . .

The story may reflect a probably dying custom that once flourished on Taiwan and on the mainland (but under different guises there)--the so-called "infernal wedding" or "ghost wedding" in which the spirit, usually of a young woman who had died before being able to get married is placated by a symbolic marriage to a living man, already married or still single, who receives a payment for what is considered a totally unwanted honor. I think the best book on this subject is Professor David K. Jordan's Gods, Ghosts, and Ancestors: The Folk Religion of a Taiwanese Village (University of California Press, 1972).

We are not given the identity of Madame Qin's girl attendant.

Motifs: E363.5, "Dead provides material aid to living"; E422.4.4(c), "Female revenant in green clothing"; E451, "Revenant finds rest when certain thing happens"; E470, "Intimate relations of dead and living"; E495.2, "Marriage of a living person to the dead."

(5) News of the Next World

The philosopher Zhuangzi (Chuang-tzu) once visited the country of Chu.

While on the road, he came across a pile of bones that had once formed someone's skeleton. He picked up a bone and started talking to it. Of course the bone and the skull said nothing in return.

Zhuangzi then picked up another bone, placed it under his head and took a nap. Soon he was deep into dreamland . . .

Around midnight, he had a dream in which the skull said to him: "Would you like to hear about what life is like after death?"

"Yes," replied Zhuangzi.

"Well, after death," said the skull, "it is very, very wonderful! There is much freedom. There is no monarch to attend to; neither is there any official to enslave you. There is no year of the four differing seasons that make raising crops such an ordeal for the farmer. The years and time that pass belong to the individual. Even though here below every sacrifice is made for a king, the life of an earthly king can never compare to the life in the next world!"

Notes

from Guiguai xiao pin (A short sketch on ghosts and goblins), Chang Yangfeng & Ding Changqing, eds. Zhuhai: Zhuhai Chubanshe, 1994. pp. 25-26.

Originally from Zhuangzi (The Book of Zhuangzi) compiled by Guo Xiang (d. A.D. 312).
Zhuangzi (Chuang-tzu, 369-298 B.C.) was the renowned exponent of Daoism (Taoism) perhaps most famous for his dream of being a butterfly. Upon wakening, he wondered if he had merely dreamed of being a butterfly or if he was actually a butterfly dreaming he was a man named Zhuangzi. Motif: E261.1.2, "Speaking skull."

Stories of Filial Children -- Series One

In Taiwan and no doubt also in China and Hong Kong, one can find many books extolling the virtues of filial children and young adults of the past who have since become famous. These stories have been gathered into anthologies. Among them the most famous is The Thirty-Six Filial Children (Sanshiliu xiao), available in many editions and updated from previous editions that included fewer children, namely twenty-four children.

My intention is to offer now and then some selections from this classic of Confucian literature as well as from another similar book, Xiaodao, The Way of Filial Piety. The stories shall be presented in no particular order.

(1) Min Zhen (Qing Dynasty)

Min Zhen, with the hao Zhengzhai, formerly of Jiangxi and, later, of Guangji County, Hubei, lost his parents when he was twelve.

Afterwards, after he had already reached adulthood, he began more and more to notice how every New Year's others would hang up posthumous portraits of their parents and perform rites in front of him. He realized how he did not have such portraits of his own parents. It pained his heart terribly that he couldn't likewise pay respects to his parents.

So he decided to do something.

He plunged into the study of portrait painting.

He then set about to paint portraits of his parents. His memory of their appearance was fading, but he tried his best to paint them as they had looked. The first paintings weren't very satisfactory, but he kept painting. It took several years before he was able to paint any portrait, in his estimation, that was able to resemble to any degree one of his parents. As his skill deepened, his portraits took on a more and more lifelike quality.

Min Zhen later gathered all these portraits together in an album and thus mourned his parents and kept their memories alive as he reviewed these pictures.

In time he became a renowned painter, and others seeking to develop the craft of filial posthumous paintings would seek him out as a teacher.

He was very well known for doing his utmost to help other bereaved children who were too poor to pay for the accouterments needed to perform filial rites, painting for them posthumous portraits and helping them with burial fees.

Thus, did filial son Min Zhen become known to the whole nation.

Notes

from Sanshiliu Xiao (The thirty-six filial children) by Wu Yenhuan. Taipei: Guoli Bianyi Guan, 1979; p. 80.

This story is #35 in the Wu Yenhuan edition of this classic.


(2) Old Laizi (Zhou Dynasty--Spring & Autumn Era)

Old Laizi, a man of Chu (today, Hubei, Hunan Provinces) and a contemporary of Confucius, had been filial to his parents all his life. Thus, when he was seventy, his parents were still in good health.

Now it is not uncommon for one to associate age with death, all the more so when one and one's own child are both old! Old Laizi had anticipated his parents might feel this way, and so to reduce any sadness they might feel because of their advanced age, he refused to utter the word "old."

Moreover, in their presence he donned the colorful clothes and hair ribbons of very small children and would prance in front of his parents to hearten them, to shrink what must have been their unspoken fears of their own imminent mortality. Not only would he dance and sing but also he would pretend to fall down and cry in the manner of small children. Thus, he made them smile and laugh.

From that ancient time until today, his name has become synonymous with filial piety.

Notes

from Sanshiliu Xiao by Wu Yenhuan; p. 20.

This story is #5 in the Wu edition.


(3) Wang Shuai (Age of the Warring States)

When the mother of Wang Shuai of Wei was alive, she tended to be of a very nervous temperament and was particularly frightened of lightning and thunder storms. She often depended on her son for comfort.

After she passed away, she was buried in a very quiet, secluded place nestled in the hills among trees. Whenever he would hear the first rumblings of thunder, Wang Shuai would then immediately rush over to her tomb, kneel before it and say, "Mother, your son is here. Don't worry."

Thus he would keep a vigil at his mother's tomb on stormy nights.

Notes

from Xiaodao (The Way of Filial Piety), Chen Xiangyang, ed. Taichung: Shengxian Zhazhi She, 1986; p. 60.

This story is from a collection of stories edited by a publishing house affiliated with the syncretic Chinese religion, Yiguandao (or I-Kuan Tao, IKT, "the Comprehensive Way"). Formerly proscribed both in China and on Taiwan, IKT is now flourishing on Taiwan, and its adherents serve as the custodians of some very large temples there, such as the huge, historic Lu'erhmen Temple in Tainan. The faith itself is an amalgamation of Confucianism, Taoism and Buddhism. It also maintains a large presence in Southern California.

Of all the reasons I have for being grateful in knowing how to read Chinese--and there are many--being able to read and translate this particular story, a favorite of mine, is one of them.

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.