Note: The third story is not for children.
(1) Tofu, Anyone?
High school had let out for winter break, so A. and his friend headed home on foot.
The night was black, dry, cold, and no one else was on the street. The empty streets coupled with the bone-chilling winter made the scene all rather bleak and eerie.
The pair had not gone far when they suddenly saw someone ahead, an old woman.
It was odd enough for an older citizen to be out alone on a deserted street in such cold weather, but that was the least of it. What was truly strange was her clothing: she seemed to be dressed in women's clothes fashionable during the final years of the Qing Dynasty (1890-1912). Her hair was tied tightly behind her head, and she was shouldering a bamboo pole, carrying a container, chanting, "Tofu for sale! Tofu for sale!"
It then dawned on A. that he had heard this woman's intermittent chants outside his dorm window at least once while studying, as if she had been walking a circuit around the campus, coming and going and then returning . . .
"Hey, you see her?" A. asked his friend more than once.
Instead of replying yes or no, the friend gripped A.'s shoulder, attempting to push him past her. Very briefly did A. look upon the old woman's face, but she did not return the glance, for which A. was thankful.
Both A. and his friend tried as nonchalantly as possible to walk by her, and both were very relieved to do so quickly.
A. later would concede that he couldn't say for sure that the old woman he saw that night was a ghost, but certain questions remained unanswered. Why would an aged person be in outlandish nineteenth century garb and out on chilly nights like that, selling tofu, of all things, at that hour, likely circling their school campus?
Upon returning home, A. promptly told his mother all about the woman selling tofu on cold, deserted streets. His mother later took him to a temple to pray before the bodhisattvas and had him drink down a concoction made from the ashes or powder of an amulet.
A. admitted he had gone along with whatever his mother had told him to do, for he had truly been scared out of his wits by the strange old costumed woman hawking tofu on a dark street late one night.
from
Meiwan yige zhenshide liqi gushi: xiaoyuan guishi [An intriguing true story for each night: bizarre occurrences on campus], Zilong Qichuan, ed. Beijing: Xinshijie, 2010; p. 12.
This story comes from an anthology of what the editor and contributors claim to be true high school and college/university campus ghost stories and eerie happenings. The Chinese original was told in first person, but I adapted the narrative for third person.
A. was presumably enrolled in a boarding school. In any case, it is not explained why A. and his friend are making their way home alone on dark, deserted streets at night. We are told in an earlier section that the school is in Hubei. A. explains that his school had all the qualifications for being classified as a "haunted campus": (i) an ancient history (with roots going back to a private school in the Song Dynasty); (ii) a somewhat remote location; (iii) a large area or campus; (iv) old buildings; (v) an attached hospital; and (vi) a neighboring lake or pond (5). The original list was of five items, with "hospital" and "lake" inexplicably lumped together.
(2) Midnight Taxi Ride
This story happened in some major urban area in China. Let's say Beijing.
Late at night, a taxi picked up a fare, a young woman in white gown, leaving a party.
She gave him an address and off they went.
He delivered her to her destination, a massive housing complex. Unknown to both him and her, the place where he stopped, on the passenger's side, was just mere inches from an open ditch, where, in the daylight, construction work had been going on. She paid her fare and left the taxi via the right rear passenger's door.
The young woman took a step back and lost her footing, falling into the ditch.
"Aiiieeeee!"
The startled driver turned around to catch a glimpse of her, white dress and hair billowing upwards, disappearing before his very eyes.
Oh . . . oh . . .! thought the driver, his heart no doubt racing. That's a ghost . . . Yes, that 's one of those ghosts! I just picked up and delivered a ghost . . . like in all those stories . . .
While the driver was gathering his wits and feverishly analyzing what he believed he had just seen, the young woman had managed to claw her way back up, seemingly materializing by rising from the earth, this time, by the front passenger's door.
"Ohhh . . . help me . . . !" she moaned, more out of anger than injury, but moaning nonetheless.
"Ahhhhh!" screamed the driver, pulling away and driving off as fast as he could, leaving behind a very annoyed and perplexed woman but also, later, providing local and worldwide society with yet another true tale of an encounter with the mysterious vanishing passenger!
from
Okay, so now you know this is not a true ghost story! Professor Li Yang (surname Li), an acclaimed professor of folklore from Qingdao, China, told me this story while he was here in the United States for his yearlong research work. Professor Li is a very modest man who claims not to be a good storyteller, but his telling of the story was a lot funnier than my version. He is, in fact, an excellent raconteur. Another one of his stories, "The Midnight Bus," can be found at 8/6/12.
(3) There you are!
This story supposedly happened in Ningde, in northeastern Fujian Province. It is supposed to be true.
A couple with a child fell on hard times and began to quarrel. As their economic problems worsened day after day, the arguments became more acrimonious. Soon, their quarrels became violent to the point where one day, while their child was a way at school, the husband took a kitchen knife and murdered his wife.
The husband now had two major problems on his hand: disposal of the body and the creation of an excuse to explain away to his son where Mother was.
With great effort and stealth, he was able to bury the body somewhere without anyone's seeing him. He then went back home, cleaned up the house and waited for his son to come home. He wracked his brain trying to think of lie that would fool the child and stop him from probing his mother's whereabouts.
He apparently didn't have to worry. For the first, second and third days, the little boy didn't ask a single question about his mother's absence. The father thought this was very odd.
"You haven't seen Mom for several days now. How come, my son, you haven't asked about her?" he finally asked the child, unable to stand it any longer.
The boy's face became clouded for a moment and then he said, "Why are you asking that, Father? Mom's been right behind you, laughing . . . only I don't like the way Mom looks now, Dad . . . Her eyes look scary . And Dad, how come you keep turning your back on Mom?"
The father turned around, but no one was there . . .
from
农村真实鬼故事, accessed 3/5/13.
The story ends without further explanation or resolution.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Monday, February 25, 2013
Chunwang & the Ninth Maiden (Han) -- Part Five
And so Chunwang, led by his wife, came before his father-in-law, the Master Immortal, a being that could be as sinister and dastardly as any entity from the lower regions.
Yet, at this moment, her father, much to her total amazement, instead of harming Chunwang on the spot, put on a great amount of charm. The two men sat together, with Chunwang in the seat of the guest of honor, drinking and eating happily with Chunwang, though, saying very little, as befits one whose father-in-law wields fearsome power.
Before concluding their dinner together, the Master Immortal turned to Chunwang and told him something. Then, he excused Chunwang from the dinner table and allowed him to go to his wife, the Ninth Maiden.
The Ninth Maiden had watched them from afar, and so when Chunwang came to her, she asked, "I know my father has probably told you to sleep somewhere this first night. Where is it to be?"
"Your father wants me to sleep in the East Bedroom."
"Oh," sighed the Ninth Maiden, "you could be in for some trouble, for in the East Bedroom, there dwells the Louse Spirit . . ."
"'Louse Spirit'?"
"Yes. It is a dangerous, loathsome creature that weighs 600 jin (i.e., 300 hundred kilograms) and feasts on human flesh. You won't see it when you lie down to sleep, but you can be sure it will come out in the middle of the night to eat you."
Chunwang gulped. "I hope you have some plan to save me!"
"Don't be afraid," she replied. "When you retire for the night, I shall give you a bowl of water, some meat, and a fine-toothed comb. When the Louse Spirit appears, say these words: 'There's water here if you're thirsty, and there's meat here if you're hungry. If you're neither thirsty nor hungry, get out! Otherwise, I also have the Ninth Maiden's comb to use upon you!'
"Trust me," the Ninth Maiden continued. "The creature will be scared to death of those words and flee like mad!"
That night in the East Bedroom, Chunwang prepared to sleep. Near him were the bowl of water, a plate of meat, and his wife's comb.
Sure enough, around the hours of sangeng (i.e., the third two-hour period of the ten hours of evening), Chunwang heard an ominous zong! zong!
The Louse Spirit had materialized in the East Bedroom. What did it look like? Imagine a louse as big and as heavy as a water buffalo! And there it stood before Chunwang, its every movement causing the walls and floors to reverberate.
Remembering the words the Ninth Maiden had taught him, Chunwang said, "There's water here if you're thirsty, and there's meat here if you're hungry! If you're neither thirsty nor hungry, get out! Otherwise, I also have the Ninth Maiden's comb to use upon you!"
Hearing that, the Louse Spirit turned tail, emitting gas and letting loose urine in mortal fear, and fled the East Bedroom.
Early the next morning, the Master Immortal himself, carrying a shovel and a bamboo broom, opened the door to the East Bedroom, intending with great pleasure to sweep up Chunwang's remains. Imagine his surprise when he saw Chunwang sleeping soundly, not a strand of hair ruffled upon his head!
The Master Immortal gritted his teeth and decided to come up with another plan, a better one, to do away with his unwanted mortal son-in-law.
from
Tan Daxian, p. 62
Note: "Emitting gas and letting loose urine" 屁滚尿流 is a Chinese expression appearing in the story, which means "to have the_____ scared out of you," or, in other words, " to be scared silly," "to be frightened out of one's mind," etc.
Yet, at this moment, her father, much to her total amazement, instead of harming Chunwang on the spot, put on a great amount of charm. The two men sat together, with Chunwang in the seat of the guest of honor, drinking and eating happily with Chunwang, though, saying very little, as befits one whose father-in-law wields fearsome power.
Before concluding their dinner together, the Master Immortal turned to Chunwang and told him something. Then, he excused Chunwang from the dinner table and allowed him to go to his wife, the Ninth Maiden.
The Ninth Maiden had watched them from afar, and so when Chunwang came to her, she asked, "I know my father has probably told you to sleep somewhere this first night. Where is it to be?"
"Your father wants me to sleep in the East Bedroom."
"Oh," sighed the Ninth Maiden, "you could be in for some trouble, for in the East Bedroom, there dwells the Louse Spirit . . ."
"'Louse Spirit'?"
"Yes. It is a dangerous, loathsome creature that weighs 600 jin (i.e., 300 hundred kilograms) and feasts on human flesh. You won't see it when you lie down to sleep, but you can be sure it will come out in the middle of the night to eat you."
Chunwang gulped. "I hope you have some plan to save me!"
"Don't be afraid," she replied. "When you retire for the night, I shall give you a bowl of water, some meat, and a fine-toothed comb. When the Louse Spirit appears, say these words: 'There's water here if you're thirsty, and there's meat here if you're hungry. If you're neither thirsty nor hungry, get out! Otherwise, I also have the Ninth Maiden's comb to use upon you!'
"Trust me," the Ninth Maiden continued. "The creature will be scared to death of those words and flee like mad!"
That night in the East Bedroom, Chunwang prepared to sleep. Near him were the bowl of water, a plate of meat, and his wife's comb.
Sure enough, around the hours of sangeng (i.e., the third two-hour period of the ten hours of evening), Chunwang heard an ominous zong! zong!
The Louse Spirit had materialized in the East Bedroom. What did it look like? Imagine a louse as big and as heavy as a water buffalo! And there it stood before Chunwang, its every movement causing the walls and floors to reverberate.
Remembering the words the Ninth Maiden had taught him, Chunwang said, "There's water here if you're thirsty, and there's meat here if you're hungry! If you're neither thirsty nor hungry, get out! Otherwise, I also have the Ninth Maiden's comb to use upon you!"
Hearing that, the Louse Spirit turned tail, emitting gas and letting loose urine in mortal fear, and fled the East Bedroom.
Early the next morning, the Master Immortal himself, carrying a shovel and a bamboo broom, opened the door to the East Bedroom, intending with great pleasure to sweep up Chunwang's remains. Imagine his surprise when he saw Chunwang sleeping soundly, not a strand of hair ruffled upon his head!
The Master Immortal gritted his teeth and decided to come up with another plan, a better one, to do away with his unwanted mortal son-in-law.
from
Tan Daxian, p. 62
Note: "Emitting gas and letting loose urine" 屁滚尿流 is a Chinese expression appearing in the story, which means "to have the_____ scared out of you," or, in other words, " to be scared silly," "to be frightened out of one's mind," etc.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
The Temple That Flew up Into the Heavens (Han)
There is a popular saying about the world-famous Shaolin Temple in Henan Province: "Just as there is a Shaolin Temple on the ground, there is a Zhulin Temple in the sky." "A Zhulin Temple in the sky"! How is it possible for a temple to be lodged in the heavens? The following legend explains.
On Song Mountain, one of China's five holiest peaks, there once stood magnificent Zhulin Temple, "the temple of the Bamboo Grove," with its tall, verdant bamboo stalks standing within the temple precincts. The temple housed more than ten monks who went about their daily business of burning incense and praying to and making offerings for the Buddha. This was their life day in and day out.
The abbot was a rather conniving, self-important man named Daoqi, who had aspirations to becoming an and then a buddha himself. In the daytime, he roamed the mountainsides, searching for plants and herbs by which he could concoct, through alchemy, an elixir to make his dreams come true. With all his experiments, he had boiled quite a few plants and swallowed many powdered capsules but to no avail. He remained as earthbound and mortal as the next man with the added results that his face had now taken a greenish hue and his personality had changed from goodhearted monk into something quite different. He was now said to be
"thirty percent human and seventy percent demon."
The youngest monk at Zhulin Temple was a child of little more than ten years, an orphan, given the name Daolan, for Master Daoqi always had him in a daily search for rare herbs and other plants to gather in his basket (lan = basket) to enable Daoqi to achieve his dream.
So, one morning, Daoqi screamed at Daolan to get up, get dressed, shoulder his basket and head out for the mountain slopes. With Daolan gone, Daoqi put on his robes and, with his rosary, and went towards the western peak of Song Mountain to gather some plants on his own.
While on the slopes of the western peak, Daoqi picked up the rich scent of some rare plant growing somewhere. The aroma filled him with encouragement. Could this plant, likely some kind of ginseng, he thought, be the one that allows me to enter the ranks of the buddhas, to become an immortal?
Just then he heard the sounds of giggling and laughter. He turned his head in the direction of the mirthful sounds. This led him to a cliff, where, below, he saw two boys running in a meadow, playing and having the time of their lives. He looked closely. One of the boys was none other than Daolan. The other seemed younger than Daolan.
"Daolan!" cried the master, standing on the cliff. "I sent you out to gather herbs, and instead what do I find you doing? Playing, gallivanting around when you should be working! Take care that when you return to the temple if your basket is not full! If it's not, I'll tan your hide! So, go on and play if you dare! Just mind my words!"
Early that evening, Daolan returned with a basket brimming with different kinds of plants.
"From where did you steal these?" asked Daoqi.
"No one stole anything, Master! I cut and collected all these myself."
"Nonsense! I saw you wasting time playing around with a friend. Are you going to tell me that these plants leaped into your basket on their own?"
"W-well . . ."
"Don't lie!" said Daoqi, brandishing his staff. "Those of us who have taken the vow and joined the order cannot tell lies! He who tells lies will never become a buddha himself. Now, tell the truth!"
"The boy I was with, Master, the ginseng boy, he helped me gather the plants . . ."
"'Ginseng boy'? What's his name? Where does he live?"
"His name is Shenguo (i.e., "Fruit of the Ginseng"), and he lives on the mountaintop."
"And this ginseng boy Shenguo can gather herbs and roots?"
"Can he ever, Master! Why, he can climb up the tallest tree or run up the steepest slopes to look for the kinds of plants you send me out to get, and in no time he can come back with a huge bundle!"
"All right. Tomorrow, he can accompany you. I want you two to pick as much as you can. Whatever you and he can't carry, I'll send some brothers to help you."
Early the next morning, Daoqi secretly followed Daolan up the mountain. He hid and watched as Daolan went to a cliff and whistled. Then, to Daoqi's amazement, a childlike figure seemingly unscrewed itself out of the ground. This was the ginseng boy, Shenguo. He was a little smaller than Daolan. He had three antenna-like projections jutting from his greenish head. His body was reddish and plump. Daoqi watched the two boys, hand-in-hand, skip off to collect herbs, carefree, happy, like two small boys anywhere.
Oh, thought Daoqi, now delirious, this is just too wonderful! Too wonderful! This is exactly what I had been looking for! This has got to be the flower that blooms once every three thousand years, the plant that turns into the ginseng of the immortals after five thousand years! And he's mine!
Late that evening, Daoqi called for Daolan to report to the abbot's quarters.
"Daolan," said Daoqi, "take this needle and ball of white thread. Tomorrow, when you are out with Shenguo and when it's time to come back, and when he isn't paying attention, pin the needle and thread to one of his horns. Don't let on what you have done. Return the remaining thread to me."
"But Master . . ."
"Just do it! If you come back without following my instructions, there'll be no food for you! Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Master . . ."
Small child that he was, Daolan had no idea why Master Daoqi would order him to do such a thing. In any case, Daoqi was the master, the abbot, and Daolan was obliged to follow his commands. After all, he, Daolan, was just a novice monk, and there must be a good reason for such an order.
Daolan did as he was told. As he turned to head back to the temple, he was surprised to see Daoqi heading his way, carrying a hoe, smiling like a madman.
"Ha ha! He cannot hide himself today!" chanted the older monk. "Can't hide himself today! Give me the thread."
Daolan handed Daoqi the now very small ball of thread and watched what Daoqi was up to. Daoqi followed the thread trail to a place on the edge of the cliff. He then started to heave away large rocks and dig as if his life depended on it.
Finally, he unearthed what he had come for--a giant human-shaped root, the ginseng boy.
Daolan gasped. The root was still, inert. Was this not his friend, the boy he had been playing with every day?
"Master, Master, is . . . he . . . ?"
"Yes, he's dead," lied Daoqi.
"Oh, save him, Master! Great mercy . . ."
"This is not a person!" said Daoqi. "It's only a shapeshifting mountain demon, and I'm going to boil and eat it! You should thank me for ridding the mountain of a dangerous being! So stop all your gabbing and get back to the temple!"
That afternoon, back at the temple, having ordered everyone else to stay away, Daoqi cleaned and washed the ginseng root. He then located the largest cauldron he could find and placed all the kindling he could gather under the cauldron. The cauldron was filled with water and the ginseng root was placed inside. He lit a fire beneath the cauldron.
This will have to boil for hours and hours, he thought, probably even after all these idiots are asleep for the night. Then, I'll have the root to eat all to myself. I'll have long since turned into a buddha and have ascended into the heavens, while these morons will still be scratching their heads and trying to solve the whole puzzle!
Who would have thought that right at that moment, as Daoqi greedily guarded the slowly warming cauldron, a visitor would arrive?
"Master Daoqi," announced a monk, "Abbot Wutong of Bailian Temple is here to see you!"
"All right, now listen to me," said Daoqi. "I'll be leaving the temple for a short time. Let it be known that nobody touches anything while I'm gone!"
Then, Daoqi headed to the main gate where visitors are received. Instead of courteously inviting Wutong inside to sit and enjoy refreshments, Daoqi left with him to go on a walk.
The last thing I need is for this meddlesome Wutong to know what I'm cooking! Daoqi said to himself.
As soon as the monks saw Daoqi leave, they gathered around the slowly bubbling cauldron which was already emitting an irresistible scent.
"Word is going around that the Master captured some kind of mountain goblin!" said one. Then, taking a peek under the cauldron lid, he added, "It's some kind of fat, juicy being! Oh, does that scent make my mouth water!"
"Hey," said another, "we all took orders. We're not supposed to even touch meat or wine or things like that! On the other hand, look at our Master! He's cooking this delicious meal all for himself! I'd say the old abbot is trying to pull one over on us younger monks!"
"You're right!" said still another. "Come on! Let's all grab a piece of what's cooking inside the cauldron! Let's all divide it up and enjoy it together! What's good for the old Master is also good for us! Why should he get it all?"
The luscious aroma and the sight of the juicy meat being boiled away was too much for the monks. They cut up the ginseng boy, each getting a piece, and devoured him like wolfhounds eating prey until there was nothing left.
So there they were . . . monks ravenously gorging themselves on what had been little Daolan's friend.
Daolan watched as the bits and pieces of what had been his friend disappeared into the mouths of his fellow monks. His heart pained him to see the spectacle, and he brushed away the tears with his forearm. Finally, the aroma was too much even for him to resist, and he had a spoonful of the soup the ginseng boy had been boiled in. He then put the spoon down in disgust.
Then came word Daoqi had returned. The old monk had finally been able to see Wutong off, ridding himself of what he considered a great nuisance. He immediately headed for the cauldron. He lifted the lid to discover the ginseng boy was gone and all that was left was some soup.
Daoqi was absolutely livid. He bellowed, viciously cursing every monk in the temple so loudly that none, including those trying to hide, could escape the invective.
Then, one monk appeared before him, little Daolan, the child monk.
"You old greedy demon!" said Daolan. "Taking everything for yourself! Then scolding everyone with disgusting language for daring to try a bit of what you have been coveting--the boiled remains of what had once been a living being! Very well, O Master. Watch this!"
Daolan took a ladle and scooped out the remains of the cauldron's soup into a large bowl.
"Whatever I can't finish, I'll pour out," said Daolan. "You won't get a drop!"
He proceeded to drink ladle after ladle of the soup.
Daoqi was now enraged to the point of bursting a blood vessel, yet he remained riveted to where he stood. When it became clear that Daolan had nearly finished the soup, Daoqi came to life and lunged for Daolan and the bowl. Daolan saw Daoqi coming, so, keeping the bowl level and pressed against his chest, he ran towards the front gate, with Daoqi not far behind.
Faster and faster Daolan ran . . . until he slipped, stumbled and spilled the contents of the bowl upon the ground, with Daoqi himself slipping and falling behind him, injuring his arm as he fell to the ground.
An earsplitting hua! hua! hua! immediately followed.
The sky thundered and the earth rolled and rocks flew. Those walking were knocked off balance; those lying prone on the ground rolled like ink brushes on a tilted table.
All around the temple spurted magnificent golden rays as rosy clouds gathered overhead.
Then, the whole temple--without one brick or beam left behind--slowly, surely rose into the air, ripping itself violently away from its earthly foundations, picking up speed as it ascended.
Inside the temple was everyone who had partaken of the soup. Daoqi, who had had none, desperately grabbed hold of the front gate threshold as the temple now soared upwards.
"Living Buddha!" he cried. "Please allow me to ascend with the temple . . . "
Daolan kicked Daoqi's arm with his foot, saying, "Fall, demon with a black heart, demon that dares to have drunken dreams of ascending into heaven as a buddha!"
The pain of Daoqi's injured arm was too much for him to bear, and so he let go. Down, down through the clouds he plunged, ending up as a silent, crushed lifeless heap somewhere below.
And so Zhulin Temple found itself in heaven. All the monks there immediately became immortals, with little Daolan achieving the highest status of them all. He had drunk most of the soup, which apparently housed most of the concoction's efficacy.
In time, another temple was built in the same place where Zhulin Temple had once stood. This new temple was, of course, Shaolin Temple. The two temples are said to complement each other--twin counterparts. It is also said that if one stands at the right spot in Shaolin Temple, one will be able to see Zhulin Temple way up in the sky. If this is hard to believe, there's only one to make sure it's true--to go there and see for yourself.
From
Qianqibaiguaide minjian gushi [Bizarre folktales]. Wang Fan, ed. Changchun: Jilin Daxue Chubanshe, 2010; pp. 124-128.
This particular legend, retold by Li Dongmei, appears in the above anthology without any accompanying notes as to when and where it was gathered. The anthology itself seems geared towards a middle school readership.
The story is very reminiscent of a Manchu tale, "The Ginseng Boy" (see 1/11/08). The resolution of the Manchu tale is on a much happier note. The present story is an interesting reflection on the potency of the ginseng root, suggesting when the root takes the form of a living being, which is then boiled for consumption, it has the potential literally to raise buildings off the ground and send them into the sky. The root can also enable those who who eat it or drink the soup it is cooked in to become immortals. Ironically, Daolan, technically a murderer for what he does to his abbot, ends up becoming an immortal of high rank after sampling the soup his friend is cooked in. Daoqi ,who had never tasted the ginseng root, is thoroughly castigated and meets a horrible end. Somewhat of a mixed message? In any case, the story thus remains a strong condemnation of venal monks. In a didactic note appended to the story, the editor writes: "Remember that the results of your efforts reflect you, and do not fool yourself that the means you took to achieve them do not matter" (128).
Motifs: D.431.6, "Plant transformed to a person"; F772.2.6, "Flying tower (temple)"; F773, "Remarkable church (temple)."
On Song Mountain, one of China's five holiest peaks, there once stood magnificent Zhulin Temple, "the temple of the Bamboo Grove," with its tall, verdant bamboo stalks standing within the temple precincts. The temple housed more than ten monks who went about their daily business of burning incense and praying to and making offerings for the Buddha. This was their life day in and day out.
The abbot was a rather conniving, self-important man named Daoqi, who had aspirations to becoming an and then a buddha himself. In the daytime, he roamed the mountainsides, searching for plants and herbs by which he could concoct, through alchemy, an elixir to make his dreams come true. With all his experiments, he had boiled quite a few plants and swallowed many powdered capsules but to no avail. He remained as earthbound and mortal as the next man with the added results that his face had now taken a greenish hue and his personality had changed from goodhearted monk into something quite different. He was now said to be
"thirty percent human and seventy percent demon."
The youngest monk at Zhulin Temple was a child of little more than ten years, an orphan, given the name Daolan, for Master Daoqi always had him in a daily search for rare herbs and other plants to gather in his basket (lan = basket) to enable Daoqi to achieve his dream.
So, one morning, Daoqi screamed at Daolan to get up, get dressed, shoulder his basket and head out for the mountain slopes. With Daolan gone, Daoqi put on his robes and, with his rosary, and went towards the western peak of Song Mountain to gather some plants on his own.
While on the slopes of the western peak, Daoqi picked up the rich scent of some rare plant growing somewhere. The aroma filled him with encouragement. Could this plant, likely some kind of ginseng, he thought, be the one that allows me to enter the ranks of the buddhas, to become an immortal?
Just then he heard the sounds of giggling and laughter. He turned his head in the direction of the mirthful sounds. This led him to a cliff, where, below, he saw two boys running in a meadow, playing and having the time of their lives. He looked closely. One of the boys was none other than Daolan. The other seemed younger than Daolan.
"Daolan!" cried the master, standing on the cliff. "I sent you out to gather herbs, and instead what do I find you doing? Playing, gallivanting around when you should be working! Take care that when you return to the temple if your basket is not full! If it's not, I'll tan your hide! So, go on and play if you dare! Just mind my words!"
Early that evening, Daolan returned with a basket brimming with different kinds of plants.
"From where did you steal these?" asked Daoqi.
"No one stole anything, Master! I cut and collected all these myself."
"Nonsense! I saw you wasting time playing around with a friend. Are you going to tell me that these plants leaped into your basket on their own?"
"W-well . . ."
"Don't lie!" said Daoqi, brandishing his staff. "Those of us who have taken the vow and joined the order cannot tell lies! He who tells lies will never become a buddha himself. Now, tell the truth!"
"The boy I was with, Master, the ginseng boy, he helped me gather the plants . . ."
"'Ginseng boy'? What's his name? Where does he live?"
"His name is Shenguo (i.e., "Fruit of the Ginseng"), and he lives on the mountaintop."
"And this ginseng boy Shenguo can gather herbs and roots?"
"Can he ever, Master! Why, he can climb up the tallest tree or run up the steepest slopes to look for the kinds of plants you send me out to get, and in no time he can come back with a huge bundle!"
"All right. Tomorrow, he can accompany you. I want you two to pick as much as you can. Whatever you and he can't carry, I'll send some brothers to help you."
Early the next morning, Daoqi secretly followed Daolan up the mountain. He hid and watched as Daolan went to a cliff and whistled. Then, to Daoqi's amazement, a childlike figure seemingly unscrewed itself out of the ground. This was the ginseng boy, Shenguo. He was a little smaller than Daolan. He had three antenna-like projections jutting from his greenish head. His body was reddish and plump. Daoqi watched the two boys, hand-in-hand, skip off to collect herbs, carefree, happy, like two small boys anywhere.
Oh, thought Daoqi, now delirious, this is just too wonderful! Too wonderful! This is exactly what I had been looking for! This has got to be the flower that blooms once every three thousand years, the plant that turns into the ginseng of the immortals after five thousand years! And he's mine!
Late that evening, Daoqi called for Daolan to report to the abbot's quarters.
"Daolan," said Daoqi, "take this needle and ball of white thread. Tomorrow, when you are out with Shenguo and when it's time to come back, and when he isn't paying attention, pin the needle and thread to one of his horns. Don't let on what you have done. Return the remaining thread to me."
"But Master . . ."
"Just do it! If you come back without following my instructions, there'll be no food for you! Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Master . . ."
Small child that he was, Daolan had no idea why Master Daoqi would order him to do such a thing. In any case, Daoqi was the master, the abbot, and Daolan was obliged to follow his commands. After all, he, Daolan, was just a novice monk, and there must be a good reason for such an order.
Daolan did as he was told. As he turned to head back to the temple, he was surprised to see Daoqi heading his way, carrying a hoe, smiling like a madman.
"Ha ha! He cannot hide himself today!" chanted the older monk. "Can't hide himself today! Give me the thread."
Daolan handed Daoqi the now very small ball of thread and watched what Daoqi was up to. Daoqi followed the thread trail to a place on the edge of the cliff. He then started to heave away large rocks and dig as if his life depended on it.
Finally, he unearthed what he had come for--a giant human-shaped root, the ginseng boy.
Daolan gasped. The root was still, inert. Was this not his friend, the boy he had been playing with every day?
"Master, Master, is . . . he . . . ?"
"Yes, he's dead," lied Daoqi.
"Oh, save him, Master! Great mercy . . ."
"This is not a person!" said Daoqi. "It's only a shapeshifting mountain demon, and I'm going to boil and eat it! You should thank me for ridding the mountain of a dangerous being! So stop all your gabbing and get back to the temple!"
That afternoon, back at the temple, having ordered everyone else to stay away, Daoqi cleaned and washed the ginseng root. He then located the largest cauldron he could find and placed all the kindling he could gather under the cauldron. The cauldron was filled with water and the ginseng root was placed inside. He lit a fire beneath the cauldron.
This will have to boil for hours and hours, he thought, probably even after all these idiots are asleep for the night. Then, I'll have the root to eat all to myself. I'll have long since turned into a buddha and have ascended into the heavens, while these morons will still be scratching their heads and trying to solve the whole puzzle!
Who would have thought that right at that moment, as Daoqi greedily guarded the slowly warming cauldron, a visitor would arrive?
"Master Daoqi," announced a monk, "Abbot Wutong of Bailian Temple is here to see you!"
"All right, now listen to me," said Daoqi. "I'll be leaving the temple for a short time. Let it be known that nobody touches anything while I'm gone!"
Then, Daoqi headed to the main gate where visitors are received. Instead of courteously inviting Wutong inside to sit and enjoy refreshments, Daoqi left with him to go on a walk.
The last thing I need is for this meddlesome Wutong to know what I'm cooking! Daoqi said to himself.
As soon as the monks saw Daoqi leave, they gathered around the slowly bubbling cauldron which was already emitting an irresistible scent.
"Word is going around that the Master captured some kind of mountain goblin!" said one. Then, taking a peek under the cauldron lid, he added, "It's some kind of fat, juicy being! Oh, does that scent make my mouth water!"
"Hey," said another, "we all took orders. We're not supposed to even touch meat or wine or things like that! On the other hand, look at our Master! He's cooking this delicious meal all for himself! I'd say the old abbot is trying to pull one over on us younger monks!"
"You're right!" said still another. "Come on! Let's all grab a piece of what's cooking inside the cauldron! Let's all divide it up and enjoy it together! What's good for the old Master is also good for us! Why should he get it all?"
The luscious aroma and the sight of the juicy meat being boiled away was too much for the monks. They cut up the ginseng boy, each getting a piece, and devoured him like wolfhounds eating prey until there was nothing left.
So there they were . . . monks ravenously gorging themselves on what had been little Daolan's friend.
Daolan watched as the bits and pieces of what had been his friend disappeared into the mouths of his fellow monks. His heart pained him to see the spectacle, and he brushed away the tears with his forearm. Finally, the aroma was too much even for him to resist, and he had a spoonful of the soup the ginseng boy had been boiled in. He then put the spoon down in disgust.
Then came word Daoqi had returned. The old monk had finally been able to see Wutong off, ridding himself of what he considered a great nuisance. He immediately headed for the cauldron. He lifted the lid to discover the ginseng boy was gone and all that was left was some soup.
Daoqi was absolutely livid. He bellowed, viciously cursing every monk in the temple so loudly that none, including those trying to hide, could escape the invective.
Then, one monk appeared before him, little Daolan, the child monk.
"You old greedy demon!" said Daolan. "Taking everything for yourself! Then scolding everyone with disgusting language for daring to try a bit of what you have been coveting--the boiled remains of what had once been a living being! Very well, O Master. Watch this!"
Daolan took a ladle and scooped out the remains of the cauldron's soup into a large bowl.
"Whatever I can't finish, I'll pour out," said Daolan. "You won't get a drop!"
He proceeded to drink ladle after ladle of the soup.
Daoqi was now enraged to the point of bursting a blood vessel, yet he remained riveted to where he stood. When it became clear that Daolan had nearly finished the soup, Daoqi came to life and lunged for Daolan and the bowl. Daolan saw Daoqi coming, so, keeping the bowl level and pressed against his chest, he ran towards the front gate, with Daoqi not far behind.
Faster and faster Daolan ran . . . until he slipped, stumbled and spilled the contents of the bowl upon the ground, with Daoqi himself slipping and falling behind him, injuring his arm as he fell to the ground.
An earsplitting hua! hua! hua! immediately followed.
The sky thundered and the earth rolled and rocks flew. Those walking were knocked off balance; those lying prone on the ground rolled like ink brushes on a tilted table.
All around the temple spurted magnificent golden rays as rosy clouds gathered overhead.
Then, the whole temple--without one brick or beam left behind--slowly, surely rose into the air, ripping itself violently away from its earthly foundations, picking up speed as it ascended.
Inside the temple was everyone who had partaken of the soup. Daoqi, who had had none, desperately grabbed hold of the front gate threshold as the temple now soared upwards.
"Living Buddha!" he cried. "Please allow me to ascend with the temple . . . "
Daolan kicked Daoqi's arm with his foot, saying, "Fall, demon with a black heart, demon that dares to have drunken dreams of ascending into heaven as a buddha!"
The pain of Daoqi's injured arm was too much for him to bear, and so he let go. Down, down through the clouds he plunged, ending up as a silent, crushed lifeless heap somewhere below.
And so Zhulin Temple found itself in heaven. All the monks there immediately became immortals, with little Daolan achieving the highest status of them all. He had drunk most of the soup, which apparently housed most of the concoction's efficacy.
In time, another temple was built in the same place where Zhulin Temple had once stood. This new temple was, of course, Shaolin Temple. The two temples are said to complement each other--twin counterparts. It is also said that if one stands at the right spot in Shaolin Temple, one will be able to see Zhulin Temple way up in the sky. If this is hard to believe, there's only one to make sure it's true--to go there and see for yourself.
From
Qianqibaiguaide minjian gushi [Bizarre folktales]. Wang Fan, ed. Changchun: Jilin Daxue Chubanshe, 2010; pp. 124-128.
This particular legend, retold by Li Dongmei, appears in the above anthology without any accompanying notes as to when and where it was gathered. The anthology itself seems geared towards a middle school readership.
The story is very reminiscent of a Manchu tale, "The Ginseng Boy" (see 1/11/08). The resolution of the Manchu tale is on a much happier note. The present story is an interesting reflection on the potency of the ginseng root, suggesting when the root takes the form of a living being, which is then boiled for consumption, it has the potential literally to raise buildings off the ground and send them into the sky. The root can also enable those who who eat it or drink the soup it is cooked in to become immortals. Ironically, Daolan, technically a murderer for what he does to his abbot, ends up becoming an immortal of high rank after sampling the soup his friend is cooked in. Daoqi ,who had never tasted the ginseng root, is thoroughly castigated and meets a horrible end. Somewhat of a mixed message? In any case, the story thus remains a strong condemnation of venal monks. In a didactic note appended to the story, the editor writes: "Remember that the results of your efforts reflect you, and do not fool yourself that the means you took to achieve them do not matter" (128).
Motifs: D.431.6, "Plant transformed to a person"; F772.2.6, "Flying tower (temple)"; F773, "Remarkable church (temple)."
Friday, February 15, 2013
Chunwang & the Ninth Maiden (Han) -- Part Four
When his wife, the Ninth Maiden, failed to return home, Chunwang was beside himself with worry. At the same time, the children cried and cried for their mother. Shouting at them to quiet down and stomping his foot only made matters worse.
What am I to do? he thought.
He did the only thing he could think of--he went in search of Brother Deer. He went to the mountain top and called out "Brother Deer" three times. By and by, Brother Deer appeared on the path and greeted him.
"Brother Deer," said Chunwang, "my wife has gone back to her celestial home and has not returned for more than two days now!"
"I know what happened, Chunwang," said Brother Deer. "It's not that the Ninth Maiden doesn't wish to return but that her father is keeping her from returning. Her father is not happy, you see, for marrying you, a mortal."
"What shall I do? I want my wife back! I have two crying children at home waiting for their mother!"
"Chunwang, there is a way. It is dangerous but a way nonetheless. Listen to me carefully. Tonight, when the night is its blackest, nine tiger gods will descend to drink from the banks of the West River. With your two children tied securely to your sides, and when the tiger gods have drunk their fill and when they one-by-one begin flying off into the sky, very quietly approach one from the back and grab tightly hold of his tail. The tiger god will fly into the heavens and deliver you to the realm of the Ninth Maiden."
"What are you telling me to do? To grab a tiger by the tail? And the tiger won't eat me?!"
"No, my brother, the tiger god won't. They don't turn their heads to the back to eat. The tiger god will pay you and your children no mind."
"And once I arrive there? What do I do then?"
"Once you get there, let go of the tiger's tail and give the two children a slap on their behinds. Their cries should cause their mother to come out from wherever she is."
"And," asked Chunwang, "if she doesn't come out?"
"Then, my brother, that might be it for you."
They parted but not before Chunwang said, "Thank you, Brother Deer. I'll remember what you said."
That very night, with his two sleeping children tied to his sides, Chunwang awaited the nine tiger gods to descend as he, Chunwang, kept watch by the banks of the river. One by one, the tiger gods, having drunk their water, proceeded to return to the sky. Chunwang grabbed hold of the tail of one and soon found himself, along with his children, flying through the air to a destination far beyond the clouds. He landed, let go of the tiger's tail, and slapped the two behinds of his children, who promptly cried out.
The Ninth Maiden appeared.
"Oh, you are here! You are now in deep danger, my husband!" said Ninth Maiden. "My father will certainly try to harm you!"
"So what shall I do?" asked Chunwang.
"Hmm . . . All right. He'll certainly put you to some tests. Let me know as soon as he has assigned some tasks. Now, let me take the children, for we must all go before my father!"
Notes
from Tan Daxian, pp. 60-61.
For parts one, two and three, see, respectively, 7/31/12; 8/1/12; and 8/9/12. For those who are interested in this Han Chinese version of the Supernatural Wife/ Swan Maiden, I apologize for not providing an installment earlier! This is a rather long folktale, much longer than those I usually translate. It might well run ten parts before it's completed.
What am I to do? he thought.
He did the only thing he could think of--he went in search of Brother Deer. He went to the mountain top and called out "Brother Deer" three times. By and by, Brother Deer appeared on the path and greeted him.
"Brother Deer," said Chunwang, "my wife has gone back to her celestial home and has not returned for more than two days now!"
"I know what happened, Chunwang," said Brother Deer. "It's not that the Ninth Maiden doesn't wish to return but that her father is keeping her from returning. Her father is not happy, you see, for marrying you, a mortal."
"What shall I do? I want my wife back! I have two crying children at home waiting for their mother!"
"Chunwang, there is a way. It is dangerous but a way nonetheless. Listen to me carefully. Tonight, when the night is its blackest, nine tiger gods will descend to drink from the banks of the West River. With your two children tied securely to your sides, and when the tiger gods have drunk their fill and when they one-by-one begin flying off into the sky, very quietly approach one from the back and grab tightly hold of his tail. The tiger god will fly into the heavens and deliver you to the realm of the Ninth Maiden."
"What are you telling me to do? To grab a tiger by the tail? And the tiger won't eat me?!"
"No, my brother, the tiger god won't. They don't turn their heads to the back to eat. The tiger god will pay you and your children no mind."
"And once I arrive there? What do I do then?"
"Once you get there, let go of the tiger's tail and give the two children a slap on their behinds. Their cries should cause their mother to come out from wherever she is."
"And," asked Chunwang, "if she doesn't come out?"
"Then, my brother, that might be it for you."
They parted but not before Chunwang said, "Thank you, Brother Deer. I'll remember what you said."
That very night, with his two sleeping children tied to his sides, Chunwang awaited the nine tiger gods to descend as he, Chunwang, kept watch by the banks of the river. One by one, the tiger gods, having drunk their water, proceeded to return to the sky. Chunwang grabbed hold of the tail of one and soon found himself, along with his children, flying through the air to a destination far beyond the clouds. He landed, let go of the tiger's tail, and slapped the two behinds of his children, who promptly cried out.
The Ninth Maiden appeared.
"Oh, you are here! You are now in deep danger, my husband!" said Ninth Maiden. "My father will certainly try to harm you!"
"So what shall I do?" asked Chunwang.
"Hmm . . . All right. He'll certainly put you to some tests. Let me know as soon as he has assigned some tasks. Now, let me take the children, for we must all go before my father!"
Notes
from Tan Daxian, pp. 60-61.
For parts one, two and three, see, respectively, 7/31/12; 8/1/12; and 8/9/12. For those who are interested in this Han Chinese version of the Supernatural Wife/ Swan Maiden, I apologize for not providing an installment earlier! This is a rather long folktale, much longer than those I usually translate. It might well run ten parts before it's completed.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Hearing but Not Listening & Other Modern Chinese Parables
with many thanks to Little Alys for all her encouragement
It seems on Taiwan there was a teenage lad who lived just with his mother in their small home.
From morning to night, the mother would say in a particularly grating voice such things as "Hurry up! Time to get up and read for school!" Then, she'd screech, "Your rice porridge's over there in the corner, getting cold! Hurry up and eat it!" At night, he'd hear, "Go and do your homework!" and "Get to bed! It's already late!"
Day in and day out, he'd hear the same annoying voice ordering him to get up, to wash, to eat, to go to school, and so on. He got to the point where he couldn't stand it anymore.
He ran away from home one day.
After the first two days and nights on the road, he found employment as a laborer for the owner of a small factory. After his first day on the job, the boss invited him after work to eat some beef noodle soup. The boss remained silent and smiled to himself as he watched the hungry boy dig into his meal.
"Wow, Boss," said the boy, talking between slurps, "you are so nice, much nicer than my own mother!"
"Oh?" asked the employer. "How so?"
"Well, you don't know the half of it. All day and night long, she screams at me to eat, to rest, to bathe, to study, to do this and to do that--always with the same horrible, raspy voice! I reached the point where I just couldn't take it anymore!"
The boss looked at him for a moment and then said, "You fool. Your mother worked hard to feed and to care for you! Did you ever consider what her life must be like? All she has ever done was to show you her love for you. Can't you see that?"
The boy suddenly felt ashamed. He excused himself and then ran from the noodle stall. He didn't stop until he was back on his own front porch. He entered as his mother was washing clothes.
"Where have you been, coming back so late?" she squawked in that voice of hers. "Huh! Your food's over in the corner, getting cold as usual! Hurry up and eat it!"
He had never heard such a sweeter sound, the boy decided.
(2) Let There be Justice
A young man, a scion of a family that had produced its share of judges and attorneys, had just finished his first term in law school at the age of eighteen and returned home to visit his mother and his father, a well-known and respected judge.
He sat down with his father in his father's study to catch up on family matters and other things of interest. Finally, they started discussing the law.
"Dad, in your long career," asked the son, "have you ever rendered the wrong judgment in a case?"
"A wrong judgment?" the judge asked. "Well, perhaps one could say there was one."
"Would you tell me the story?"
The judge then told his son a story that had happened when his son had just been born. It seemed there was an altercation and murder at a hotel. A tribesman from one of Taiwan's indigenous groups had gotten into a brawl with the hotel manager and stabbed him to death. The tribesman was arrested, imprisoned and sent before a tribunal. The presiding judge happened to be the man telling the story to his son. After hearing the facts of the case and the testimony from the witnesses and the accused, the judge pronounced the defendant guilty. The defendant was then given the capital sentence.
Something was bothering the judge, so he went to visit the condemned man in prison.
"Tell me now," said the judge. "Are you guilty or innocent? I'm offering you a chance."
"I'm guilty," replied the tribesman. "I took a life. That much is true and totally undeniable. You know the details, Your Honor. The man who I killed had taken my identification papers when I registered at the hotel for some kind of scam and wouldn't return them to me. I lost my temper. I guess he did, too. But yes, I did take a life. I will not deny it."
"You will not petition extenuating circumstances or other mitigating factors for a reduced sentence?"
"No. As I said, I willfully took someone's life."
"I see," said the judge. "Well, is there anything I can do for your family after the sentence is carried out?"
"Yes. My wife has just given birth to a baby. He will be doomed to poverty if some other family doesn't take him in. After I am gone, will you do whatever you can to look after him?"
"Yes. I'll do my best."
The tribesman refused to appeal, and the sentence was eventually carried out.
That concluded the judge's story.
"Well, what happened, Father?" asked the judge's son. "You just ended the story without explaining what became of the baby. Did you keep your promise?"
"Yes, I did," said the judge. "I have been keeping my promise to that boy for eighteen years so far . . ."
(3) Selling a Comb to a Monk
A small comb factory owner called in all his salesmen.
"All right," said the factory owner, "I need you to go out there and sell our product as it's never been sold before! I need people who can show me the greatest skills in sales as well as commitment. So, here's what I am going to do. I will offer a bonus to any salesman who can, within a week, sell a comb to a monk. Anyone who can pull that off has got to be one of the greatest salesmen in the world! Now, there's your assignment. Hop to it!"
The salesmen left the factory in different directions, each headed towards a temple or monastery.
Only three who were actually able to sell combs to monks came back a week later to tell their stories.
The first salesman located a monk sweeping temple grounds. The salesman made his pitch: "How would you like this deluxe comb?" The monk, being, of course, totally bald like all monks, bought one comb because he felt sorry for the salesman, especially for his having to use that very amateurish sales line.
The second salesman had better luck: he sold a monk, an abbot, ten combs. He had located this abbot of a windswept temple on a mountainside.
"You know what?" the salesman asked the abbot. "You can really use a bunch of these combs!"
"I can? Please explain how," said the abbot.
"Well, look how windy this place is!" said the salesman.
The abbot looked around at the wind surging through the palm tree fronds, the balls of dust blowing down the mountain, and the sand and dirt hitting the plastic awnings. Yes, it was windy on the mountain.
"Think of your congregants!" said the salesman. "They can comb their hair before and after kneeling and praying! Tidying themselves up before prayer would make them more respectful, wouldn't it?"
The abbot thought there was logic in this, so he bought ten combs.
The third salesman had even better luck when he visited a huge temple complex.
This particular temple was, naturally, bustling and had lots and lots of congregants, and as a result, the incense they purchased to burn in their rites made the temple quite smoky.
Interesting, thought the salesman. He knew the angle with which to approach the abbot.
"I have an idea to increase the donations to your temple," said the salesman to the abbot. "Are you interested?"
"Go ahead. I'm listening."
"Take a look at this comb I am selling. What if you offered an inscribed comb for every donation or purchase of incense? The comb could be inscribed with something like 'Goodness-accumulating comb.' Think of all the people who'd cherish a comb with such a felicitous message!"
The abbot thought for a moment. This particular abbot was a man whose imagination and vision matched the salesman's, and he could see all the possibilities.
"It's a deal," said the abbot. "I'll take a thousand combs to start with . . . "
And so of the salesmen who set out to sell combs to monks, only three succeeded, with one of the three selling more combs than he had ever dreamed of. One barely had any luck; another had a little more luck. The third succeeded beyond anyone else's wildest expectations, for he had done something the other two had not done. He had marshaled all the powers of his imagination to envision just how a monk might actually need--not merely want--combs.
Notes
I heard these three stories at a business meeting on January 25. They were related by my dear friend and brother, Joseph Tu, a great raconteur and all-round wonderful, delightful gentleman. The story of selling combs to monks already exists in many places on the web, making my translated version a Johnny-come-lately entry! In fact, more than one Chinese book on sales techniques has "selling combs to monks" or a close variation of it as a title.
The metaphor of "selling combs to monks" thus speaks for itself: to accomplish the unthinkable.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Ghost Brides -- Two Folktales About Ghosts
(1) The Ghost Wife Pays a Debt of Gratitude (Inner Mongolian)
There was a poor young fellow, a day laborer too impoverished ever to get married.
One day, his neighbor, a very wealthy young widow, asked him over to do some work.
"How can I help you?" he asked.
"Go to the well. I believe I dropped my hairpin down into it. Can you retrieve it for me?"
The young man agreed to retrieve the hairpin for her. Having done so, he left. However, as the young man later heard, the mother of the widow's late husband had accused the young woman and the worker of improprieties. Based on her suspicions, the poor young woman was beaten to death and buried.
That was that. As for the young man, he returned to his life of toil.
Something strange in his life did begin to occur, however. Someone was now preparing wonderful meals for him in his home every night before he returned from a day's work. One night, he came back early to spy through the window and see who had been cooking for him.
It was none other than the young woman--the widow--who had been beaten to death and buried not long ago!
"But . . . how . . . is . . . this . . . possible? Are . . . you . . . not . . . dead? " he asked.
"No, I'm alive, as you can see!" the young woman replied. "The truth is that I escaped from that house to be with you!"
She certainly did appear to be alive and well. The eyes are not supposed to lie.
They ended up marrying.
The young man certainly did not lack good food, for his bride continued to whip up the same delicious meals for him, which were always waiting for him on the table upon his nightly return from work.
How incredibly fragrant and flavorful these meals are! he thought.
However, one night he must have returned home early, for he discovered the secret that lay behind his bride's cooking secrets. He witnessed his wife standing over the freshly cooked food, dripping blood from her fingertips all over the food!
"What is going on?" he asked. "Tell the truth!"
She stood there, saying nothing. He asked her insistently again and again.
Finally, after the third time, she said, "All right, I am a ghost . . ."
"Yes," he replied, "I suspected as much . . ."
Instead of fleeing from her, he discovered he loved her all the more and was more determined than ever to remain with her as her husband.
Now that he knew she was a ghost, she asked him for a favor.
"Of course. What do you wish?"
"Please go to my grave and dig up my bones and remove them from that place to some other location no one knows about."
He did so, and shortly after, the two of them moved to Horqin (in Inner Mongolia). There, she gave birth to a daughter. The three of them stayed together and lived very prosperously.
from
Gu Xijia, Zhongguo minjian gushi leixing yanjiu [Research in the types of Chinese folktales], Liu Shouhua, ed. Wuhan: Huazhong Shifan, 2002; pp. 226-227.
What might be interesting to note in this tale and the one that follows is that the living man and female ghost remain together without apparently any ill effects. The previous ghost stories organized into six series (3/26/09; 5/4/09; 7/4/09; 10/1/09; 4/8/10; and 8/16/12) have been literary legends, with "actual" names and locations recorded. The ghosts in these stories, beautiful, charming, handsome or otherwise, have largely been noxious and therefore harmful to human life. The present two stories are folktales, not legends. In this first story, aside from one mention of an actual town (Horqin), no other names, not even those of the characters, are mentioned, as is often the case with folktales, which do not delve into the specifics tied to legends. (Two generic names are mentioned in the second folktale below, but the setting remains unidentified.) These folktales are diachronically presented; they could have occurred during any dynasty or era and are timeless, while legends are often linked to a particular era and location. Whether character or place names are given or not, these two folktales, like other folktales, are simpler and usually relate a poor but deserving individual's rise in status. Moreover, the ghosts in these folktales are not baneful and can, in fact, behave in time biologically and emotionally much the way a human would.
Another interesting aspect is in the folktale, unlike the legend, dreams and/or wishes can come true. A poor laborer can marry someone, albeit a ghost, from the upper class, thus breaching class differences, an event that would not normally occur in the ostensibly realistic legend and almost certainly never in actual feudalistic-era life.
Motifs: D1041, "Blood as magic [herb]"; E363, "Ghost returns to aid living"; cE422, "Living corpse"; E474, "Cohabitation of living person and ghost"; E495, "Marriage to a ghost"; H976, "Task performed by mysterious stranger"; cN831.1, "Mysterious housekeeper."
(2) Paper Manikin Wife (Han Chinese)
Impoverished young Li Guang lost a sum while gambling, so he went to his uncle to borrow some money.
"I'm getting married and need some money!" he told him. The uncle believed him and lent him the amount he requested.
There was one further matter. "Don't be surprised if one of these days I pop over to see your bride!" said the uncle.
That put Li Guang into a bind. What could he do? Obviously, if his uncle showed up and there was no bride to be seen, that would make Li Guang a huge liar. He wracked his brain for a solution. He finally thought up a plan. He went out and bought a life-sized paper manikin of a woman and propped it up in his bed to await
his uncle's eventual visit.
Finally, the day came for the uncle's visit.
Lo and behold, right before the uncle's eyes, from off the bed came a maiden--a real, live young lady!
The uncle was very impressed; his nephew had indeed married a lovely young woman. He then left.
Li Guang wasn't one to waste an opportunity or look a gift horse in the mouth, so he consented to live with her as his wife and did so for one hundred days.
On the hundredth day, the bride admitted that she was not a mortal but a ghost.
"For us to be together," she said, "there's something you must do."
"Tell me what it is, and I shall do it!" replied Li Guang.
"Go to the Liu family tombs. There, you shall find the freshly dug grave of Miss Liu, who passed away very recently. Dig up her grave and uncover her remains. I shall borrow them as my own to live in this world with you."
"Very well . . ."
And so Li Guang went ahead and did exactly what his wife had instructed. His wife's plan worked, and Miss Liu's body was now inhabited by the spirit of Li Guang's wife. Miss Liu was thus reanimated, and Li Guang married her.
from
Gu Xijia, Zhongguo minjian gushi leixing yanjiu, p. 227.
The story implies that the ghost had not originally been the spirit of Miss Liu.
Motifs: E.474, "Cohabitation of living person and ghost"; E495.2, "Marriage to a ghost"; E726, "Soul enters body and animates it"; and F990, "Inanimate object acts as if living."
There was a poor young fellow, a day laborer too impoverished ever to get married.
One day, his neighbor, a very wealthy young widow, asked him over to do some work.
"How can I help you?" he asked.
"Go to the well. I believe I dropped my hairpin down into it. Can you retrieve it for me?"
The young man agreed to retrieve the hairpin for her. Having done so, he left. However, as the young man later heard, the mother of the widow's late husband had accused the young woman and the worker of improprieties. Based on her suspicions, the poor young woman was beaten to death and buried.
That was that. As for the young man, he returned to his life of toil.
Something strange in his life did begin to occur, however. Someone was now preparing wonderful meals for him in his home every night before he returned from a day's work. One night, he came back early to spy through the window and see who had been cooking for him.
It was none other than the young woman--the widow--who had been beaten to death and buried not long ago!
"But . . . how . . . is . . . this . . . possible? Are . . . you . . . not . . . dead? " he asked.
"No, I'm alive, as you can see!" the young woman replied. "The truth is that I escaped from that house to be with you!"
She certainly did appear to be alive and well. The eyes are not supposed to lie.
They ended up marrying.
The young man certainly did not lack good food, for his bride continued to whip up the same delicious meals for him, which were always waiting for him on the table upon his nightly return from work.
How incredibly fragrant and flavorful these meals are! he thought.
However, one night he must have returned home early, for he discovered the secret that lay behind his bride's cooking secrets. He witnessed his wife standing over the freshly cooked food, dripping blood from her fingertips all over the food!
"What is going on?" he asked. "Tell the truth!"
She stood there, saying nothing. He asked her insistently again and again.
Finally, after the third time, she said, "All right, I am a ghost . . ."
"Yes," he replied, "I suspected as much . . ."
Instead of fleeing from her, he discovered he loved her all the more and was more determined than ever to remain with her as her husband.
Now that he knew she was a ghost, she asked him for a favor.
"Of course. What do you wish?"
"Please go to my grave and dig up my bones and remove them from that place to some other location no one knows about."
He did so, and shortly after, the two of them moved to Horqin (in Inner Mongolia). There, she gave birth to a daughter. The three of them stayed together and lived very prosperously.
from
Gu Xijia, Zhongguo minjian gushi leixing yanjiu [Research in the types of Chinese folktales], Liu Shouhua, ed. Wuhan: Huazhong Shifan, 2002; pp. 226-227.
What might be interesting to note in this tale and the one that follows is that the living man and female ghost remain together without apparently any ill effects. The previous ghost stories organized into six series (3/26/09; 5/4/09; 7/4/09; 10/1/09; 4/8/10; and 8/16/12) have been literary legends, with "actual" names and locations recorded. The ghosts in these stories, beautiful, charming, handsome or otherwise, have largely been noxious and therefore harmful to human life. The present two stories are folktales, not legends. In this first story, aside from one mention of an actual town (Horqin), no other names, not even those of the characters, are mentioned, as is often the case with folktales, which do not delve into the specifics tied to legends. (Two generic names are mentioned in the second folktale below, but the setting remains unidentified.) These folktales are diachronically presented; they could have occurred during any dynasty or era and are timeless, while legends are often linked to a particular era and location. Whether character or place names are given or not, these two folktales, like other folktales, are simpler and usually relate a poor but deserving individual's rise in status. Moreover, the ghosts in these folktales are not baneful and can, in fact, behave in time biologically and emotionally much the way a human would.
Another interesting aspect is in the folktale, unlike the legend, dreams and/or wishes can come true. A poor laborer can marry someone, albeit a ghost, from the upper class, thus breaching class differences, an event that would not normally occur in the ostensibly realistic legend and almost certainly never in actual feudalistic-era life.
Motifs: D1041, "Blood as magic [herb]"; E363, "Ghost returns to aid living"; cE422, "Living corpse"; E474, "Cohabitation of living person and ghost"; E495, "Marriage to a ghost"; H976, "Task performed by mysterious stranger"; cN831.1, "Mysterious housekeeper."
(2) Paper Manikin Wife (Han Chinese)
Impoverished young Li Guang lost a sum while gambling, so he went to his uncle to borrow some money.
"I'm getting married and need some money!" he told him. The uncle believed him and lent him the amount he requested.
There was one further matter. "Don't be surprised if one of these days I pop over to see your bride!" said the uncle.
That put Li Guang into a bind. What could he do? Obviously, if his uncle showed up and there was no bride to be seen, that would make Li Guang a huge liar. He wracked his brain for a solution. He finally thought up a plan. He went out and bought a life-sized paper manikin of a woman and propped it up in his bed to await
his uncle's eventual visit.
Finally, the day came for the uncle's visit.
Lo and behold, right before the uncle's eyes, from off the bed came a maiden--a real, live young lady!
The uncle was very impressed; his nephew had indeed married a lovely young woman. He then left.
Li Guang wasn't one to waste an opportunity or look a gift horse in the mouth, so he consented to live with her as his wife and did so for one hundred days.
On the hundredth day, the bride admitted that she was not a mortal but a ghost.
"For us to be together," she said, "there's something you must do."
"Tell me what it is, and I shall do it!" replied Li Guang.
"Go to the Liu family tombs. There, you shall find the freshly dug grave of Miss Liu, who passed away very recently. Dig up her grave and uncover her remains. I shall borrow them as my own to live in this world with you."
"Very well . . ."
And so Li Guang went ahead and did exactly what his wife had instructed. His wife's plan worked, and Miss Liu's body was now inhabited by the spirit of Li Guang's wife. Miss Liu was thus reanimated, and Li Guang married her.
from
Gu Xijia, Zhongguo minjian gushi leixing yanjiu, p. 227.
The story implies that the ghost had not originally been the spirit of Miss Liu.
Motifs: E.474, "Cohabitation of living person and ghost"; E495.2, "Marriage to a ghost"; E726, "Soul enters body and animates it"; and F990, "Inanimate object acts as if living."
Friday, December 28, 2012
The Tough Man & The Rooster's Eggs -- Two Chinese-Language Tales From Russia (Dungan Hui)
(1) The Tough Man
Some folks were amazed to see a woman leading a donkey, atop which was her husband.
"Aiya," some local menfolk said, "we might be afraid of our own wives, but not that man! Come on! Let's catch up to them and talk to him!"
The wags then ran after the short procession and stopped right in front of the woman. Before they could say anything, they noticed the man on the donkey was crying.
"Aiya," he cried, addressing the people before him, "my wife hit my leg, and now I can't walk!"
"Aiya," one of the group said, "he's afraid of his wife! Let's leave . . ."
from
Dungan minjian gushi chuanshuo ji [A collection of Dungan folktales and legends], Li Fuqing [Boris Riftin], ed. Shanghai: Shanghai Wenyi Chubanshe, 2011; pp. 196-197.
The Dungan people are Hui (Chinese Muslims) who live across the border from the far west of China in neighboring Russia, Kazakhstan, and other former states of the USSR. Some Dungan may also be partially of Kazakh or Kirghiz descent. The Dungan, like their Hui cousins in China, are Sunni and preserve many Chinese customs. Their ancestors left China in the late 19th century due to economic and probably political conditions. Their form of Mandarin preserves many archaisms; for example, instead of "president," they tend to say "emperor."
Professor Boris Riftin, the Russian academic who compiled the volume of Dungan tales from which the preceding and the following tales come, is a giant in the world of Chinese folklore research. I would venture to say that he is the preeminent non-Chinese expert on Chinese myths, folktales, and legends today. He has done research in China and in the past decade was a visiting professor at a university on Taiwan. Unfortunately, little if any of his work has been translated into English. His first exposure to the world of Chinese folklore was in the early 1950's, when he happened to encounter members of the Dungan community in the former Soviet Union.
The browbeaten husband, as witnessed in Laurel and Hardy two-reelers and Fawlty Towers, is a staple of comedy. This very brief humorous anecdote from a bygone era about a husband who from afar puts on a good front is reminiscent of the Chinese joke about the milquetoast husband who one day while being scolded suddenly develops some backbone and talks back to his combative wife about how, once a man makes up his mind, he will do what he wants to do. His wife then becomes furious and chases the husband to the bedroom, where he takes refuge under the bed. When ordered to come out from under the bed, he shouts: "No! I'm staying right here! When a man makes up his mind, he sticks to it and no one can make him change it!" This is what Taiwanese today might label as "the mouse's bravery."
(2) The Rooster's Eggs
A local yamen tyrant turned to his yamen runner one day and said, "I feel like having a couple of rooster's eggs. I'll give you three days to come up with them. If, by the third day, you don't bring me any, I'll put you to death."
The runner was dismissed and left. On the way home, he thought, Where in the world would I ever be able to find such a thing as a rooster's egg?
While at home, he neither ate, nor drank tea, nor spoke a word.
"What's bothering you? Why do you look so gloomy?" asked his wife.
"Aiya, I'll tell you why. The Laoye (i.e., "old grandfather," or local mandarin) has just ordered me to bring him two rooster's eggs in three days' time."
"Don't let it worry you," his wife replied. "On the third day, I shall go to the yamen and see the Laoye. Let me handle this."
The third day arrived, and the wife showed up at the yamen instead of her husband, the runner.
"What are you doing here?" asked the Laoye. "Where's your man?"
"Oh, Laoye, he couldn't be here today!" she replied.
"And why not?"
"He's giving birth to a baby!"
"What?! You shameless woman, saying such a thing! Who's ever seen a man giving birth to a baby?"
"Who, Laoye, has ever seen a rooster lay eggs?"
The mandarin didn't say another word!
from
Dungan minjian gushi chuanshuo ji, Li Fuqing, ed. ; p. 198.
For a tale with a similar theme, see the Sino-Korean tale from 1/7/08. A yamen was the local government house or office in imperial China, the seat of the mandarin's power.
Motifs: H919.4, "Impossible task assigned by (official); J1191, "Reductio ad absurdum."
Some folks were amazed to see a woman leading a donkey, atop which was her husband.
"Aiya," some local menfolk said, "we might be afraid of our own wives, but not that man! Come on! Let's catch up to them and talk to him!"
The wags then ran after the short procession and stopped right in front of the woman. Before they could say anything, they noticed the man on the donkey was crying.
"Aiya," he cried, addressing the people before him, "my wife hit my leg, and now I can't walk!"
"Aiya," one of the group said, "he's afraid of his wife! Let's leave . . ."
from
Dungan minjian gushi chuanshuo ji [A collection of Dungan folktales and legends], Li Fuqing [Boris Riftin], ed. Shanghai: Shanghai Wenyi Chubanshe, 2011; pp. 196-197.
The Dungan people are Hui (Chinese Muslims) who live across the border from the far west of China in neighboring Russia, Kazakhstan, and other former states of the USSR. Some Dungan may also be partially of Kazakh or Kirghiz descent. The Dungan, like their Hui cousins in China, are Sunni and preserve many Chinese customs. Their ancestors left China in the late 19th century due to economic and probably political conditions. Their form of Mandarin preserves many archaisms; for example, instead of "president," they tend to say "emperor."
Professor Boris Riftin, the Russian academic who compiled the volume of Dungan tales from which the preceding and the following tales come, is a giant in the world of Chinese folklore research. I would venture to say that he is the preeminent non-Chinese expert on Chinese myths, folktales, and legends today. He has done research in China and in the past decade was a visiting professor at a university on Taiwan. Unfortunately, little if any of his work has been translated into English. His first exposure to the world of Chinese folklore was in the early 1950's, when he happened to encounter members of the Dungan community in the former Soviet Union.
The browbeaten husband, as witnessed in Laurel and Hardy two-reelers and Fawlty Towers, is a staple of comedy. This very brief humorous anecdote from a bygone era about a husband who from afar puts on a good front is reminiscent of the Chinese joke about the milquetoast husband who one day while being scolded suddenly develops some backbone and talks back to his combative wife about how, once a man makes up his mind, he will do what he wants to do. His wife then becomes furious and chases the husband to the bedroom, where he takes refuge under the bed. When ordered to come out from under the bed, he shouts: "No! I'm staying right here! When a man makes up his mind, he sticks to it and no one can make him change it!" This is what Taiwanese today might label as "the mouse's bravery."
(2) The Rooster's Eggs
A local yamen tyrant turned to his yamen runner one day and said, "I feel like having a couple of rooster's eggs. I'll give you three days to come up with them. If, by the third day, you don't bring me any, I'll put you to death."
The runner was dismissed and left. On the way home, he thought, Where in the world would I ever be able to find such a thing as a rooster's egg?
While at home, he neither ate, nor drank tea, nor spoke a word.
"What's bothering you? Why do you look so gloomy?" asked his wife.
"Aiya, I'll tell you why. The Laoye (i.e., "old grandfather," or local mandarin) has just ordered me to bring him two rooster's eggs in three days' time."
"Don't let it worry you," his wife replied. "On the third day, I shall go to the yamen and see the Laoye. Let me handle this."
The third day arrived, and the wife showed up at the yamen instead of her husband, the runner.
"What are you doing here?" asked the Laoye. "Where's your man?"
"Oh, Laoye, he couldn't be here today!" she replied.
"And why not?"
"He's giving birth to a baby!"
"What?! You shameless woman, saying such a thing! Who's ever seen a man giving birth to a baby?"
"Who, Laoye, has ever seen a rooster lay eggs?"
The mandarin didn't say another word!
from
Dungan minjian gushi chuanshuo ji, Li Fuqing, ed. ; p. 198.
For a tale with a similar theme, see the Sino-Korean tale from 1/7/08. A yamen was the local government house or office in imperial China, the seat of the mandarin's power.
Motifs: H919.4, "Impossible task assigned by (official); J1191, "Reductio ad absurdum."
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