Chinese Ghost Stories (6 page)

Each morning at dawn the young husband found a well-prepared and ample repast awaiting him, and each evening also upon his return; but the wife all day sat at her loom, weaving silk after a fashion unlike anything which had ever been seen before in that province. For as she wove, the silk flowed from the loom like a slow current of glossy gold, bearing upon its undulations strange forms of violet and crimson and jewel-green: shapes of ghostly horsemen riding upon horses, and of phantom chariots dragon-drawn, and of standards of trailing cloud. In every dragon’s beard glimmered the mystic pearl; in every rider’s helmet sparkled the gem of rank. And each day Zhi would weave a great piece of such figured silk; and the fame of her weaving spread abroad. From far and near people thronged to see the marvelous work; and the silk-merchants of great cities heard of it, and they sent messengers to Zhi, asking her that she should weave for them and teach them her secret. Then she wove for them, as they desired, in return for the silver cubes which they brought her; but when they prayed her to teach them, she laughed and said, “Assuredly I could never teach you, for no one among you has fingers like mine.” And indeed no man could discern her fingers when she wove, any more than he might behold the wings of a bee vibrating in swift flight.

The seasons passed, and Dong never knew want, so well did his beautiful wife fulfill her promise—“
I
will provide
”;
and the cubes of bright silver brought by the silk-merchants were piled up higher and higher in the great carven chest which Zhi had bought for the storage of the household goods.

One morning, at last, when Dong, having finished his repast, was about to depart to the fields, Zhi unexpectedly bade him remain; and opening the great chest, she took out of it and gave him a document written in the official characters called
li shu.
And Dong, looking at it, cried out and leaped in his joy, for it was the certificate of his manumission. Zhi had secretly purchased her husband’s freedom with the price of her wondrous silks!

“Thou shalt labor no more for any master,” she said, “but for thine own sake only. And I have also bought this dwelling, with all which is therein, and the tea-fields to the south, and the mulberry groves hard by—all of which are thine.”

Then Dong, beside himself for gratefulness, would have prostrated himself in worship before her, but that she would not suffer it.

Thus he was made free; and prosperity came to him with his freedom; and whatsoever he gave to the sacred earth was returned to him centupled; and his servants loved him and blessed the beautiful Zhi, so silent and yet so kindly to all about her. But the silk-loom soon remained untouched, for Zhi gave birth to a son—a boy so beautiful that Dong wept with delight when he looked upon him. And thereafter the wife devoted herself wholly to the care of the child.

Now it soon became manifest that the boy was not less wonderful than his wonderful mother. In the third month of his age he could speak; in the seventh month he could repeat by heart the proverbs of the sages, and recite the holy prayers; before the eleventh month he could use the writing-brush with skill, and copy in shapely characters the precepts of Laozi. And the priests of the temples came to behold him and to converse with him, and they marveled at the charm of the child and the wisdom of what he said; and they blessed Dong, saying: Surely this son of thine is a gift from the Master of Heaven, a sign that the immortals love thee. May thine eyes behold a hundred happy summers!

It was in the Period of the Eleventh Moon: the flowers had passed away, the perfume of the summer had flown, the winds were growing chill, and in Dong’s home the evening fires were lighted. Long the husband and wife sat in the mellow glow—he speaking much of his hopes and joys, and of his son that was to be so grand a man, and of many paternal projects; while she, speaking little, listened to his words, and often turned her wonderful eyes upon him with an answering smile. Never had she seemed so beautiful before; and Dong, watching her face, marked not how the night waned, nor how the fire sank low, nor how the wind sang in the leafless trees without.

All suddenly Zhi arose without speaking, and took his hand in hers and led him, gently as on that strange wedding-morning, to the cradle where their boy slumbered, faintly smiling in his dreams. And in that moment there came upon Dong the same strange fear that he knew when Zhi’s eyes had first met his own—the vague fear that love and trust had calmed, but never wholly cast out, like unto the fear of the gods. And all unknowingly, like one yielding to the pressure of mighty invisible hands, he bowed himself low before her, kneeling as to a divinity. Now, when he lifted his eyes again to her face, he closed them forthwith in awe; for she towered before him taller than any mortal woman, and there was a glow about her as of sunbeams, and the light of her limbs shone through her garments. But her sweet voice came to him with all the tenderness of other hours, saying:
“
Lo! my beloved, the moment has come in which I must forsake thee; for I was never of mortal born, and the Invisible may incarnate themselves for a time only. Yet I leave with thee the pledge of our love—this fair son, who shall ever be to thee as faithful and as fond as thou thyself hast been. Know, my beloved, that I was sent to thee even by the Master of Heaven, in reward of thy filial piety, and that I must now return to the glory of His house: I am the Goddess Zhi Nü.
”

Even as she ceased to speak, the great glow faded; and Dong, re-opening his eyes, knew that she had passed away forever—mysteriously as pass the winds of heaven, irrevocably as the light of a flame blown out. Yet all the doors were barred, all the windows unopened. Still the child slept, smiling in his sleep. Outside, the darkness was breaking; the sky was brightening swiftly; the night was past. With splendid majesty the East threw open high gates of gold for the coming of the sun; and, illuminated by the glory of his coming, the vapors of morning wrought themselves into marvelous shapes of shifting color—into forms weirdly beautiful as the silken dreams woven in the loom of Zhi Nü.

 
The Return of Yan Zhenjing

Before me ran, as a herald runneth, the Leader of the Moon;

And the Spirit of the Wind followed after me—quickening his flight.

LI SAO

I
N the thirty-eighth chapter of the holy book,
Ganyingpian,
wherein the Recompense of Immortality is considered, may be found the legend of Yan Zhenjing. A thousand years have passed since the passing of the good Zhenjing; for it was in the period of the greatness of Tang that he lived and died.

Now, in those days when Yan Zhenjing was Supreme Judge of one of the Six August Tribunals, one Li Xilie, a soldier mighty for evil, lifted the black banner of revolt, and drew after him, as a tide of destruction, the millions of the northern provinces.

And learning of these things, and knowing also that Xilie was the most ferocious of men, who respected nothing on earth save fearlessness, the Son of Heaven commanded Zhenjing that he should visit Xilie and strive to recall the rebel to duty, and read unto the people who followed after him in revolt the Emperor’s letter of reproof and warning. For Zhenjing was famed throughout the provinces for his wisdom, his rectitude, and his fearlessness; and the Son of Heaven believed that if Xilie would listen to the words of any living man steadfast in loyalty and virtue, he would listen to the words of Zhenjing. So Zhenjing arrayed himself in his robes of office, and set his house in order; and, having embraced his wife and his children, mounted his horse and rode away alone to the roaring camp of the rebels, bearing the Emperor’s letter in his bosom. “I shall return; fear not!” were his last words to the gray servant who watched him from the terrace as he rode.

And Zhenjing at last descended from his horse, and entered into the rebel camp, and, passing through that huge gathering of war, stood in the presence of Xilie. High sat the rebel among his chiefs, encircled by the wave-lightning of swords and the thunders of ten thousand gongs: above him undulated the silken folds of the Black Dragon, while a vast fire rose bickering before him. Also Zhenjing saw that the tongues of that fire were licking human bones, and that skulls of men lay blackening among the ashes. Yet he was not afraid to look upon the fire, nor into the eyes of Xilie; but drawing from his bosom the roll of perfumed yellow silk upon which the words of the Emperor were written, and kissing it, he made ready to read, while the multitude became silent. Then, in a strong, clear voice he began:

     
The words of the Celestial and August, the Son of Heaven, the Divine Gezu Qin Yaodi, unto the rebel Li Xilie and those that follow him.

And a roar went up like the roar of the sea—a roar of rage, and the hideous battle-moan, like the moan of a forest in storm—“
Hoo! hoo-oo-oo-oo!
”—and the sword-lightnings brake loose, and the thunder of the gongs moved the ground beneath the messenger’s feet. But Xilie waved his gilded wand, and again there was silence. “Nay!” spake the rebel chief; “let the dog bark!” So Zhenjing spake on:

     
Knowest thou not, O most rash and foolish of men, that thou leadest the people only into the mouth of the Dragon of Destruction? Knowest thou not, also, that the people of my kingdom are the first-born of the Master of Heaven? So it hath been written that he who doth needlessly subject the people to wounds and death shall not be suffered by Heaven to live! Thou who wouldst subvert those laws founded by the wise—those laws in obedience to which may happiness and prosperity alone be found—thou art committing the greatest of all crimes—the crime that is never forgiven!

     
O my people, think not that I your Emperor, I your Father, seek your destruction. I desire only your happiness, your prosperity, your greatness; let not your folly provoke the severity of your Celestial Parent. Follow not after madness and blind rage; hearken rather to the wise words of my messenger.

“
Hoo! hoo-oo-oo-oo-oo!
”
roared the people, gathering fury. “
Hoo! hoo-oo-oo-oo!
”—until the mountains rolled back the cry like the rolling of a typhoon; and once more the pealing of the gongs paralyzed voice and hearing. Then Zhenjing, looking at Xilie, saw that he laughed, and that the words of the letter would not again be listened to. Therefore he read on to the end without looking about him, resolved to perform his mission in so far as lay in his power. And having read all, he would have given the letter to Xilie; but Xilie would not extend his hand to take it. Therefore Zhenjing replaced it in his bosom, and folding his arms, looked Xilie calmly in the face, and waited. Again Xilie waved his gilded wand; and the roaring ceased, and the booming of the gongs, until nothing save the fluttering of the Dragon-banner could be heard. Then spake Xilie, with an evil smile:

“Zhenjing, O son of a dog! if thou dost not now take the oath of fealty, and bow thyself before me, and salute me with the salutation of Emperors—even with the
lu gao,
the triple prostration—into that fire thou shalt be thrown.”

But Zhenjing, turning his back upon the usurper, bowed himself a moment in worship to Heaven and Earth; and then rising suddenly, ere any man could lay hand upon him, he leaped into the towering flame, and stood there, with folded arms, like a God.

Then Xilie leaped to his feet in amazement, and shouted to his men; and they snatched Zhenjing from the fire, and wrung the flames from his robes with their naked hands, and extolled him, and praised him to his face. And even Xilie himself descended from his seat, and spoke fair words to him, saying: “O Zhenjing, I see thou art indeed a brave man and true, and worthy of all honor; be seated among us, I pray thee, and partake of whatever it is in our power to bestow!”

But Zhenjing, looking upon him unswervingly, replied in a voice clear as the voice of a great bell:

“Never, O Xilie, shall I accept aught from thy hand, save death, so long as thou shalt continue in the path of wrath and folly. And never shall it be said that Zhenjing sat him down among rebels and traitors, among murderers and robbers.”

Then Xilie, in sudden fury, smote him with his sword; and Zhenjing fell to the earth and died, striving even in his death to bow his head toward the South—toward the place of the Emperor’s palace—toward the presence of his beloved Master.

Even at the same hour the Son of Heaven, alone in the inner chamber of his palace, became aware of a Shape prostrate before his feet; and when he spake, the Shape arose and stood before him, and he saw that it was Zhenjing. And the Emperor would have questioned him; yet ere he could question, the familiar voice spake, saying:

“Son of Heaven, the mission confided to me I have performed; and thy command hath been accomplished to the extent of thy humble servant’s feeble power. But even now must I depart, that I may enter the service of another Master.”