Chinese Fairy Tales and Fantasies (Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library) (36 page)

“Oh! Simple villager that I am, to lack the eyes to see! So it’s really Your Highness! How dare a foolish peasant take Your Grace out of his way?”

“This poor orphan,”
^†
said the king of Wu, “is a crude, rough fellow. But now that I see your air of learning, my thoughts of worldly fame and merit seem to vanish. All during my campaigns I have held your name in esteem. Today I come to pay respectful call in hopes of receiving your instruction, Master. Since the people of Chekiang have long been in rebellion, what can be done to win their hearts and minds?”

“Needless for a peasant to tell it to a man of enlightenment and foresight like Your Majesty,” replied Wang Mien. “If the basic principles of humanity and rectitude be used to win the people’s loyalty, who in the whole world could hold out against you? If you conquer our weak people by force, their sense of rectitude
will keep them from the disgrace of submission. Look what happened to Fang Kuo-chen!”

The king of Wu sighed deeply and nodded in approval, and the two spoke together until the sun went down. The king’s followers had brought dry rations of cooked grain with them, and Wang Mien went himself to the kitchen to bake a good helping of cakes and fry up a plate of leeks. He served the king and then joined him for the supper, after which the king thanked Wang Mien for his wise advice and left on horseback.

The same day Old Ch’in returned from town and asked about the visitor. But Wang Mien never said exactly who had come, only that it was an army officer with whom he had made friends when he was in Shantung.

A few years later the king of Wu calmed the catastrophic turmoil in the world and reestablished the sacred cauldron in Nanking—symbol of the continuity of the most ancient dynastic heritage. The realm was united. The new dynasty was called Great Ming, and the emperor’s reign title was “Overwhelming Might.” All over the land the peasantry worked in peace and contentment.

In the fourth year of Overwhelming Might, Old Ch’in went into the city and returned to tell Wang Mien, “His Honor Wei Su has answered for his crimes and has been sent into exile. I brought a copy of the whole notice to show you.” Thus Wang Mien learned that after surrendering to the Ming forces, Wei Su had claimed that he had been the new emperor’s loyal vassal all along. The emperor was so furious that he exiled Wei Su to Ho-chou, where he was assigned to tend the tomb of a famous general of the Mongol reign.

Another document that Old Ch’in brought back was the regulations of the Board of Rites governing the selection of officials. As before, there would be an examination requiring formal essays on the Confucian classics every third year. “Actually,” said Wang Mien, “these rules are awful. Whenever scholars have this route to fame and glory, they do not take a serious approach to the correct principles for composition, conduct, official service, and seclusion.”

As they spoke evening came on. It was early summer, and the weather was unexpectedly warm. Old Ch’in set out a table in a clearing for threshing wheat, and the two men enjoyed a supper with a little wine. Then the moon stole up from the east, making
everything glisten like an endless expanse of glass. Not a sound came from the sleeping seagulls and resting cormorants. Wang Mien held his cup in his left hand and pointed to the stars with his right. “Look,” he said, “the constellation Shackles will cross Literary Splendor. Things will not go smoothly for this generation of scholars.”

As Wang Mien was speaking, a sudden wind sprang up and knifed through the trees with an ominous hiss, scaring the water-fowl into croaking flight. Old Ch’in and Wang Mien covered their faces in fear. But soon the wind died down, and when they opened their eyes they saw something amazing: hundreds of little stars were streaming from every direction down toward the southeast corner of the sky. “Heaven may have pity on us yet,” said Wang Mien, “sending down this troop of star-princes to maintain the fortunes of the scholars—but not in our lifetimes.” They cleared the table and went separately home.

From then on, talk was heard that the Ming government had sent orders to the Chekiang governor to draft Wang Mien into the ranks of officials. At first Wang Mien did not take the rumors seriously, but the talk only increased. And so, without telling Old Ch’in, Wang Mien quietly gathered his belongings and slipped away by night to the K’uaichi Mountains.

Half a year later the Ming court actually sent an official with an imperial summons. He was attended by many men and brought splendid gifts. He arrived at Old Ch’in’s gate and found a man now past eighty years of age, his beard and sideburns silvery white, hands gripping a staff. The imperial messenger extended his courtesies and Old Ch’in ushered him into the cottage. “Is Master Wang Mien in this hamlet?” the messenger asked. “The Imperial Grace grants him the office of Consulting Military Adviser. I have come expressly to present the imperial written command.”

“He’s from our village,” replied Old Ch’in, “but it’s been a long time since I knew his whereabouts.” Old Ch’in offered some tea and then led the official to Wang Mien’s home. He pushed open the gate. Spiders and webs filled the rooms; brambles and weeds covered the paths. The official could see for himself that Wang Mien had been gone a long time. With a sad sigh, the messenger took his document back to the capital to report on his mission.

Wang Mien lived in obscurity in the K’uaichi Mountains, taking care never to reveal his identity. Some time later, he took sick
and passed on. His neighbors collected a little money and buried him at the foot of the mountains. That same year Old Ch’in also reached his mortal term. It’s strange, but these days writers and scholars speak of Wang Mien as Consulting Military Adviser, though in all honesty, when did he serve in office even for a single day? That’s why I have tried to set the record straight.

—Wu Ching-tzu

The ground is held in place by the major mountains. It has the rocks for bones, the rivers for veins, and the vegetation for its coat. Its flesh is the earth—the top two and a half feet of soil that things grow in. Beneath lies the ground itself.

—Chang Hua

In the southern corner of the extreme west is the great primitive grassland surrounded by lands unknown. There the vital forces of the universe, the
yin
and the
yang
, do not interchange, so there is no contrast of heat and cold. No light of sun or moon shines on it, so there is neither day nor night. The people do not eat or wear clothes but sleep most of the time, waking only once every fifty days. They believe that what they do in their dreams is real and what they do when awake is unreal.

The focal point within the four seas is our middle kingdom of China. Straddling the Yellow River north and south and extending over the Tai Mountains east and west, it contains many thousands of square miles. Its measure of
yin
and
yang
has been carefully determined, so it has equal seasons of cold and heat. The division of light and dark has been made with discernment, so there is equal day and night. Its people vary in intelligence. All things grow and multiply. All manner of talents and skills are found there. A king and his officers preside over them. Tradition and law sustain them. Their world is full of any number of things! They sleep and wake in regular order. They regard what they do when awake as real and what they see in dreams as unreal.

In the northern corner of the extreme east there is a land called the hill settlements, where the climate is habitually punishing. The sun and moon stay close to the horizon, and their light is weak. Most crops do not grow in the soil. The people live on roots and legumes and are ignorant of cooking. They are hard and ruthless by nature, and the stronger exploit the weaker. They
honor superior force, not social ethics. Most of the time they are on the move and rarely rest. And they are always awake; they do not sleep at all.

—Lieh Tzu

A Note on the Translation and Transcription of Chinese

The selection and arrangement of the tales drawn from the following sources was done by the editor. All the translations were made by the editor with the assistance of C. N. Tay. A number of these tales have never before been translated into English, and most of the others are scattered in books now out of print or difficult to obtain.

The translating was done in two stages. First, an extremely literal version was made in an attempt to reproduce as faithfully as possible not only semantic nuances but also syntactical and rhythmic patterns. The second stage involved making, as sparingly as possible, adjustments of diction and style in an effort to achieve maximum readability. In addition, brief explanatory phrases have occasionally been brought into the text, factual information (dates, names, places) at the beginning of some tales has been simplified, and in a few cases a redundantly didactic ending has been abbreviated or omitted.

Because the material is classical, not modern, the Wade-Giles system of transcription has been used. Place names, which usually have two syllables, are spelled as one word: Chinling, Tungan. A state name usually has one syllable: Ch’i, Sung. Dynasties always have one: T’ang, Ming. Names of people are written with the last name first, and the first name hyphenated, if in two syllables: Tu Tzu-ch’un, Hsi Fang-p’ing. If the first name has one syllable: Liang Hsü, Hsüeh Wei. Only rarely does the last name have two syllables: Ssu-ma Ch’ien.

Vowels and diphthongs in Chinese are constant and easy to learn:
a
as in f
a
r;
ai
as in Th
ai; ao
as in Mao;
e
as in h
er
;
ei
as in w
ei
gh;
i
as in mar
i
ne (
i
is sometimes written
yi
to avoid confusion with the English first-person pronoun
I); ih
like the
irr
in wh
irr; o
as in d
oo
r;
ou
as in
owe; u
as in fl
u
te;
ü
is an
i
pronounced with rounded lips.