Monkey (17 page)

‘The sickness has entered the marrow of my bones,’ said the Emperor. ‘I am at the very point of death. How can you hope to save me ?’

‘I have a letter,’ said Wei ChSng, ‘which I shall give you
to take with you to the realms of death. It is addressed to Ts’ui Chio, one of the Judges of the Dead.’

‘I have never heard of him,’ said the Emperor.

‘He was a minister of the founder of our dynasty,’ said Wei Cheng, ‘and rose to be vice-president of the Board of Rites. He was held in great estimation, and when he died he was put in charge of the archives of the Court of Death. He often appears to me in dreams, and if you take this letter as an introduction to him, he will certainly oblige me by sending you back.’

The Emperor took the letter and put it in his sleeve. Then his eyes grew dim and he died. His wives and concubines, his heir and all his ministers, mourned for him with exemplary piety, and the body was duly laid in state in the Hall of the White Tiger.

If you do not know how the Emperor came to life again, you must read what is told in the next chapter.

E
VERYTHING
was dim and blurred; but it seemed to the Emperor that he was standing outside the Tower of the Five Phoenixes. A little way off he saw a groom holding his war-charger and motioning to him to come and ride to the hunt. The Emperor gladly accepted the suggestion, and set off in that direction. But when he had gone some way, he suddenly became aware that horse and groom had both vanished. He was in wild country, walking all alone. He was looking about for some path or track, when he heard a voice shouting at him: ‘This way, great Emperor of T’ang, this way!’ Going in the direction of the voice, he found a man kneeling down and crying, ‘Forgive me, great King, for having come only this far to meet you.’

‘Who are you,’ asked the Emperor, ‘and why did you come out to meet me ?’

‘About half a month ago,’ said he, ‘in the Halls of Death I came across the Dragon of the Ching River, who complained that your Majesty first promised to save him, and then had him beheaded, and that the Senior Judge of the Dead had sent demons to arrest you and bring you to trial. That is why I expected that you would be coming this way. My name is Ts’ui Chio, and I was once vice-president of the Board of Rites. Now I am an assistant judge at the Courts of the Dead.’

“This is indeed a fortunate meeting,’ said the Emperor, motioning Ts’ui to rise from his knees. ‘I have a letter for you from my minister Wei Ch£ng.’ And he took the letter out of his sleeve.

This was what Ts’ui Chio read: ‘Your junior, Wei Ch£ng, unworthy of your love, bows his head and salutes his venerable bond-brother Ts’ui. Looking back upon our meetings in old days, I seem to see you before me, and hear the sound of your voice. But years have sped since I received the benefit of your advice. At stated times and seasons I make offerings
to your soul, but do not know whether you receive them. You have indeed been kind enough to inform me in dreams of your high promotion; but the worlds of Light and Darkness lie far apart, and we cannot meet face to face. It occurred to me, when his Majesty the Emperor suddenly passed away, that he would certainly come across you at the tribunal of the dead. I beg of you, in remembrance of our friendship while you were alive, to put in a word for his Majesty, in case there is any question of his being allowed to return to life. Thanking you again, I must now close.’

‘I heard about Wei Cheng killing the dragon in a dream,’ said Ts’ui Chio. ‘A remarkable feat! I know that he has been very kind in looking after my descendants. Your Majesty may rest assured that, having received this letter, I shall see to it that your Majesty returns to the World of Light, and to your Palace!’

At this point two servants carrying a huge umbrella-of-state, with long streamers, arrived crying, ‘The King of Death requests your presence!’ The Emperor let them take charge of him, and he soon arrived at a gate above which was the inscription ‘Tribunal of the Realms of Darkness’, written in letters of gold. Going in, he came to a street at the side of which stood his predecessor Li Yuan, his elder brother Li Chien-chdng and his deceased younger brother Li Yiian-chi. They came forward crying ‘Here is Shih-min!’ His brothers clutched at him, imploring him to save them. He tried to slip past, but they barred his path. At last Ts’ui Chio told a hook-tusked, blue-faced demon to drive them back, and the Emperor was able to proceed. Soon they came to a high, green-tiled platform. There was a tinkle of girdle-jades, a waft of strange perfume, and a number of torchbearers arrived, followed by the ten Judges of the Dead, who advanced towards the Emperor, bowing low. He did not dare accept their homage, and stood hesitating.

‘We are kings of the dead in the World of Darkness, you are a king of men in the World of Light. We and you each have our sphere, and need not stand on overmuch ceremony.’

‘I come here to answer for a crime,’ said the Emperor,
‘and it is not for me to stand upon my rights as a sovereign of the living.’

When they had taken their seats in the Hall, and the Emperor had been motioned to his proper place as defendant, the First Judge addressed him as follows:

‘The dragon of the Ching River accuses your Majesty of having promised to save him, and having then beheaded him. What have you to say ?’

‘It was with the express intention of saving him,’ said the Emperor, ‘that I invited Wei Cheng to play draughts with me. Unfortunately Wei Cheng fell asleep, and in his dream he executed this dragon. What happened was due to a momentary nervous breakdown which incapacitated my minister, and in any case the dragon was guilty of a mortal offence. I can’t see that I am to blame.’

‘We are quite aware,’ said the Judge, ‘that even before this dragon was born it was already entered in the Book of Fate that he was to be beheaded by a human official. But as he made this complaint about you we were under an obligation to bring your Majesty here, and investigate the charge. We shall now submit him to the action of the Wheel of Incarnation and he will enter upon a new existence. It only remains to ask your Majesty to step down, and forgive us for the inconvenience to which you have been put.’

He then ordered the records to be brought, that he might see how long the Emperor had still to live. Ts’ui, whose duty it was to keep the archives, hurried off to the office where they were kept, and taking out the file where the dossiers of all the kings in the world were kept, he turned up that of the king of T’ang, and found that he was destined to die in the thirteenth year of the period Cheng-kuan. He quickly seized a brush and added three strokes. Then he presented the papers. The First Judge glanced at them, and saw that the Emperor was to die in the thirty-third year of Cheng-kuan.

‘How long have you been on the throne ?’ he asked.

‘Thirteen years,’ said the Emperor.

‘That gives you twenty more years to live,’ said the Judge. “There is no need to detain you any further.’

Ts’ui and a captain-ghost called Chu were detailed to
escort him back to life. As he was going out, he turned and asked whether he might feel happy about the various members of his family, or whether any of them was in danger.

‘They are all quite safe,’ said the Judge, ‘except your younger sister. It does not look as though she has long to live.’ The Emperor thanked him, and added, ‘I should very much like to send you a little present, of some kind when I get back. How about some melons ?’

‘We have plenty of western melons and eastern melons,’ said the Judge. ‘But we are very badly off for southern melons.’

‘I’ll make a point of sending you some,’ said the Emperor. Then, guided by Chu, who led the way with his ghost-guiding banner, and Ts’ui escorting him in the rear, the Emperor set out for the Realm of Light.

They crossed the River of Death and came presently to the City of the Slain. As he entered, the Emperor’s ears were assailed by a hubbub of clamouring voices. He could clearly distinguish the words ‘Li Shih-min has come!’ A moment later a throng of pitiable ghosts, some headless, some with mangled limbs or bodies deformed by the rack, pressed about him shouting, ‘Give us back our lives!’ He tried to evade them, crying to Ts’ui for help.

‘Those,’ said Ts’ui, ‘are the ghosts of brigands and robbers who were caught and put to death. Here there is no one to receive them, and they are cut off from Salvation. They have no money or belongings, and are indeed what is known as
pretas
or hungry ghosts. If you gave them some money you would soon be rid of them.’

‘I came here empty-handed,’ said the Emperor. ‘How am I to get money ?’

‘Among the living,’ said Ts’ui, ‘there is one who has credit with us for great sums of silver and gold. You can borrow from him on my guarantee, and scatter alms among these ghosts. Then they will let you pass.’

‘Who is this man ?’ the Emperor asked.

‘He is called Hsiang Liang,’ said Ts’ui. ‘And there are thirteen casks of silver and gold to his credit here. You can repay him what you borrow when you get back to life.’

So the Emperor borrowed silver and gold, and Captain Chu flung it among the ghosts. ‘Divide it fairly between you and let his Majesty pass,’ Ts’ui cried to them. ‘When he gets back, he will have a great mass said for you, and you shall all be saved.’

Setting out again, they came presently to a gate where Ts’ui said, ‘This is almost the end of your journey. I shall now leave you in the hands of Captain Chu, who will escort you on the short remaining stage. Don’t forget to celebrate the Great Mass for the salvation of the souls of the hungry. A king against whom no tongue clamours in the underworld for vengeance, will rule long years in peace.’ He parted from Ts’ui and followed Chu through the gate. At the far side they found a dappled palfry, ready saddled. Chu helped him to mount it, and in a single, short gallop the Emperor came to the banks of the Wei River, which ran to the south of his capital. In the river were two golden carp sporting together and leaping in and out of the waves. The Emperor found them delightful to look at and, reining in his horse, he watched them attentively. ‘There’s no time to lose,’ cried Chu, coming up from behind. ‘You must press on to the City.’ But the Emperor continued to gaze at the river. Suddenly, with a loud cry, Chu pushed the horse and its rider into the river.

Meanwhile the Emperor’s family and ministers, and all the ladies of the Court, were gathered round the coffin in the Hall of the White Tiger, sadly performing the last rites of the Imperial mourning. Suddenly there came from within the coffin a stifled cry, ‘He has drowned me, he has drowned me!’ The mourners were so startled that no one dared approach the coffin and see what was amiss. At last the upright Hsu, the valiant Ch’in and the dauntless Ching-te approached the coffin, and bending over it said, ‘If your Majesty is in any sort of discomfort, we beg that you will tell us about it frankly. But we must ask you not to indulge in any spookeries or ghost-tricks, or you will unnerve your family.’

‘It isn’t a question of spookeries or anything of the kind,’ insisted the minister Wei Cheng. ‘The simple fact of the matter is that his Majesty has come back to life. Bring tools at
once.’ They accordingly prised open the coffin, and there was the Emperor sitting inside, still shouting, ‘He’s drowned me. Will no one fish me out ?’

‘Your Majesty will soon come to your senses,’ they said, supporting him on each side. ‘Your ministers are all here in attendance upon you.’

‘I was in a very awkward fix just now,’ said the Emperor, opening his eyes. ‘I had hardly escaped from the Courts of Death, when I was pushed into the water and almost drowned.’

‘Pray calm yourself,’ said his ministers, ‘and tell us what water it was that you were drowning in.’

‘I was on horseback,’ he said, ‘and had just reached the Wei river, when I noticed a pair of fishes playing in the stream. While I was watching them, Captain Chu pushed my horse, and I fell headlong into the river.’

‘Your Majesty is not yet quite in possession of your living senses,’ said Wei Che’ng. The Court physician was hastily summoned, and prescribed restorative medicines, and gruel was prepared. After a few doses the Emperor was completely restored and capable of transacting affairs.

At next day’s Court, after pronouncing a general amnesty, the Emperor issued an appeal for a volunteer who would undertake to bring melons to the Judges of the Dead. At the same time he ordered the Treasurer to go with gold and silver to K’ai-feng, and repay Hsiang Liang. After a few days a certain Liu Ch’iian, a man of considerable wealth, answered the appeal with regard to the melons. It appeared that one day his wife, Blue Lotus, was standing at the door of the house, when a priest passed by, and she took out her golden hair-pin and gave it to him as alms. Liu spoke roughly to her, saying that a woman had no right to be in the front part of the house at all. Blue Lotus, stung to the quick by his reproaches, immediately hanged herself, leaving behind her two little girls who wept piteously night and day. Liu now began to feel such remorse that he decided to end his life, and he was quite ready to take the melons with him. When he reported to the Emperor, he was asked to go to the storerooms, where he was given a pair of southern melons,
yellow cash was put into his sleeve, and a dose of poison into his mouth.

He arrived at the frontier-gates of Death carrying the melons on his head. When the guardian ghost asked him his business, he explained that he was bringing the melons as a present to the Judges of the Dead from his majesty, the King of China. The guardian hesitated to show him in. ‘He’s a truthful, reliable fellow, that Emperor!’ said Yama, King of Death. “That’s fine!’ He took the melons, and asked Liu who he was. ‘I am called Liu Ch’iian,’ said Liu. ‘My wife hanged herself, leaving me with two small girls. I decided to do away with myself, and wishing at the same time to do a service to my country, I undertook to bring with me this present of melons which the Emperor of China wishes to give your Majesty as a thank-offering.’ When Yama and the Judges heard this they sent for the ghost of Blue Lotus, whom the ghostly messengers at once discovered and brought to Liu. Reference to the Registers of Death showed that both of them were destined to live to a ripe old age. But when Yama ordered them to be taken back to life, the messenger objected that Blue Lotus’s spirit had been in the underworld for a considerable time, and he doubted whether the body which she had left behind would still be serviceable. “The Emperor’s sister Jade Bud is due to die,’ said Yama. ‘You had better borrow her body.’