Chinese Fairy Tales and Fantasies (Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library) (19 page)

“Good sir,” replied the wolf, “to quote Confucius, ‘You may know the first part, but you have yet to learn the second.’ Allow me to explain, if you would condescend to listen. When all this began, the scholar saved my life by tying up my four feet, hiding me in his bag, and loading his ‘classics’ on top of me. I curled myself up, not daring to breathe. In addition, he went on and on trying to convince Chien Tzu of his innocence with the apparent intention of letting me die in the bag and stealing all the glory for himself! Why shouldn’t I eat him up for this?”

The elder looked hard at the scholar and said, “Well, if that’s the case, then you’re to blame—just like the ancient archer Yi who taught all he knew to the man who later killed him.” Feeling deeply wronged, the scholar described in detail his compassionate intent in putting the wolf in his bag. But the wolf also strove to win the argument with great cunning.

“I am afraid neither of you is fully convincing,” said the elder. “Try putting the wolf back into the bag so I can see what it was like and whether it was really as painful as the wolf says.”

The wolf was only too glad to do so. He stretched his legs towards the scholar, who tied him up and put him in the bag once again. Then Mr. Tung-kuo shouldered the bag up onto the ass. The wolf did not know what was going on. “Have you a knife?” the elder whispered to the scholar.

“Yes,” he replied and drew it out. The elder signaled with a glance for the scholar to stab the wolf.

“Won’t that hurt him?” asked the scholar.

Smiling, the elder replied, “Still ‘can’t bear to kill’ even such a treacherous beast? You may be humane, but your foolishness is greater. If you go down a well to save someone, or take off your
clothes to keep a friend alive, it may be to the other’s advantage, but what’s the point of dying in the bargain? Are you one of
that
sort? Surely no gentleman and scholar approves compassion that descends to folly.” So saying, the elder laughed loudly, and so did the scholar. The elder helped the scholar with the knife, and together they put the wolf to death, threw his body on the road, and left.

—
Ma Chung-hsi

A man named Ch’ien went to the market and was walking home late at the foot of the hills when several dozen wolves sprang out. They made a hungry circle around him. Desperate, Ch’ien saw a pile of firewood more than ten feet high by the side of the road and swiftly clambered to the top. None of the wolves could climb it. But a few of them ran off and returned in a short while escorting an animal, much the way porters ferry an official in a sedan-chair.

The crowd of wolves bent their ears to the animal’s mouth as if he were imparting secrets. Next they leaped up and began pulling branches from the bottom of the woodpile. Soon the whole pile was about to collapse. Panicking, Ch’ien cried for help. By chance some woodcutters heard his voice and came shouting.

The wolves fled in fright, leaving behind the animal they had brought. Ch’ien and the woodsmen looked it over carefully. It resembled a wolf but was not a wolf. It had round eyes, a short neck, a long snout, and fearsome teeth. Its back legs were long but weak, and it could not stand on them. Its cry was like a gibbon’s howl.

Ch’ien spoke to it: “You and I are no enemies! Why did you serve the wolves as strategist in their attempt to kill me?”

The beast knocked its head against the ground and wailed as if repenting. The men dragged it to a wineshop in the village ahead, cooked it, and had it for dinner.

—
Yüan Mei

In the land of Sung there was a monkey keeper who loved monkeys. He raised a whole swarm of them and could understand their thoughts. They were so dear to him that he would take food from the mouths of his own family to satisfy them. But still the time came when he had to reduce their provisions. Fearing that they would stop obeying him, he decided to trick them into accepting short rations. “Here are chestnuts for you,” he told them. “You’ll get three each morning and four each evening. Is that enough?” The monkeys rose up in anger. Then the trainer said, “Very well; four each morning and three each evening. Is that enough?” Delighted, the monkeys agreed.

—
Lieh Tzu

The leader of the T’ien clan was preparing a grand feast for a thousand guests. At the place of honor someone presented an offering of fish and wild geese. The clan leader examined the offering and sighed, “How generous heaven is to the people, growing the five grains and breeding fish and fowl for us to use.” The whole assembly echoed their leader’s voice.

A boy of twelve, a son of the Pao clan who was present in the ranks, stepped forward and said, “Not at all! Heaven and earth and the ten thousand things between are born as one with us, alike in kind to us. There is no high and low among the kinds. It is merely that one kind dominates another by virtue of size or strength or wit. And so one devours the other and is devoured in turn. But heaven did not create things
for
each other. Man eats whatever he can, but did heaven breed what man eats specifically for man? The mosquito and the gnat bite man’s skin, the tiger and the wolf feed on flesh. Has heaven created man for the mosquito, or flesh for the tiger and the wolf?”

—
Lieh Tzu

Those alike in mind may differ in form. Those alike in form may differ in mind. The sage prefers what is like-minded and ignores what is alike in form. Ordinary men stick close to what is alike in form and keep their distance from what is like-minded. “We cherish and cling to what resembles us,” they say.

That which has a six-foot frame, two hands and two feet, hair on top and teeth in the mouth, and moves upright—ordinary men call human. But it is not impossible for a man to have a beast’s heart. Yet if he does, he will still be treated well because of his human form. What is winged or horned, has spaced teeth and spread claws, and flies or prowls—ordinary men call a beast. But it is not impossible for a beast to have a human heart. Yet if it does, men will still shun it because of its looks.

The great gods of old (Pao Hsi, who tamed wild animals and sacrificed them in fire; Nü Wa, who repaired the skies and
molded the race of men; Shen Neng, the divine farmer who founded agriculture and medicine; the Hsia rulers, who established the first dynasty) all had the body of a reptile with a human face, or an ox’s head, or a tiger’s snout. None looked human, though they were sages of great virtue.

But the infamous kings of later times (Chieh, who ruined the first dynasty; Chou, who ruined the second dynasty of Shang; Huan, who destroyed the law of succession in Lu; and King Mu of Ch’u, who rebelled and slew his sovereign) all had ears, eyes, nose, and mouth—the seven apertures of the human face—but the hearts of beasts. Ordinary men cling to a single appearance in search of the highest wisdom and never reach it.

The Yellow God-king of the north fought the southern God-king of Fire in the wilderness of Fanch’uan. In the vanguard the Yellow God-king led bears, grizzlies, leopards, saber-toothed and common tigers. Buzzards, ospreys, falcons, and hawks served as flag and signal bearers. Thus the Yellow God-king had power to make birds and beasts fight for him.

The sage-king Yao put K’uei in charge of music. K’uei struck the chime-stones sharply and softly, and all the animals danced in order. When the ancient royal wind music of Shao was performed, the sacred phoenix presented itself with ceremonial grandeur. Thus the sound of music brought bird and beast under Yao’s influence. How, then, does the mind of these creatures differ from man’s? The difference is one of outer shape and speech only. But man has lost the art of communicating with them. Only the sage, with his wide knowledge and thorough comprehension, is able to lead them into his service.

The natural faculty of self-preservation is common to beasts and to man; beasts do not learn it from man. Male and female pair. Mother and child hug. Beasts avoid the open and keep to rough terrain. They shun cold and seek warmth. When they are settled, they herd; on the move, they form ranks with the weakest on the inside, the strongest on the outside. Whenever one of them finds water, he leads the others to it; whenever one of them finds food, he calls the herd. In the most ancient days the beasts lived and moved alongside man. Only in the reign of emperors and kings did they disperse in fear. And now in our own evil times, they lurk in dark places or scurry for safety lest man slay them.