Chinese Fairy Tales and Fantasies (Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library) (22 page)

The young scholar Hsien-yüan of Changchou was childless at thirty. His wife, a woman of the Chang clan, was abnormally jealous, and Hsien-yüan was too afraid of her to take a second wife who might bear him the sons he wanted. Chancellor Ma of the Grand Secretariat, the presiding official at Hsien-yüan’s degree examination, felt sorry for the young man and presented him with a concubine. First Wife Chang was furious at this intrusion into her family affairs and swore to repay Chancellor Ma in kind.

It happened around then that Chancellor Ma lost his own wife. So Lady Chang found a country woman widely known for her bad temper and bribed a go-between to persuade Ma to make the shrew his new first wife. The Chancellor saw through Chang’s scheme but proceeded with the betrothal. On the wedding day the trousseau included a five-colored club for the purpose of beating husbands. It was an heirloom that had been in the country woman’s family for three generations.

When the wedding ceremony ended, Ma’s host of concubines offered their respects. The new first wife asked who all these women were, and they told her that they were concubines. The bride lashed out, “What social law sanctions concubines in the household of a dignified chancellor?” She took the club to attack the women, but Chancellor Ma ordered them to seize it and beat the wife instead. She fled to her room cursing and crying, while
the concubines created such a din with gongs and drums that her sobs could not be heard.

The new wife then declared that she would do away with herself. Promptly offering her a knife and a rope, the attendants said, “The master has been expecting you to try something like this. So he has given us these dreadful things to present to you.” At that the concubines beat upon wooden drums and chanted the mantra so that her soul would ascend quickly to paradise. They made such a racket that the first wife’s ravings about taking her own life were not heard.

Chancellor Ma’s new first wife was basically a woman of dignity. Realizing that she had exhausted her bluffs and threats, she conquered her anger and called for the Chancellor. Putting on a proper expression when he entered her room, she said, “My lord, you are truly a man! The tricks I have been using were handed down from my great-grandmother—effective, perhaps, for intimidating the spineless men of this world, but not the way to treat you, my lord. I want to serve you from now on. And I hope that you for your part will treat me according to propriety.”

“If it can be so,” replied the Chancellor, “so be it.” And they saluted one another again as bride and groom. Chancellor Ma ordered the concubines to apologize by knocking their heads to the floor. Then he put his first wife in charge of all money and gems and of the account books for their fields and dwellings. And in a month’s time the Ma household was orderly and harmonious. There was no criticism from inside or out.

Now Chang, the first wife of Hsien-yüan, having sent one of her followers to Chancellor Ma’s wedding, learned all about the confrontation between the first wife and the concubines. “Why didn’t she beat them with her club?” asked Chang.

“She was overpowered.”

“Why didn’t she curse and cry?”

“The noise of their drums and the clamor of their voices drowned her out.”

“Why didn’t she threaten suicide?”

“They had knife and rope all ready, and they sang the mantra for rebirth to bid her farewell.”

“What did the new first wife do then?”

“She submitted to good form and gave in.”

Enraged, Lady Chang exclaimed, “For the world to have such a good-for-nothing woman! She has spoiled everything.”

Now when Chancellor Ma had first presented the concubine to Hsien-yüan, Hsien-yüan’s classmates prepared lamb and wines and went to congratulate him. As soon as everyone at the party was feeling mellow, Lady Chang began abusing the guests from behind a screen. Everyone bore her insults impassively, except for one classmate who was a habitual drunkard. He stepped forward, seized Lady Chang by the hair, and slapped her. “If you show respect to my elder brother Hsien-yüan, you are my sister-in-law,” he said; “otherwise you are my enemy. Your husband was childless, and that is why his examiner and patron, Chancellor Ma, presented him with a concubine. He was thinking of the future of your ancestral line. One word more, and you die under my fist!” The other guests rushed forward and pulled the man off her so that she could escape. But she was humiliated, for her skirts were torn and some clothing was damaged, nearly exposing parts of her body.

Lady Chang had been nicknamed the Female Demon. With her ferocious pride badly hurt by the turn of events, her hatred of Chancellor Ma increased. She expressed it by doing everything she could to make life miserable for the concubine he had presented. But the concubine, who still received secret instructions from the Chancellor, remained compliant and agreeable. Though she was now a part of the household, she never exchanged a word with Hsien-yüan. For this reason Lady Chang stopped short of having her put to death.

In a short while Chancellor Ma personally presented one hundred pieces of silver to Hsien-yüan. “Next spring,” he told his protégé, “there will be a triennial examination for the highest degree. Take this for your expenses and go to the capital now, so that you can spend the next few months in study.”

Hsien-yüan accepted the gift and went home to tell Lady Chang that he was leaving. Since she had been worried that he would become intimate with the concubine, the first wife was only too glad to bid him goodbye.

As Hsien-yüan was boarding the boat to the capital, however, one of Chancellor Ma’s servants intercepted him and took him to Ma’s own home. There in the seclusion of the back gardens, the young man pursued his studies in peace.

At the same time, Chancellor Ma sent a go-between to persuade
Lady Chang that she should take advantage of Hsien-yüan’s absence and sell the concubine. “That’s what I’d like to do,” said Lady Chang, “but it must be to a buyer in a remote place, so there will be no problems later on.” “No problem at all,” said the go-between.

Presently a cloth seller from Shensi province came to see Lady Chang. He was ugly and bearded but carried three hundred pieces of silver. Chang summoned the young concubine, who pleased the traveling salesman no end. The bargain was struck, but Lady Chang was not satisfied until she had stripped the gown and shoes from the concubine. Now poorly clothed, without even a hairpin in the way of finery, the concubine was put into a bamboo sedan chair and taken off. As the porters carried her over the north bridge, she cried out, “I won’t go so far away,” and she jumped into the water. (However, a small boat darted out, picked up the concubine, and ferried her to Ma’s rear garden, where she joined Hsien-yüan.)

When Lady Chang heard that the girl had drowned, she fell into a state of fright and confusion. Then the salesman from Shensi burst in on her and raged: “I bought a live woman, not a dead one. You sold her without making the situation clear to her. How dare you force a good woman to do something mean? You have taken advantage of a simple traveler. Give me back my money.” Having no defense, Lady Chang returned his three hundred pieces of silver.

The following day a man and a woman, white-headed and tattered, appeared at Lady Chang’s house. “Chancellor Ma took our daughter and presented her to your household as a concubine,” they wailed. “Where is she now? If she lives, return her. If she is dead, return the body.” Lady Chang had no answer. The two old parents knocked their heads against Lady Chang, ready to give up their own lives. They threw plates and smashed bowls until not an article in the household was left unbroken. They would not leave until Chang gave them money and her neighbors interceded and begged them to go.

Another day, four or five fierce constables from the county magistrate came carrying the official crimson arrest warrant. “This is a case involving human life,” they said. “We must conduct the culprit Chang to appear before the magistrate.” They threw their iron chains on the table with a resounding clang. Lady Chang asked the reason, but they would say nothing. When she
offered them money, however, they told her that a certain concubine’s parents had reported the suspicious death of their daughter.

Lady Chang was now terrified, and she wished that her husband were at home to deal with these things so that she, a lone woman, would not be shamed and made to stand up in court. She keenly regretted her bad treatment of her husband, her violence toward the concubine, the mistakes she had made, and the helplessness of being a woman. She was torn between resentment and remorse when someone dashed up wearing the white mourning cap. “Master Hsien-yüan has died suddenly at the Lu Kou Bridge,” he shouted. “I am the muleteer; I came straightaway to tell you.”

Lady Chang was too shaken to speak. “We had better go,” said the constables to each other, “since there has been a death in the family.” Lady Chang went to prepare her costume for the funeral. A few days later the constables came again, and Chang engaged a lawyer to assist her. She pawned her trousseau and sold the house to bribe the court clerk to delay her case. This gave her a respite, but now she was bankrupt and could not even buy food.

Again the go-between arrived and said, “Madame is in such straits—and without a son to raise in widowhood!”

Lady Chang was so distressed that she went to a blind fortune teller. The woman cast Chang’s horoscope and said, “It is your fate to wive two men. Wearing gold and pearl, you will marry again.”

After hearing this, Lady Chang summoned the go-between and told her, “I would be willing to remarry; destiny cannot be avoided. But since I am arranging my own marriage, I must see the groom first.” The go-between brought a handsome, splendidly dressed young man for her inspection. “That is Master So-and-So,” she said.

The delighted Lady Chang put off her widow’s weeds and married the youth before the end of the forty-nine-day mourning period. As the couple were performing the wedding ritual of sharing the cup, an ugly woman wielding a large club rushed out of the house. “I am the formal wife and mistress here!” she screeched. “How dare you come into my home as a concubine! I won’t allow it!” She beat Lady Chang severely, and Lady Chang regretted having been deceived by the go-between even as she realized that this was exactly how she had treated Hsien-yüan’s
concubine. “Is that the will of heaven?” she wondered. Her tears fell silently.

Guests and friends finally persuaded the first wife to stop. “Let the young master consummate the wedding,” they said, “and save the complaints for tomorrow.”

Several youths holding wedding candles escorted Lady Chang to the bedroom. No sooner was the screen raised than lo! Hsien-yüan himself was sitting grandly upon the bed. Certain that he was reappearing as a ghost, Lady Chang fell to the ground in a faint. When she returned to consciousness, she pleaded through her tears, “Do not think I have betrayed you, my lord; truly I had no choice.”

With a laugh Hsien-yüan waved his hand. “Have no fear. Have no fear,” he said. “Your two marriages are still one marriage.” Then he put her on the bed and told her how she had been taken in by Chancellor Ma’s scheme. At first she could not believe it, but soon everything became clear to her. She felt remorse and shame, and from then on she reformed her conduct. In fact, both Lady Chang and the country woman whom Chancellor Ma had married turned to the paths of virtue and became worthy wives forever after.

—
Yüan Mei

District Superintendent Chao told this story about a Superintendent Li in the capital. Li was a third-rank official of great wealth and status, but he was well into his fifties and had no son. He had heard that east of the emperor’s council headquarters there was a magician who was running a fortune-telling room and making amazing and accurate predictions. Superintendent Li decided to see if the man could tell him whether he would have a son.

“I am interested neither in money nor in long life. I only want to know if I am to have a son.”

The fortune teller smiled and replied, “You already have one. Are you trying to put something over on me?”

“The truth is, I have none,” said Li. “How could I be putting something over on you?”

The fortune teller became angry and said, “You must have had a son when you were forty years old. Now you are fifty-six. What
are
you doing, if not putting something over?”

Many of the army men sitting around were amazed to see the two of them arguing. Then Superintendent Li thought long and quietly to himself before saying to the fortune teller, “When I was forty, one of my serving maids became pregnant. At the time I had to go north to the Mongol capital on official business. When I came home, my wife had already sold the maid. No one knows where she went, but if she had a son, he must be mine.”

“He will be returned to you,” said the fortune teller. Li bid the man goodbye and left.

A legion commander who had witnessed all this took Superintendent Li to a tea shop and told him, “Fifteen years ago, I too had no son. I went to the capital to arrange for a concubine, and it happened that the woman was already pregnant. When I returned home with her, my wife was with child. Each gave birth to a son hardly a month apart. Now the boys are sixteen. Could one of them be yours?”