Chinese Fairy Tales and Fantasies (Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library) (7 page)

It is said that east of the T’ung Pass prime ministers are produced; west of the pass, generals. Li Ching eventually quelled rebellions with his military might, and his victories were unsurpassed. But he never attained the post of prime minister. Can it be because he did not also take the gentle servant from the east corridor?

—
Li Fu-yen

In the land of Sung there was a man who fashioned jade into wild mulberry leaves for his lord. The leaves, which took three years to complete, were so perfectly proportioned in stalk and stem, so magnificently realized in the minutest detail, that they could not be told apart when mixed among living leaves. The state supported this craftsman for his skill.

Lieh Tzu objected, “What if heaven and earth needed three years to create a leaf? There wouldn’t be many trees. Surely the sage counts on the fruitfulness of nature rather than the ingenuity of man.”

—
Lieh Tzu

Tu Tzu-ch’un lived at the time when the great Sui Dynasty was founded. In his youth he was a devil-may-care sort who never troubled himself to preserve the family’s property. With his easygoing, self-indulgent temperament, and his taste for wine and dissolute company, he soon squandered his resources. Friends and relations to whom he turned for help only scorned him for neglecting his responsibilities.

The winter found him in tattered clothes, his stomach empty, barefoot in the streets of the capital, Ch’angan. By day’s end he had yet to eat. Confused, with nowhere to go, he drifted toward the west gate of the Eastern quarter. His wretched condition was all too obvious as he raised his eyes to the heavens and groaned.

“Sir, what is it you complain of?” An old man holding a staff stood before him. Tzu-ch’un told his story with indignation over the way his own family had slighted him.

“How many strings of cash would make you comfortable?” asked the old man. In those days, strings of coins were carried in loops of a thousand to each string.

“Thirty to fifty thousand cash would keep me alive,” answered Tzu-ch’un, naming a grand sum.

“Hardly enough,” said the old man. “Speak again.”

“One hundred thousand, then,” said Tzu-ch’un.

“Too little.”

“One million.”

“Still too little.”

“Three million!”

“That should do it,” said the old man as he drew a single string of cash from his sleeve. “Let this provide for you tonight. Tomorrow noon I shall watch for you at the Persian bazaar. Take care not to be late.” And at the appointed time Tzu-ch’un went to the Persian bazaar, where the old man was waiting for him. The man handed Tzu-ch’un three million cash, then left without disclosing his identity.

But wealth rekindled Tzu-ch’un’s extravagant desires. Never again, he thought, would he have to live the life of a stranger adrift. He rode the sleekest horses and wore the finest furs and silks. He gathered drinking companions and hired musicians, singing and dancing his way through the pleasure houses of the city. He gave no further thought to managing his money.

In a couple of years Tzu-ch’un had to exchange his fine clothes and costly carriage for cheaper sorts. Then he gave up his remaining horse for a donkey. And soon he gave up the donkey and went about on foot as before. In no time he was back where the old man first found him. At his wits’ end, he moaned in anguish by the gates to the quarter. At the sound of his voice the old man reappeared, took Tzu-ch’un by the hand, and said, “I didn’t expect to find you like this again. But I shall help you out. How many strings?”

Tzu-ch’un was too mortified to reply. The old man urged him to answer, but the prodigal could only thank him sheepishly for his concern. “Tomorrow noon, come to the place where we met before,” said the old man. Tzu-ch’un suppressed his shame and went. He got ten million cash.

Before accepting the money, Tzu-ch’un resolved that he would plan his life and livelihood so sensibly that the famous rich men of history would seem like small-timers. Once he had the money in hand, however, his convictions turned upside down. His self-indulgent nature was as strong as ever, and within a few years he was poorer than ever.

For the third time he met the old man at the familiar place. Tzu-ch’un could not master his embarrassment; covering his face with his hands, he fled. But the old man grabbed the tail of his coat and stopped him. “I should have known you’d need more,” he said, giving Tzu-ch’un thirty million cash. “But if this doesn’t cure you, there’s no remedy.”

Tzu-ch’un thought, “When I fell into evil ways and spent everything I had, relatives and friends took no notice of me at all. But this old man has thrice provided for me. How can I be worthy of his kindness?” And he said to the man, “With this sum I can put my affairs in good order, provide the necessities for widows and orphans, and repair my character. I am moved by your profound kindness and will perform any service for you once I have accomplished my tasks.”

“Such is my heart’s desire,” said the old man. “When you are done, meet me on the fifteenth day of the seventh month at the temple of Lao Tzu that stands between the juniper trees.”

Since most widows and orphans lived south of the Huai River, Tzu-ch’un transferred his funds to the city of Yangchou. He bought over fifteen hundred acres of choice land there, erected mansions for himself in the city, and set up more than a hundred buildings on the main roads to house the widows and orphans of the region. He arranged marriages for his nieces and nephews, provided all the clan dead with a place in the temple, matched all generosity shown him, and forgave all injuries. When he was done, it was time to seek out the old man.

Tzu-ch’un found him whistling in the shade of the junipers. Together the two ascended the Cloud Pavilion Peak of Hua Mountain at the western end of China. They had gone more than ten miles when they came to a clean, austere residence, unlike any where mortals dwelt, under a canopy of high arched clouds. Phoenix and crane winged through the air. Above them rose the main hall, inside which was an alchemist’s furnace nine feet high used for brewing potions and elixirs. Purple flames licking up from it illuminated the door and windows in a fiery light. Around the furnace stood a number of jade-white fairy women, while a black dragon and a white tiger mounted guard front and back.

The sun was beginning to go down. The old man, no longer in mortal garb, appeared now as a Taoist wizard, yellow-hatted and scarlet-mantled. He held a beaker of wine and three white pellets to expand the mind, all of which he gave to Tzu-ch’un. The young man swallowed the pills, and the wizard spread a tiger skin against the western wall and seated Tzu-ch’un facing east.

“Take care not to speak,” the wizard cautioned. “Be it revered spirit, vicious ghost, demon of hell, wild beast, hell itself, or even your own closest relatives bound and tormented in a thousand ways—nothing you see is truly real. It is essential that you neither speak nor make any movement. Remain calm and fearless and you shall come to no harm. Never forget what I have said.” With that, the wizard departed.

Tzu-ch’un looked around. He saw nothing but an earthen cistern filled with water. Suddenly flags and banners, shields and spears, a thousand war chariots, and ten thousand horsemen swarmed over hill and dale. The clamor shook heaven and earth. A warrior called the General appeared. He was ten feet tall, and he and his horse wore metal armor that gleamed brilliantly. The General’s guard of several hundred men, swords drawn and bows taut, entered the space in front of the main hall.

“What man are you,” they cried, “that dares remain in the presence of the General?” Left and right, swords poised, they advanced, demanding Tzu-ch’un’s identity. But Tzu-ch’un firmly refused to answer. Infuriated, some wanted to cut him down, others to take a shot at him. Tzu-ch’un made no response, and the General left in a towering rage.

Next came ferocious tigers, poisonous serpents, wildcats, roaring lions, and scorpions, all striving to seize and devour him. Some of the beasts even leaped over him. But Tzu-ch’un remained unmoved in spirit and expression, and in a short time the nightmare melted away.

Suddenly a storm blew up, pelting and soaking, with lightning that made the gloom visible. Reels of fire circled past him left and right. Electric bolts struck before and behind him. Tzu-ch’un could not open his eyes. In moments the waters around the area were ten feet deep, and with the streaming lightning and booming thunder it seemed as if nothing could stop the very rivers and mountains of earth from coming apart. Waves reached his seat, but Tzu-ch’un sat upright and took no notice. Soon everything vanished.

The General returned, this time leading an ox-headed sergeant and his soldiers of hell, together with other weird-faced ghosts. They placed a huge cauldron of boiling water before Tzu-ch’un
and closed in on him with spears, swords, and pitchforks. “Identify yourself,” they charged, “and we will free you at once. Otherwise beware! We shall pitch you into the cauldron.” Tzu-ch’un made no reply.