Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio (Volumes 1 and 2). Songling Pu

it was identical with his own, and hurried away to thank the magistrate for his gift, asking him at the same time how it had come into his possession. Mr. Yin told him the whole story, which proves conclusively that although a fox may obtain possession of a thing, even at a distance of many hundred miles, he will not venture to keep it altogether.[60]

      VIII.

       MISS CHIAO-NO.

       Table of Contents

      K‘ung Hsüeh-li was a descendant of Confucius.[61] He was a man of considerable ability, and an excellent poet.[62] A fellow-student, to whom he was much attached, became magistrate at T‘ien-t‘ai, and sent for K‘ung to join him. Unfortunately, just before K‘ung arrived his friend died, and he found himself without the means of returning home; so he took up his abode in a Buddhist monastery, where he was employed in transcribing for the priests. Several hundred paces to the west of this monastery there was a house belonging to a Mr. Shan, a gentleman who had known better days, but who had spent all his money in a heavy law-suit; and then, as his family was a small one, had gone away to live in the country and left his house vacant. One day there was a heavy fall of snow which kept visitors away from the monastery; and K‘ung, finding it dull, went out. As he was passing by the door of the house above-mentioned, a young man of very elegant appearance came forth, who, the moment he saw K‘ung, ran up to him, and with a bow, entered into conversation, asking him to be pleased to walk in. K‘ung was much taken with the young man, and followed him inside. The rooms were not particularly large, but adorned throughout with embroidered curtains, and from the walls hung scrolls and drawings by celebrated masters. On the table lay a book, the title of which was, “Jottings from Paradise;” and turning over its leaves, K‘ung found therein many strange things. He did not ask the young man his name, presuming that as he lived in the Shan family mansion, he was necessarily the owner of the place. The young man, however, inquired what he was doing in that part of the country, and expressed great sympathy with his misfortunes, recommending him to set about taking pupils. “Alas!” said K‘ung, “who will play the Mæcenas to a distressed wayfarer like myself?” “If,” replied the young man, “you would condescend so far, I for my part would gladly seek instruction at your hands.” K‘ung was much gratified at this, but said he dared not arrogate to himself the position of teacher, and begged merely to be considered as the young man’s friend. He then asked him why the house had been shut up for so long; to which the young man replied, “This is the Shan family mansion. It has been closed all this time because of the owner’s removal into the country. My surname is Huang-fu, and my home is in Shen-si; but as our house has been burnt down in a great fire, we have put up here for a while.” Thus Mr. K‘ung found out that his name was not Shan. That evening they spent in laughing and talking together, and K‘ung remained there for the night. In the morning a lad came in to light the fire; and the young man, rising first, went into the private part of the house. Mr. K‘ung was sitting up with the bed-clothes still huddled round him, when the lad looked in and said, “Master’s coming!” So he jumped up with a start, and in came an old man with a silvery beard, who began to thank him, saying, “I am very much obliged to you for your condescension in becoming my son’s tutor. At present he writes a villainous hand; and I can only hope you will not allow the ties of friendship to interfere with discipline.” Thereupon, he presented Mr. K‘ung with an embroidered suit of clothes, a sable hat, and a set of shoes and stockings; and when the latter had washed and dressed himself he called for wine and food. K‘ung could not make out what the valances of the chairs and tables were made of: they were so very bright-coloured and dazzling. By-and-by, when the wine had circulated several times, the old gentleman picked up his walking-stick and took his leave. After breakfast, the young man handed in his theme, which turned out to be written in an archaic style, and not at all after the modern fashion of essay-writing. K‘ung asked him why he had done this, to which the young man replied that he did not contemplate competing at the public examinations. In the evening they had another drinking-bout, but it was agreed that there should be no more of it after that night. The young man then called the boy and told him to see if his father was asleep or not; adding, that if he was, he might quietly summon Miss Perfume. The boy went off, first taking a guitar out of a very pretty case; and in a few minutes in came a very nice-looking young girl. The young man bade her play the Death of Shun;[63] and seizing an ivory plectrum she swept the chords, pouring forth a vocal melody of exquisite sweetness and pathos. He then gave her a goblet of wine to drink, and it was midnight before they parted. Next morning they got up early and settled down to work. The young man proved an apt scholar; he could remember what he had once read, and at the end of two or three months had made astonishing progress. Then they agreed that every five days they would indulge in a symposium, and that Miss Perfume should always be of the party. One night when the wine had gone into K‘ung’s head, he seemed to be lost in a reverie; whereupon his young friend, who knew what was the matter with him, said, “This girl was brought up by my father. I know you find it lonely, and I have long been looking out for a nice wife for you.” “Let her only resemble Miss Perfume,” said K‘ung, “and she will do.” “Your experience,” said the young man, laughing, “is but limited, and, consequently, anything is a surprise to you. If Miss Perfume is your beau ideal, why it will not be difficult to satisfy you.”

       Some six months had passed away, when one day Mr. K‘ung took it into his head that he would like to go out for a stroll in the country. The entrance, however, was carefully closed; and on asking the reason, the young man told him that his father wished to receive no guests for fear of causing interruption to his studies. So K‘ung thought no more about it; and by-and-by, when the heat of summer came on, they moved their study to a pavilion in the garden. At this time Mr. K‘ung had a swelling on the chest about as big as a peach, which, in a single night, increased to the size of a bowl. There he lay groaning with the pain, while his pupil waited upon him day and night. He slept badly and took hardly any food; and in a few days the place got so much worse that he could neither eat nor drink. The old gentleman also came in, and he and his son lamented over him together. Then the young man said, “I was thinking last night that my sister, Chiao-no, would be able to cure Mr. K‘ung, and accordingly I sent over to my grandmother’s asking her to come. She ought to be here by now.” At that moment a servant entered and announced Miss Chiao-no, who had come with her cousin, having been at her aunt’s house. Her father and brother ran out to meet her, and then brought her in to see Mr. K‘ung. She was between thirteen and fourteen years old, and had beautiful eyes with a very intelligent expression in them, and a most graceful figure besides. No sooner had Mr. K‘ung beheld this lovely creature than he quite forgot to groan, and began to brighten up. Meanwhile the young man was saying, “This respected friend of mine is the same to me as a brother. Try, sister, to cure him.” Miss Chiao-no immediately dismissed her blushes, and rolling up her long sleeves approached the bed to feel his pulse.[64] As she was grasping his wrist, K‘ung became conscious of a perfume more delicate than that of the epidendrum; and then she laughed, saying, “This illness was to be expected; for the heart is touched. Though it is severe, a cure can be effected; but, as there is already a swelling, not without using the knife.” Then she drew from her arm a gold bracelet which she pressed down upon the suffering spot, until by degrees the swelling rose within the bracelet and overtopped it by an inch and more, the outlying parts that were inflamed also passing under, and thus very considerably reducing the extent of the tumour. With one hand she opened her robe and took out a knife with an edge as keen as paper, and pressing the bracelet down all the time with the other, proceeded to cut lightly round near the root of the swelling. The dark blood gushed forth, and stained the bed and the mat; but Mr. K‘ung was delighted to be near such a beauty—not only felt no pain, but would willingly have continued the operation that she might sit by him a little longer. In a few moments the whole thing was removed, and the place looked like the knot on a tree where a branch has been cut away. Here Miss Chiao-no called for water to wash the wound, and from between her lips she took a red pill as big as a bullet, which she laid upon the flesh, and, after drawing the skin together, passed round and round the place. The first turn felt like the searing of a hot iron; the second like a gentle itching; and at the third he experienced a sensation of lightness and coolness which penetrated into his very bones and marrow. The young