Shao-yu left Lo-yang and arrived at Ch’ang-an, chose a lodging, and waited for the examination, which was still some days off. He asked the master of the guest-house where the Chu-ch’ing temple was and learned that it was outside the Ch’un-ming Gate, so he prepared a gift of silk and went to look up his aunt, the priestess Tu. She was the chief of the priestesses of the temple, already more than sixty years old, and regarded as spiritually very advanced. Shao-yu greeted her with elaborate ceremony and presented his mother’s letter. The priestess greeted him and then burst into tears: ‘It is more than twenty years since I last saw your mother, and now her son has grown up. Time flies indeed. I am an old woman now and I am tired of living in the bustle and noise of the capital. I was just on the point of going off to retire in the Kung-tung hills in search of immortality away from the cares of the world, but now that your mother’s letter has come with its request, I will stay here a little longer and do what I can for you. You are so handsome and have such a good presence that it will be hard to find a good enough wife for you even in the capital. We must make haste slowly. When you have time to spare, come and see me again.’
Shao-yu answered: ‘I come from a poor family, my mother is old, and I have lived in the remote countryside until I am nearly twenty years old. I have had no chance to seek a bride. It has been more than I could do to provide food and clothing for my mother as I ought to have done. So I came to you with this request, and I feel ashamed of myself now I see what trouble I am putting you to.’ He said good-bye and left.
The day of the examination drew closer, but since his aunt had said she would try to help in arranging a marriage for him, his dreams of success and fame began to take second place, and within a few days he was back at the Chu-ch’ing temple. His aunt laughed at him and said: ‘I have found a girl who would suit you very well. She is clever and pretty. But her family is too high-ranking. They have been a ducal clan for six generations. Three of them have been prime ministers. If you were to come out top in the examination we might hope to bring the match off, otherwise I do not see much chance of it. Stop coming to visit me and work hard to prepare for the examination. Then we can think further of the matter.’
‘But what family does she belong to?’
‘The family of the Minister Cheng, who lives outside the Ch’un-ming Gate. They have the imperial privilege of painting their main gate red and displaying lances above it. The daughter is more like a fairy than a girl.’
Shao-yu suddenly remembered what Ch’an-yüeh had said. ‘This girl seems to be very widely known and praised,’ he thought; aloud he said: ‘Have you met this girl?’
‘Of course I have. She is very pretty—it is practically impossible to describe her to you.’
‘I know it sounds boastful, but I am sure that I have the top place in the examination in my pocket already. There is no need to worry about that. However, I have always had one special wish, absurd though it may seem: I do not want to be engaged to a girl whom I have never seen. Please be kind and arrange for me to see her just once.’
‘How can you manage to have a look at a woman from a minister’s family? Don’t you believe what I say about her?’
‘I don’t doubt you for a moment. But we all see things differently. How do you know that I shall like what you like?’
‘Han Yü says that even children can recognize the phoenix and the gryphon as wondrous creatures, and wise and foolish alike know when the sun shines. Only a blind man would fail to recognize her qualities.’
Shao-yu went back unhappily to the guest-house. He very much wanted to get his aunt’s permission to see the girl, so soon after dawn the next morning he was back at the temple. His aunt laughed again: ‘Shao-yu! Surely you must have something on your mind!’
Shao-yu smiled too: ‘My mind will never be at rest if I do not see the Cheng girl. You can see what a state you have got me into. For my mother’s sake, think of some ruse so that I can get to see her.’
She shook her head: ‘It is very difficult indeed.’
She thought deeply for a while, then said: ‘I can see you are bright and have studied a lot. Have you had the chance to study any music?’
‘I learned some rather unusual music from a Taoist master, and I do know all about the pentatone and the hexachord.’
‘Now, it is a minister’s house. The walls are high and there are five gates before you get to the inner parts. There are large flower gardens. You will never get in without wings. And the girl herself has studied the Book of Rites and abides by the strictest etiquette. She never comes to burn incense at the temple, nor visits nuns, even for the new year lantern festival, and never attends the celebrations for successful examination candidates. There is no opportunity for an outsider to see such a woman. There is just one way that might work, but I don’t know whether you would like to try it.’
‘I would go up to heaven or down to hell if I could catch sight of her. I’d go through fire and water. Of course I’ll try it.’
‘Cheng is growing old and his health is poor so he has practically retired from public life. He finds his pleasure in gardening and music. His wife—her name is Ts’ui—likes music, so their daughter, as well as studying everything else, has also studied music. She has only to hear a tune once and she can analyze it expertly and criticize the player. Every time her mother discovers a new tune she invites the player to the house and she and her daughter listen to it and discuss it in the study. My idea is that since you can play the lute you should practise some tune till you have it perfect, and then on the birthday of the Divine Emperor Ling-fu, the day after tomorrow, which is the last day of the Third Moon, when the Cheng family always sends serving maids to the temple with incense and candles, you dress up in women’s clothes and let the maids hear you playing the lute here in the temple. They are sure to go back and tell their mistress about it, and she will certainly ask you to go to the house. Once you get inside the house, whether you see the daughter or not is a matter of fate, and I can make no promises about it. I can think of no other plan. Your face is rather girlish and your lip—that has not yet started to grow. Some priestesses arrange their hair away from their eyes like a man’s, so you should be able to get away with it.’
Shao-yu was overjoyed with the plan. He counted the days on his fingers while he waited for the last day of the moon.
Cheng had no children besides this one daughter. When her mother was in childbed in a semi-conscious state, she saw a fairy come down from heaven and enter the room with a shining pearl in her hand. So when the baby was born a girl she had been named Ch’iung-pei, which means Gem. As she grew up she became more and more beautiful and clever, a most extraordinary girl. Her parents doted on her and had tried hard to find her a suitable bridegroom, but without success. She was now sixteen years old and not yet married. One day her mother called the nurse, old Ch’ien, and said: ‘Today is the feast day of Ling-fu. Take incense and candles to the Chu-ch’ing temple and give them to the priestess Tu. Take some silk and some sweetmeats as well to show that I have not forgotten her.’
The old nurse did as she was told, and went to the temple in a little sedan chair. The priestess received the candles and incense, and set them in the San-ch’ing Hall. She thanked the old dame profusely for the silk and sweetmeats, entertained her as was proper and was about to say goodbye, when Shao-yu started to play the lute in one of the other halls. Old Ch’ien was on the point of stepping into her chair when she heard the music coming from the western wing of the temple. It was unearthly in its beauty. She told the chair-men to wait and stood for a while listening. Then she went back to the priestess and said: ‘I have heard some wonderful lutanists playing in my mistress’s house, but this is the first time I have heard such fantastic playing. Who on earth is it?’
‘It is a young priestess from Ch’u who has come to see the capital and is staying here. She often plays the lute, but I have no ear for music and so I do not know whether it is good or bad playing. But if you think so, she must be good.’
‘If my mistress knew about her she would certainly want to invite her to the house. Persuade her not to leave the place for a while.’
The priestess promised to do this, and after the old nurse had gone she told Shao-yu what she had said. He was very excited and waited impatiently for Madame Ts’ui’s summons.
Old Ch’ien went straight back home and told her mistress: ‘There is a young priestess staying at the Chu-ch’ing temple who plays the lute unbelievably well. I have never heard anything like it.’
Her mistress said: ‘I should like to hear her.’
The next day she sent a sedan chair and a maidservant to the temple with a message to the priestess Tu saying: ‘I should like to hear the lute-playing of the young priestess who is staying with you. Even if she is reluctant to come to my house, please do your best to persuade her.’
Shao-yu’s aunt spoke to him in the presence of the Chengs’ servant: ‘A great lady is sending for you. Make no excuses, but go to her.’
He replied: ‘It is all wrong for a low-born provincial girl to go to a noble lady’s house, but if you command me I cannot refuse.’
Then his aunt brought out a priestess’s hat and robe and the lute and got him ready. He looked the very picture of a fairy musician, and the Chengs’ servant girl was beside herself with joy at the sight.
When he arrived at the Cheng house the servant showed him inside. Madame Ts’ui was seated in the great hall, looking very dignified. Shao-yu bowed at the bottom of the steps. Madame Ts’ui said: ‘Ever since I heard my servant’s story yesterday I have wanted to hear your playing. Already the mere fact of your gracious presence seems to be relieving me of my cares.’
She indicated a chair for Shao-yu, but he declined it, saying: ‘I am only a country girl from Ch’u, just a traveler who passes like a cloud, and it is great presumption to play in your presence. It is too great an honor for me.’
Madame Ts’ui asked: ‘What tunes can you play?’
Shao-yu replied: ‘I learned several tunes from a strange old man I met in the Lan-t’ien Mountains. They are very ancient. Nobody plays them nowadays.’
Madame Ts’ui made one of the servants bring Shao-yu’s lute over to her. She fingered it and praised it: ‘What lovely wood!’
The boy answered: ‘It is hundred-year-old lightning-struck paulownia wood from Lung-men Mountain. It is as hard as a gem. You could not buy such an instrument for a thousand gold pieces.’
As they talked together the afternoon sun moved across the threshold, but there was no sign of the daughter. The boy was getting anxious and worried. He said to the woman: ‘I know only classical tunes. Not only do I not know any modern tunes, but I do not even know the names of the old tunes which I can play. I heard from the girls at the Chu-ch’ing Temple that you have a daughter whose knowledge of music rivals that of Chung Tzu-ch’i. Since I am so ignorant I should like to hear her comments on my playing.’
The lady consented and sent a servant-girl for her daughter. The embroidered curtain parted and a delightful fragrance spread through the room as the girl entered with a tinkling of jade ornaments and sat beside her mother. Shao-yu stood up and bowed, stealing a glance at her. She was as lovely as the sun in the first blush of morning or a lotus flower gleaming above the blue water. His mind was so dazed and his eyes so dazzled that he was unable to look for long. He was sitting so far away that in any case he could not see very well, so he said to the mother: ‘The room is so big and I am so far away that I cannot properly hear what the young lady says.’
Madame Ts’ui made one of the maids move the musician’s cushion nearer. Although he was now very close to the women, he was to the right of the girl and could not look at her directly. However, he dared not ask to be moved again. A maid put some incense in a burner, and the boy sat up straight and drew the lute toward him.
Shao-yu felt happy and excited. He started to play, and began with The Rainbow Robe. The girl said: ‘This is beautiful. It comes from the peaceful days of the Emperor Hsüan-tsung. Everybody knows it, but you play it superbly.
The Yü-yang barbarians with thundering drums
Broke up the playing of The Rainbow Feather Robe.
was said of this tune. It reminds us of luxury and rebellion. We should not listen to it. Play something else.’
So he played another and she said: ‘This is pleasant too. It is sad and sensuous, but impetuous. It is Ch’en Hou-chu’s Flowers in the Jade Tree Courtyard. They say:
If you should meet Hou-chu in hell,
Don’t mention the Jade Tree Courtyard flowers.
He lost his kingdom to the playing of this tune. We cannot approve of it. Play something else.’
So he played another and she said: ‘This tune is sad and gay by turns, moving and tender. Long ago when there was an invasion and Ts’ai Wen-chi was taken captive by the barbarians, she had two sons born in bondage. Ts’ao Ts’ao ransomed her and when she returned home she made this melody as she parted from her two half-barbarian boys. It is Eighteen Measures of the Barbarian Pipes.
The barbarians shed tears that drenched the grass,
The Chinese envoy was heartbroken at the sight of her.
It is very good music, but she had forsaken her virtue. We cannot really talk of her. Please play a fresh tune.’
So Shao-yu played yet another. This time she said: ‘This is Wang Chao-chün’s song, Into Mongolia. She was thinking of her king and her homeland, mourning that she had been sent to live among barbarians and regretting the untruthfulness of the portrait-painter who was at the root of her troubles. She wrote the music in her sorrow.
Who will transmit just one sad tune
To make future generations shed their tears for me?
But it is the work of a barbarian’s bride, and it has a foreign sound. It is not strictly correct for us. Play something else, quickly.’
And he played another. Her face changed.
‘It is a long time since I heard this tune. You are no ordinary musician. This breathes the spirit of a great man who lived in bad times and had given up all thought of earthly advancement. Disaster befell him in troubled times because of his loyalty. Hsi K’ang’s tune, The Song of Kuang-ling, or The Great Tomb, is it not? As he faced death in the East Market-place, he looked at the shadows and played this tune. He said: “Alas, will anyone ever want to learn The Song of Kuang-ling? I have not taken the trouble to teach it to anybody else. It is a pity. This is the last time it will be played.”
A lone bird flies to the southeast.
Is that where Kuang-ling is?
If it was passed on to no disciples, you can only have learned it by meeting Hsi K’ang’s immortal soul.’
The boy replied, still kneeling: “Your ladyship’s knowledge is unbelievable. I learned this from a teacher who said exactly what you have just said.”
He played another tune and she praised it highly:
High, high as the blue hills,
Wide, wide as the flowing waters.
Immortals’ footsteps are imprinted in the dust of the world! Is not this Po Ya’s tune of The Water Fairy? If Po Ya had known about your musical skill, he would not have grieved so much about the death of the master-player, Chung Tzu-chi.’
Shao-yu played another tune. The girl fiddled with her collar as she sat, and said: ‘This is a sacred and mystic melody. The Sage lived in turbulent times and traveled around the world trying to help the people. Is it not Confucius? Who else could have composed this tune? It must be The Luxuriant Orchid. Does not the phrase:
Wandering through all China
And never settling down
refer to this tune? The Sage strove to save the world, but the times were not appropriate.’
Shao-yu put some more incense in the burner, then sat down and played another tune. The girl said: ‘This is a noble and beautiful tune. It reflects the splendor of creation—it has a spring feeling. It is majestic and broad. I cannot be sure of its name but it must be a setting of The Song of the Southern Breeze written by the great King Shun.
The fragrance of the southern breeze
Blows our people's cares away.
There is nothing better or more beautiful than this. Even if you know more tunes I don’t want to hear them.’
Shao-yu bowed and said: ‘I have been told that if you play nine tunes an angel will descend. I have now played eight tunes, and only one is left. I beg your permission to play the last tune.’
He straightened the bridge of the lute, tightened the strings, and began to play. The music started softly and gathered momentum, a gay tune to intoxicate a man’s soul. The flowers in the courtyard burst into bloom, the swallows swooped in pairs, the orioles joined in the music. The girl bowed her forehead, and sat quietly with her eyes half-closed till the tune came to the point where the words say:
Phoenix, phoenix, come back home,
Over the four seas seeking your mate.
Then she glanced up, and immediately looked down again and fumbled with her girdle, blushing furiously. The whiteness left her brow and she went red as though she had been drinking. Very dignified, she got up and went into the inner room. Shao-yu was startled. He pushed the lute away from him and stared after the girl. He stood aghast, like a terracotta figure. The mother told him to sit down and said: ‘What was that tune you just played?’
Shao-yu answered: ‘I learned it from my teacher, but I do not know its name; I was hoping the young lady would tell me.’
The girl did not reappear for a long time, so her mother sent a maid to find out what was wrong. The maid came back and said: ‘She has been sitting in a draught and feels a little unwell. She cannot come out again now.’
Shao-yu was afraid that the girl had guessed the truth about him, and felt very uncomfortable. He dared not stay much longer, so he rose to take leave of her mother, saying: ‘Since your daughter feels unwell, I should leave you. I expect you will want to go and see her, so I beg permission to withdraw.’
Madame Ts’ui brought out some silver and some silk to reward him, but he declined it gently: ‘I have learned a little music, but only for my own amusement. I cannot take payment like a professional entertainer.’ As he spoke, he shook his head; and bowing, stepped over the stone threshold.
The mother was concerned about her daughter and sent for her at once. She found there was nothing really wrong. Ch’iung-pei returned to her quarters and asked one of her maids: ‘How is Ch’un-yün feeling?’
The maid replied: ‘When she heard that you were going to have some lute music today she felt a good deal better and got up and dressed.’
Ch’un-yün’s surname was Chia, and she had come originally from Hsi-shu. Her father had come to the capital as a secretary in the government and had won favor with the Cheng family. Unhappily he had died of some disease when Ch’un-yün was ten years old. Cheng and his wife had been very sorry for her and had her brought up in their house with their own daughter. There was a difference of only one month in their ages. She was not as pretty and accomplished as Ch’iung-pei, but she was nonetheless a remarkable girl, almost her equal at poetry, calligraphy and needlework. The older girl treated her like a sister and would scarcely ever be parted from her. Although they were strictly speaking mistress and servant, their relationship was one of intense affection.
Her name in the first place had been Ch’u-yün, the Cloud from Ch’u, but Ch’iung-pei was so fond of her that she renamed her Ch’un-yün, which means Spring Cloud. This was in reference to a quotation from Han Yü: Great beauty is like the clouds of spring. Round the house everybody simply called her Ch’un.
Now Ch’un-yün asked her mistress: ‘All the maids are saying that the priestess who came to play for you was as lovely as a fairy and played marvellously and you praised her to the skies. This made me so curious that I forgot my pains and got up to have a look at her. Why did she leave so quickly?’
Ch’iung-pei went very red and spoke haltingly: ‘I have always observed the strictest propriety and etiquette in my attitude of mind as well as in my behavior. I have never ventured into the outer courts of the house. You know that I do not even gossip with my relations. Now I have been deceived and disgraced. How shall I ever dare to lift up my head again?’
Ch’un-yün asked her: ‘What did the priestess do, then?’
‘She began with the Fairy Robe tune and then went on to play other tunes, finishing up with King Shun’s Song of the Southern Breeze. I praised her and was ready to stop, but she wanted to play one more, and she played the Song of the Phoenix Seeking a Mate—the very tune by which Szu-ma Hsiang-ju seduced Cho Wen-chün. That aroused my suspicions and I looked closely at her face. It was not like a girl’s face at all. I think some cunning fellow who wanted to look at girls has got into the house disguised as a woman. The one thing I regret is that you were not feeling well and so were not there with me to see him. Now I cannot be sure about it. If I, a girl who has never left the inner quarters of the house, have sat all that time talking face to face with a man, I am so ashamed that I dare not even talk to my mother about it. You are the only person I can talk to.’
Ch’un-yün only laughed: ‘Why cannot an unmarried girl listen to Szu-ma Hsiang-ju’s Song of the Phoenix Seeking a Mate? You are making a mountain out of a molehill.’
‘It’s not like that at all. He played the tunes in a particular order. If there was no point in it, why did he play the Phoenix Song right at the very end? Besides, some women are frail and some are robust, but I never before met one like this—so handsome and self-possessed. No. The capital at the moment is full of young men from the provinces who have come up for the examinations. I think some young scoundrel has heard a false rumor about me, and tried out this ruse to come and look at me.’
Ch’un-yün said: ‘If he is really an examination candidate and is good-looking and well-mannered and clever at music as you say, then he must be a most unusual young man.’ ‘Maybe he is another Szu-ma Hsiang-ju?’ she added archly.
‘He may be another Szu-ma Hsiang-ju, but I have no intention of being another Cho Wen-chün.’
‘Cho Wen-chün was a widow. You have never been married. She followed her lover of her own free will, and you have been involved unintentionally. How can you compare yourself to her?’
Then they laughed together happily and talked of other things.
One morning Ch’iung-pei was sitting talking with her mother when her father came into the room carrying the pass-list of the examination. He gave it to his wife and said: ‘We have not yet arranged a marriage for Ch’iung-pei. I thought we might look for a suitable bridegroom among the successful men in the examination. I see that the top name is Yang Shao-yu, a boy from Huai-nan. He is fifteen years old. Everybody is speaking very highly of the pieces he wrote for the examination. He is certainly a first-class brain. They also say he is very good-looking and has charming manners and will doubtless go far. He is not yet engaged either. I think I should like him for son-in-law.’
His wife replied: ‘What you hear and what you see are two very different things. You cannot believe all that you hear, even if he is highly praised. I think we had better see him before we make up our minds.’
The minister replied: ‘That won’t be very difficult to arrange.’
When Ch’iung-pei heard what her father was saying she went into the bedroom and said to Ch’un-yün: ‘That priestess who played the lute said she was from Ch’u and she looked about fifteen years old. Now the top man in the examination is from Huai-nan, and Huai-nan is in Ch’u. Both facts seem to fit. I am more suspicious than ever. The man is sure to come to see my father, so I want you to see him and tell me what you think.’
Ch’un-yün answered: ‘I did not see the priestess when she came. I think it would be more to the point if you spied on him through a chink in the door.’
They looked at each other and giggled.
Meanwhile Shao-yu had passed both the doctoral examination and the special examination before the emperor and had been appointed an Imperial Academician. His name was on everybody’s lips. All the nobility were trying to arrange to marry their daughters to him, but he refused them all. Instead he went to a senior secretary of the Board of Rites, named Ch’üan, and told him that he wanted to marry Cheng’s daughter, asking him to arrange an introduction. Ch’üan gave him a letter, which Shao-yu took and put carefully into his sleeve.
On arriving at the Cheng residence he sent in his visiting book. The minister came straight away to see him in the guest hall. The sprays of cinnamon flowers in Shao-yu’s hat marked him as the top graduate. He was accompanied by the official singers and musicians provided by the government to go about with the graduate academician, and he delighted everyone with his good looks and modest bearing. The whole Cheng household except Ch’iung-pei was there to gape at him.
Ch’un-yün asked one of Madame Ts’ui’s maids: ‘Come here a minute. I thought I heard the mistress say that the priestess who came and played the lute the other day was this man’s cousin. Did she look anything like him?’
The maid hesitated a little and said: ‘I think she did. How unusual for cousins to favor one another so closely!’
Ch’un-yün went in to Ch’iung-pei and said: ‘You must be right. They look exactly alike.’
Ch’iung-pei said: ‘I wish you would go back again and hear what he is saying.’
Ch’un-yün went away, and some considerable time later she returned to say: ‘Your father suggested that you should be married to Yang. Yang said he had heard that you were gifted and modest, and he was presumptuous enough to think of coming here today to ask for your hand. He had asked Secretary Ch’üan at the Board of Rites for a letter of introduction, which he had received. But your two families are as unlike as blue clouds and muddy water, your persons as a phoenix and a crow, so he dared not present it before. It was there in his sleeve, and he gave it to your father, who was excited and happy and called for wine and sweetmeats.’
Very upset on hearing this, Ch’iung-pei was about to speak when her mother sent for her. The old lady said to her daughter: ‘Yang Shao-yu has graduated top of the list in all the examinations. Your father has arranged for you to marry him. Now we shall have somebody to look after us, and need not worry any more.’
Ch’iung-pei said: ‘I heard one of the maids say that Yang looks just like the girl who came here the other day to play the lute. Is that really true?’
Her mother said: ‘Yes, it is. I was very much taken with that girl and I shall not forget her face for a long time. I meant to send for her again, but I was too busy. Come to think of it, Yang Shao-yu does look very much like her—so you can tell how handsome he is.’
Ch’iung-pei hung her head and whispered: ‘He may be handsome but I don’t like him. Such a marriage arrangement will never do.’
Her mother was surprised: ‘What an extraordinary thing to say! You have been in the women’s quarters all your life and Yang has been living in Huai-nan. How on earth can you say you don’t like him?’
‘I have been so ashamed about it that I dared not tell you till now, but that priestess was Yang. He dressed up in woman’s clothes and came to play the lute here so that he could look me over. I fell for the trick and sat half the day chatting with him. How can I help hating him?’
Her mother was somewhat taken aback. Her father had finished talking to Shao-yu and had let him go away. Now he came into the inner quarters with satisfaction written all over his face. He said to his daughter: ‘Ch’iung-pei! Today you have mounted the dragon! It’s a great day!’
His wife then told him what his daughter had just said. He asked Ch’iung-pei to tell him again all about the tune of The Phoenix Seeking a Mate, and when he heard the story he burst out laughing: ‘Young Yang is a bright boy. There is a story that Wang Wei dressed up as a musician and played the mandoline in the palace of Princess T’ai-p’ing and then went on to pass out top of the examinations. If Yang has gone so far as to dress up in woman’s clothes in his search for a bride, that shows he is more than usually resourceful. Are you going to hate him for this one prank? In any case all you saw was a priestess. You were not thinking of looking at Yang, so it is not your responsibility that he made a very pretty musician.’
‘I could die for shame at the humiliation of being taken in like that.’
Her father laughed again: ‘That is not the sort of thing your old father is able to work out for you. Settle it with Yang yourself later on.’
Then he turned serious and his wife asked him: ‘When did Yang suggest the wedding should be held?’