On the Tiger List Han Yu’s name is inscribed;In the bridal chamber Xiangzi shares the wedding cup

Now, when the fifth watch came, Han Yu hurriedly fetched clean rootless water, mixed the elixir pill in it and gave it to Xiangzi. As soon as Xiangzi had swallowed it, his belly rumbled like thunder and his throat came open like a lock. Before long he threw up a great deal of thick phlegm and filth, and then he opened his mouth and said, “Uncle.” Han Yu was overjoyed. “Thank Heaven and Earth!” he said. “This medicine really does work wonders.” But when Lady Zheng and Lady Dou came to question him, he would not open his mouth, just as before. “Stop pestering him, all of you,” said Han Yu. “Now that he has opened his mouth, he’ll talk in his own good time. Hurry up and pack my things — I’m off to the capital to seek fame and office. If I can come back with some post or other, I’ll have won glory for our ancestors and made good half a lifetime of toil over my books.” Then and there Han Yu took leave of the household, great and small, and all along the road he dined on the wind and slept by the water, travelled under the moon and the stars, until he reached the capital for the examinations. But, as it turned out, his name fell below Sun Shan3’s. Too ashamed to go back to his home town, he could only stay on in the capital, scrambling east and west for a living and wagging his tail for pity.

But who would have thought it? At home Xiangzi still would not open his mouth to speak. Lady Zheng could do nothing about it; all she longed for was to see him grow up, take a wife and leave a seed to keep the incense burning for the Han family. Before long Xiangzi was seven, and Lady Zheng fell ill and died. Though it was Lady Dou who did all she could to see her coffined and buried, Xiangzi wept for her like a grown man. Before Lady Zheng’s coffin, Lady Dou bowed and prayed: “Brother-in-law, sister-in-law, in life you were mortals, and in death you are spirits. The Han family has only this one little drop of flesh and blood — why should he be mute? Surely it isn’t that our ancestors failed to store up virtue. It must be that you and I have fallen short in our hidden deeds, and so it has come to this. I pray that your spirits in Heaven will watch over Han Xiang. May Heaven grant him a bright mind, and may his wisdom grow day by day; may his ill luck fall away and his troubles end, the perils in his stars be cleared and their curses lifted, so that he may carry on the family calling and the blessings of our line be ever renewed.”

When she had finished bowing, she wept again. That night Lady Dou seemed dimly to see Lady Zheng, who said to her, “Though my child Han Xiang cannot talk today, when he is fourteen he will talk of his own accord. Our whole family, great and small, will one day depend on him alone to raise us up. Set your heart at ease, sister-in-law.” Lady Dou woke with a start: it had been only a dream. She thought to herself, “If my sister-in-law’s spirit is still so bright after death, Xiangzi can be no ordinary mortal. I’ll bring him up little by little and see him grown, and then decide what to do.” But no more of that.

Meanwhile Han Yu was stuck in the capital, his purse empty and his furs worn through. Then word came of the death of his sister-in-law, Lady Zheng, but even then he could not go home, and his heart was racked with endless worry. With no help for it, he struggled on through three examinations, until at last, to his joy, he passed the provincial examination. When the Deer Cry banquet4 was over, he hurried home through the night by starlight. Just as he reached his own gate, he came face to face with the mute boy Xiangzi. By now Xiangzi was just fourteen. He came up to meet Han Yu and said, “Congratulations, Uncle! Congratulations, Uncle!” Seeing him speak and bow so courteously, with such fine manners, Han Yu took him by the hand and went into the house with him. Lady Dou came out to meet them. When they had greeted each other, Han Yu asked, “When did our nephew start to talk?” “From the day you left home till now, husband,” said Lady Dou, “I’ve never once seen him open his mouth. Even when my sister-in-law died, I only saw the tears streaming down his face — I never heard a sound of weeping.” “Just now, the moment he saw me, he said, ‘Congratulations, Uncle,’” said Han Yu. “Doesn’t that mean he can talk? Unworthy as I am, I’ve had the luck to climb onto the Tiger List5, and now, happily, my nephew can speak as well. Blessings are crowding in on our house! Only, my brother and his wife died young. They never saw me pass the examinations, or lived to see Xiangzi grown. That is bitter indeed!” “Do spare yourself the grief, husband,” said Lady Dou. Xiangzi put in from beside them, “The lady seldom speaks6, but when she speaks, she hits the mark.” “You couldn’t talk,” said Han Yu, “so I never had you taught to read. How is it you can quote the classics of the sages and the commentaries of the worthies?” “Ever since the day your nephew took that Daoist’s pill,” said Xiangzi, “I have known how Heaven and Earth wax and wane, how the sun and moon grow full and dwindle, how the ages rise and fall, and how men have won and lost from ancient times till now. The classics of the sages and the commentaries of the worthies are, when all is said and done, empty words from the corners of the mouth; and the canons of the emperors and the counsels of the kings are not the true thing in the heart either. The Nine Provinces and the Four Seas lie all before my eyes, and the blessed lands and the grotto-heavens seem almost at my knee. In your nephew’s humble opinion, a man in this world ought rather to rise beyond the Three Realms and become an immortal right here on the level earth.” “Knowledge has its limits, but learning has none,” said Han Yu. “This whole speech of yours is the talk of someone pleased with himself who won’t strive to get on. What’s to be done with you? I must find you a good teacher to make you study the classics hard. Only then will you win fame and office.” “Your nephew has a poem,” said Xiangzi, “which I offer to you, Uncle.” It went:

“Who taught you to write this poem?” said Han Yu. “Test me to my face by all means,” said Xiangzi. “Why would I get someone else to do it?” “If you’re as clever as all that,” said Han Yu, “why do you say you won’t study? A man who studies wears a purple robe and a golden belt and dines on roast phoenix and stewed dragon. He holds an ivory tablet in his hand and wears black court boots on his feet. When he goes out or comes home, he rides in a tall carriage behind four horses; when he lies down to rest, he has dancing girls and singing girls. He gives a shout, and the Yellow River flows three feet backwards; he gives a laugh, and the flowers of the imperial park burst into bloom through the whole wood. Truly: ‘Don’t envy me my rank and glory — ten years ago I was just a student.’” “Oh, I’ll read books all right,” said Xiangzi. “It’s just that in my former life I never sowed the seeds for a body that wears gold at the waist and purple on its back, lips and a tongue for chewing phoenix and stewing dragon, the spirit for riding in carriages and astride horses, or the knack of snuggling up to the girls in green and red. All I’m fit for is to learn stillness in the mountains, watching the hibiscus that blooms for a single morning, and to talk of the scriptures under the pines, breaking off sprays wet with dew. I have a little song. Please listen, Uncle.

“What you say is neither monk nor layman, neither scholar nor soldier,” said Han Yu. “It’s all crooked talk and raving. Is that how anyone makes something of himself?” “Listen to what I have to say, Uncle,” said Xiangzi.

“You’re only a little boy,” said Han Yu, “and a bright, clever one by nature. Why are you so set on this business of going from door to door begging?” “Uncle!” said Xiangzi. “You look on me as a boy wonder — that is just how little you think of me. Boy wonders I count as mere children, and even a great Confucian I reckon one of the common herd. What rich man’s son is in the same class as me, Han Xiangzi? You talk of becoming a high official, with crowds clearing the way in front and thronging behind — but I fear for the morning the horse drops dead and the gold runs out.” “Say what you like,” said Han Yu, “and talk till flowers rain down from the sky — I won’t listen. All I want is for you to study, raise the standing of our house and bring glory to your parents. Only then will I be satisfied.” “Don’t worry, Uncle,” said Xiangzi. “If it’s a matter of raising the standing of our house and bringing glory to my parents, what’s so hard about that?” “If you’re willing to better yourself,” said Han Yu, “the Han family is lucky indeed. When Academician Lin Gui9 went to the capital with me, he told me on the road that he has a daughter, Luying, just old enough to put up her hair, and he promised her to you as your wife. I mean to choose a lucky day and a good hour soon and bring her into the family, so that you two become husband and wife and carry on the line. Then my mind will be at rest.” “I will respectfully obey your stern command, Uncle,” said Xiangzi. Then and there Han Yu told Zhang Qian to go and say to the yin-yang master, “My master wishes to see the young master married. Would you trouble yourself, sir, to choose a lucky day for it — a day of Continuing the Line10 and Blessing the Heirs, free of the yin and yang generals?” Zhang Qian took his orders, went off and gave the yin-yang master the message.

This master was surnamed Yuan and named Zixu11, and his style was Ruoyou. In years gone by he had been a loafer who lived off others and put a gloss on things, and he wore a six-panelled cap. One day, when he had gone to another county, a gentleman in a square cap12 heaped humiliation on him, and he could not swallow his rage. “Every sort of man in every walk of life gets to wear a square cap,” he said. “Even if I’m not your equal, I could at least wear a flat one. So why pick on me?” From that moment he set about bettering himself. He bought a few books on astrology and face reading, geomancy and the choosing of days, and pored over them at home day after day; he also got hold of a copy of the Outline and Mirror of the Dynasties, and recited that at home morning and night. Once he had these few books by heart, he took to talking like a book in company, spinning tall tales and swinging his bag of learning about, and he praised himself so highly that you would think there was no book he had not read and nothing he did not know, that he was versed in past and present and seasoned in the ways of the world — only his luck had been against him, so he had never become a licentiate, let alone passed the provincial or metropolitan examinations. In truth he was a three-legged cat: there was not one thing he could do properly. But as it happened, the men of money and influence in and around the town of Changli all had bellies as white as snow, without a drop of ink in them, and could not string two sentences together; all they ever did was lean on their money and power to browbeat people. When they heard Yuan Zixu reel off so many accomplishments, they were bowled over, and he had them fooled and spinning like tops. There was not one of them who did not praise Yuan Zixu as a man of genius, with few to equal him among men and none in all the world. So Zixu put on a square cap and a coat in the latest fashion, and pasted up a sign by his door that read: “Here is Yuan Ruoyou, yin-yang master, taught by an immortal he had the fortune to meet. Lucky days chosen and horoscopes matched for weddings: honour for the husband and rank for the wife. Also expert in geomancy: graves sited to speed promotion and banish poverty.” And so households great and small all over Changli County came to him to match horoscopes for their weddings and choose the ground for their burials. For those whose luck was in, the matches came off and the burials brought good fortune; as for those whose luck was out, who knows how many of them he left in a hole? Yet no one ever blamed him for it. Some sent him wine and rice, some silver and cash, some cloth and silk, some firewood and charcoal, some furniture and household goods, some albums of calligraphy and painting; and as for food and fine dishes, people were forever sending them round. A man who had owned nothing but his bare fists and naked arms had made himself a household out of thin air — and that too was because his time had come, good fortune had flocked to him and his luck was running smooth.

That day Zhang Qian came straight to find him and told him what was wanted. “Since your master has honoured me with his instructions,” said Yuan Zixu, “I’ll pick him a first-rate day, a day for mounting the clouds and treading the moon, for clinging to the phoenix and climbing the dragon, and send it round to his house. Only your master must reward me handsomely.” “Just pick a good one,” said Zhang Qian, “and when I get back I’ll tell my master. I promise he won’t treat you shabbily.” “Brother Zhang,” said Yuan Zixu, “just put in a word to egg your master on, and I’ll set aside two parts in ten of whatever I get for you.” Zhang Qian agreed, took his leave and went.

Yuan Zixu went back indoors, delighted. “Han Tuizhi is a man of discernment who knows a treasure when he sees one,” he said, “not like those ignorant nobodies. He has favoured me today with his custom, to choose a day. I must take pains to pick him a really fine lucky day and send it over — I can scrape three to five taels out of him at the very least. The trouble is, though I can talk the talk, I don’t understand the ‘flourishing’ and ‘assisting’ phases or the ‘orphaned’ and ‘empty’ quarters, or how the days and hours shift and change. What am I to do? I’ll bring out all the almanacs in the house and carefully match him up a good day to send. Then my reputation won’t have been for nothing.” Sure enough, Yuan Zixu brought out a great pile of almanacs and spread them on the table. And which books were they? One was Shortcuts through the Almanac, one the Classified Guide to Choosing Days, one the Wedding Charts of the Nine Heavens, one the Marriage Calendar of the Six Harmonies. The Charts of Yin and Yang and the Layouts of the Hidden Stems were ranged behind and spread in front; the Classic of Marriage and the Rules of the Yellow Register covered the left and were heaped on the right. He leafed through them: every school had its own idea. He looked them over: each book saw things differently. For all his stacking and rummaging, the master could not work out a single day that was both free of the generals and Continuing the Line.

Yuan Zixu turned the books over and over, but he could not find a good day in them. In the end he could only heave a sigh and say, “The thirteenth of the second month may be an Immortals’ Day, but it clashes with the Lone Luan13 and the Widow’s Lodge. Still, it does fit the wedding wheel14. I’ll write it out for the Han family and let them decide for themselves.” So he hurriedly took a double red card from Nanjing and wrote on it: “Year jiashen, month yimao, day bingchen, hour wuzi. On this one day the Star of Heavenly Joy comes to the gate and the Noble Star shines on the door; the Jade Hall and the Golden Horse, the Purple Subtlety and Fortune-and-Virtue all gather together. Once the young gentleman is married, he is sure to ride with jingling bridle and wear jade at his girdle, and to go in state up to the Phoenix Pavilion and the Dragon Tower; he will heap up treasure and pile up gold beyond any mountain of copper or sea of pearls. In decades you would not come by such a day again.” He sent it round at once. When Han Yu read it, he was overjoyed, and he promptly had three taels of silver taken to Yuan Zixu. Yuan Zixu took the silver in his hands and went home in high glee. Out of it he weighed six qian to thank Zhang Qian, and Zhang Qian, too, was as pleased as could be.

Then Han Yu called Zhang Qian again and told him to see to the betrothal gifts of soups and fruit. Talking it over with Lady Dou, he had hairpins, bracelets and lengths of satin bought, and he fetched Matchmaker Xu to go to Academician Lin’s house and say that they wished to send the betrothal boxes and settle the match. Academician Lin made no objection at all. When the lucky day came, he invited all his relatives and kin, the boxes were opened and the gifts put on view. And how splendid were the gifts?

When Academician Lin saw so many gifts, he was delighted beyond measure. He rewarded the messengers and sent back the card for the lucky day, and at the same time saw to the dowry and the jewellery. Then he married Miss Luying into the Han family to be Xiangzi’s bride. And what did Luying look like?

Han Yu had brought Miss Luying into the family as Xiangzi’s bride, and he was overjoyed. He rejoiced that Xiangzi now had a wife to tend the family offerings and that the Han line could look forward to heirs, and he reckoned that from now on Xiangzi’s little notion of cultivating himself would sink like a stone in water. But who could have known? When the feast in the great hall was over and the flowered candles had lit the couple to their room, Luying took off her heavy make-up and sat facing the wall, and Xiangzi, without so much as untying his sash, leaned on the table and slept. There was not a flicker of feeling between the two of them, and so they passed the night.

Time slipped by: the third day after the wedding came, and then the end of the first month, and Luying went home on her visit to her family, as custom required. But of that no more.

One day Lady Dou said to Xiangzi, “Miss Luying has been back at her family’s a good many days now. You ought to go and see her once — that would be only proper.” “Luying and Xiangzi are each a body of their own,” said Xiangzi. “We are neither the flatfish that must swim in pairs nor the trees whose branches grow into one. What good would it do me to go and see her?” “Husband as husband and wife as wife — that is the constant way of mankind,” said Lady Dou. “The husband leads and the wife follows — that is the height of human feeling. Why, mandarin ducks sleep with their necks entwined, and the jianjian birds, which have one wing apiece, fly wing to wing. If even dumb creatures know the love of husband and wife, how can a man be worse than a bird?” “Aunt,” said Xiangzi, “you know only that creatures love each other, necks entwined and wing to wing. What you don’t know is how swiftly time flies — a colt glimpsed through a crack, a shuttle flung across the loom — and the misery of death, which no one can dodge when it comes. Let your nephew tell you:

“Since ancient times, who has ever lived and not died?” said Lady Dou. “Leave behind a loyal heart to shine in the annals of history! How can death be anything to fear? Your parents died young. I cradled you in my skirts and raised you to manhood, and I found you a wife, hoping only that you would have many sons and much good fortune, carry on the incense of the Han family and be there to sweep the graves and make the offerings. How can you come out with talk like this today? It’s enough to break my heart!” “Don’t upset yourself, Aunt,” said Xiangzi. “Your nephew will do just as you say.” “If you do as I say,” said Lady Dou, “you’ll be a dutiful child, and I promise you’ll soon have your name on the yellow list and win titles for your wife and rank for your sons, and your father and mother will not have given you life in vain. But if you won’t listen to me, then even if you go off to cultivate yourself and practise the Way, you’ll still be an unfilial son — and I doubt there’s a single unfilial immortal in Heaven. The old saying puts it well:

Would Xiangzi go to see Miss Luying after all, or not? To learn what happened next, read the next chapter.