Casting off family ties, Xiangzi sets out to cultivate the Way;Conjuring a beauty, the Earth God puts Xiangzi to his first test

Now, Han Xiangzi had been on the road for two days, eating when he was hungry and drinking when he was thirsty, as a traveller must, resting at night and setting off at dawn — only he had no idea in what prefecture or county, or in what corner of the world, Mount Zhongnan might be. The two masters, Zhongli and Lü, had in fact already seen Xiangzi climb over the wall and run away to look for them on Mount Zhongnan. Afraid that he might suddenly have second thoughts and never ascend to perfection and attain the fruit, they brought their cloud down, called out the local Earth God and gave him his orders: “By the Jade Emperor’s decree we have come down to the mortal world to bring Han Xiang to the Way. Han Xiang is willing to follow us and cultivate the Way, and so he has cast off his family ties and left his kin, and is coming straight here to seek us out. But we fear his resolve may not be firm, and then he will hardly attain the true fruit. All along his road you are to take on every kind of shape and test him three times, four times over. If his heart is truly set on studying the Way, and lust cannot shake him nor gain and loss lead him astray, we will do all in our power to bring him to the Way. But if he hankers after what he has left and regrets it, then call down the thunder of Heaven and strike him down behind the Yin Mountains1, never to be reborn.” The old Earth God bowed low and said, “I will respectfully obey the immortal masters’ command.” When the two masters had finished giving their orders to the mountain god and the Earth God, they went back to Mount Zhongnan as before.

The old Earth God rose to his feet, pointed with his finger and conjured up a house. At the front was a shop three bays wide. On one side were laid out fruits fresh in season, chickens and geese both fresh and cured, delicacies of sea and mountain, and dishes of meat and of vegetables to eat with rice; on the other were Magu wine, Three-White wine, True-One wine and Fragrant Snow wine, new brews and old vintages, whose aroma filled the nose and teased every passer-by. Behind the counter, in the middle, sat a girl just old enough to put up her hair. She was neither too tall nor too short, neither too thin nor too plump. Her brows lay level like willow leaves in spring, and her eyes rippled like autumn waters; her two hands were soft and slender, tender and white, and her pair of feet dainty and tiny, pointed and curved. She wore no rare brocades or outlandish gauzes, yet in her light make-up she was so elegant that she startled the heart and dazzled the eye. Truly, she was Xishi2 of Yue born again in Zhuluo Village, or Feiyan of the Han come back to lure her lover the bird-shooter. Further in were carved balustrades and painted beams, fine chambers and latticed windows, embroidered hangings and vermilion blinds, painted screens and flowered cushions. On the walls hung poems and paintings by famous hands, and on the tables stood antiques and curiosities. If it could not outdo Wang Kai3 and Shi Chong, it yielded nothing to Taozhu and Yi Dun. An old man in a blue headcloth and a cotton robe, leaning on a staff that rose above his head, sat in the doorway warming his back in the sun.

Xiangzi came along the road to the old man’s door. He stepped forward, bowed with his hands clasped and said, “Old sir, may this humble Daoist trouble you with a question? Which road goes to Mount Zhongnan?” The old man, his head wobbling and trembling, said, “Little master, what do you want with the road to Mount Zhongnan?” “This humble Daoist comes from Changli County,” said Xiangzi, “and I’m going there to look for my two masters.” The old man waved his hand. “You can’t go there, you can’t go there!” “Why can’t I?” said Xiangzi. “From here to Mount Zhongnan,” said the old man, “it’s a hundred and eight thousand nine hundred and eighty-five li by land, not counting three thousand li by water. All along the way there are toppling peaks that block the path, winding cliffs and sheer gorges, stone walls a thousand fathoms high, jagged and heaped crag upon crag, and coiling torrents ten thousand fathoms deep, swirling and surging. Travellers have to clamber up, hauling themselves along on ropes. And in those mountains there are ghosts and goblins and demon kings, venomous snakes and savage beasts, evil birds and fowl of ill omen, crowding the narrow passes to swallow and gnaw. Even an immortal going that way would go weak at the hands and numb in the sinews and couldn’t move a step. A little slip of a young Daoist like you wouldn’t make them a decent meal. How could you go?” “Old sir,” said Xiangzi, “at your great age you ought to be telling young people the plain truth and guiding them. Instead you just try to frighten people with this nonsense. Do you think I’ll listen to you and give up halfway?” The old man laughed. “That’s foolish talk, little master. At my great age, who knows how much these eyes have seen, and these ears heard? Don’t you think I know how hard the road to Mount Zhongnan is? And you say I’m not telling the truth — so now I’m the one in the wrong!” “I don’t mean to find fault with you, old sir,” said Xiangzi. “It’s only that my heart is firmly set on the Way. I’m not afraid of ten thousand rivers and a thousand mountains, nor of snakes and tigers and monsters. My only fear is that there may be no Mount Zhongnan in the world. If there is a Mount Zhongnan, then my two masters are there, and how can it be that I can’t go?” “If that’s how it is,” said the old man, “I won’t stand in your way. But it’s getting dark. Why not put up at my house for the night, just for now, and set off early tomorrow?” “Since you are kind enough to say so, old sir,” said Xiangzi, “how could I not do as you say?” So he stopped, and with his bundle of clothes on his back he went into the shop. The old man stayed where he was, sitting on his chair outside the shop door, and did not come in.

Once through the shop door, Xiangzi kept his eyes down and went shuffling on toward the back. But who should come swaying out from beside the counter but the girl of the shop, holding a cup of rich, fragrant tea. “You must be weary from the road, sir,” she called. “Do have some tea.” Xiangzi took the tea, and as he did so the girl gave his hand a squeeze. “Sir,” she said, “which room will you be sleeping in?” “One who has left home needs only a mat’s width of floor to get through the night,” said Xiangzi. “What do I care which room?” Again the girl spoke, soft and low: “Sir, our house has three grades of room. Wandering Daoist elders and gentlemen passing through sleep in the upper rooms; men with a hundred thousand strings of cash round their waists, merchants and traders, sleep in the middle rooms; and those who carry loads on their shoulders and tramp the roads, who eat each day what they earn that day, are put up in the lower rooms.” Her voice was clear and high and sweet, just like an oriole trilling beyond the flowers, piercing the heart and seeping into the marrow, enough to drive a man wild. “Madam,” said Xiangzi, “though your house has several grades of room, I don’t care for luxury. I’ll just stay in the lower rooms.” “I’m a maiden,” the girl said angrily. “I’ve never had a husband. How can you call me Madam?” “I spoke amiss in addressing you,” said Xiangzi. “The fault is mine. Don’t be angry, Sister!” “You and I have never met,” the girl cried, “and we’re not family either. How can you call me Sister?” “Since you’ve never married and I was wrong to call you Madam,” said Xiangzi, “I called you Sister instead. What has that to do with whether we’ve met?” The girl’s face darkened. “You men who’ve left home don’t know high from low, and you can’t tell one person from another! I’ve only ever heard women of the common sort called Sister. I’m a maiden of a respectable family. Can’t you call me Miss, or Young Lady, instead of Sister?” “Miss,” said Xiangzi, “this poor Daoist was in the wrong.” “I was made from my father’s seed and my mother’s blood like anyone else,” said the girl, “and carried ten months in the womb and brought up. I wasn’t fired in some tile kiln! And only now do you call me Miss — you’ve got even me fuming like a kiln!” “This miss is awfully hard to talk to,” said Xiangzi, “and awfully hard on people.” Laughing now, the girl caught hold of Xiangzi. “A handsome little master like you must be the child of a rich and noble family. How can you go and sleep in the lower rooms? If you ask me, don’t go to the upper rooms or the middle rooms either. Inside, my own hall is the quietest, cleanest, most elegant spot there is. You’d do better to spend the night there all on your own.” “This humble Daoist gets by with his begging bowl and takes each day as fate sends it,” said Xiangzi. “I haven’t half a copper on me. I’ll just make up a bed in the lower rooms with everyone else and be off early tomorrow.” “Next door to the hall is my own bedroom,” said the girl, “and no one ever goes there. Now I’ll show a little charity: I won’t ask a penny of silver from you, sir. What if I take you there to sleep without telling my old grandfather?” “This humble Daoist has left home,” said Xiangzi. “I never set foot in the inner rooms of a house, and I never do anything that cheats my own heart and conscience. How could I dare go near your room, miss?” “I have something to tell you from the bottom of my heart,” said the girl, “and you must do as I say.” “Say it, by all means,” said Xiangzi. “I’m fifteen this year,” said the girl. “I have no elder brother or sister and no younger brother or sister — only my old grandfather, who is past ninety, and whose ears hear nothing and eyes see nothing. He has scraped together a fortune of a million strings of cash for this family, all for nothing, because there’s no one to take charge of it. Day after day I’m here receiving the merchants who come and go, and never yet has there been one so young and handsome as you, sir. I’ve already told my old grandfather: I’ll gladly bring my own dowry and take you into the family as my husband, to be master of the house and run its affairs. This is just what they mean by ‘Those fated to meet will come a thousand li to find each other’ — and not ‘Those not fated pass face to face and never meet.’ Tell me, are you willing?” Xiangzi’s face went red and his ears burned, and for a long while he could not get a word out. “Little master,” said the girl, “don’t put on airs with me. Men who’ve left home have always been the same: show them a woman and they’re like leeches on blood, burrowing in for all they’re worth. Here’s a virgin like me, fresh as a yellow flower, willing to take you in as her husband — why won’t you say a word? Can it be that you still have parents and elders at home, and you’re afraid of the crime of marrying without telling them? In ancient times the great Shun4 himself married without telling his parents. I don’t suppose you’re any great Shun, but even if you are a little in the wrong, your parents won’t blame you and the magistrates won’t make an issue of it. And even if there’s some lawsuit or talk, I’ll lay out a few hundred taels of silver and see to it the magistrates give you no trouble. What are you worrying about?” Xiangzi said angrily, “I took you for a girl of good family, but you’re nothing but a shameless, brazen slut! My uncle is Minister of Justice5, my father-in-law is a Hanlin Academician, and my lovely wife is a young lady of the finest family. I’ve given them all up to leave home — what would I want with a shameless thing like you?” “In this world there’s felt to cover a door,” said the girl, “but no (fur) to cover a door. A wild Daoist like you, who idles about and lives off others, tramping through a thousand households and ten thousand doors — I meant you well, I didn’t turn my nose up at you, I offered to throw in some of the family’s wealth to take you in as a husband, and you turn round and call me a shameless slut. You just weren’t born to blessings!” “I have more pure blessings than I could ever enjoy,” said Xiangzi. “What do I care for your filthy, stinking money?” “Pure or not, enjoyed or not, that’s nothing to me,” said the girl. “I’m only asking you: do you want this settled in court, or settled privately?” “What do you mean, in court or privately?” said Xiangzi. “I’ve got hold of you now,” said the girl, “and if you want it settled in court, I’ll scream and say that you, a man who has left home, raped a girl of good family. Then the ward constable will take you to the magistrate, who’ll give you a few dozen strokes of the thorn cane, put you in the cangue to be shown in market after market, take away your ordination certificate and send you back to your native place in irons. That’s settling it in court. But if you’re willing to marry into my family and be my husband, you’ll be my Liang Hong6 and I’ll be your Meng Guang, and not one idle word will be said. That’s settling it privately.” “Now that this humble Daoist has come away,” said Xiangzi, “though there were boiling cauldrons before me and the knife and the saw behind, tigers and wolves on my left and raging waves on my right, I would hold fast to the nature and life I had from the beginning, the face I was born with. Settle it in court and not privately, or privately and not in court — what do I care!” At that the girl seized Xiangzi with one hand. “Grandad, come quick! The Daoist’s trying to rape me!”

The old man came in on his stick, his head wagging and bobbing. “What’s all this, child?” Xiangzi was so frightened that his soul flew off beyond the sky and his spirit scattered to the highest heaven. “In some former life Han Xiang must have owed you a life,” he said, “and today I’m willing to pay it back. Deal with me however you please, old sir.” “Young fellow, you really are a fool,” said the old man. “At your tender age you ought to be marrying into some family as a son-in-law, taking charge of a fortune, having sons and daughters and carrying on your ancestors’ line. A life isn’t something you got in trade for a pinch of salt — why do you talk of nothing but dying?” “Grandad,” said the girl, “when he saw I was all alone, he threw his arms around me and kissed me and felt about my waist, and because I screamed, he’s pretending he wants to die, to bluff his way out. He’s nastier than a robber, and then some!” “And there was I wondering why you wanted to die!” said the old man. “If my granddaughter takes your fancy, I’ll take you into the family as her husband. You can run the shop out front and keep me till I die, and there’s an end of it. What need is there for all this talk of killing yourself?” “Old sir,” said Xiangzi, “when I left home and came all this way, I put my life behind me. How can you say there’s no need to die?” “There are several sorts who go looking for death,” said the old man. “Some owe taxes to the government above and debts to private lenders below, and can’t get through the dunning and the beatings. Some have no clothes to cover their backs and no food to fill their mouths, and can’t bear the cold and hunger and want. Some lie abed with every kind of ailment, neither dead nor alive, dragging themselves up only to collapse again, and can’t stand it any longer. Some have done evil and committed crimes, and lie in fetters and manacles, and can’t endure the torment. Only then do people go looking for a road to death. But when a family with a beautiful daughter and a fortune as solid as a bronze measure offers to take you in as a son-in-law, whether you accept or not is up to you. What need is there to die?” “My one wish is to leave home and cultivate the Way,” said Xiangzi. “Don’t talk to me of marrying into your family ever again.” “If you want to know the road down the mountain,” said the old man, “ask someone who has come that way. When I was young, I too once met two wandering Daoists. They showed off as though they had magic to heave up the sky and overturn the earth, and the skill to churn the seas and turn the rivers upside down. A tip of the gourd, and out streamed a thousand rays of auspicious light; a tug at the flywhisk, and down they plucked ten thousand grains of golden elixir. Seeing what a fine-featured, handsome boy I was, they talked me round with stories of how good it was to cultivate the Way. When I saw all these wonders, I thought, if they’re not immortals from Heaven, they must at least be Daoists from Penglai and the Three Islands. If I went with them to cultivate the Way, it would beat by far being a common fellow in the red dust of the world, a fool in a poor man’s hut. So behind my parents’ backs I went off with them to seek long life. Who could have known those two thieving Daoists were nothing but tricksters who fooled people with sleight of hand? They had tricked me into following them. All along the road they used me as their boy by day and their wife by night. We went through prefecture after prefecture, county after county, I don’t know how many places, till I was neither up nor down, in a sorry fix, with nothing at all to show for it. I reckoned this was no kind of life, so I had no choice but to leave them and come home. I was my parents’ only son. When they found me gone that day, how they wept! They pasted up notices everywhere looking for me, drew lots at the temples and paid fortune-tellers, and spent who knows how much. So when they suddenly saw me come home, how they rejoiced — it was as if they had picked up some treasure! Behind my back my parents talked it over: ‘The boy was away so long with those thieving Daoists, they must have lured him off to be their catamite7 and used him till they were tired of him. Surely he knows about women by now. If we don’t get him a wife, and someone lures him away again, this time we can give up hope of ever seeing him back.’ They lost no time sending for a matchmaker to find me a match and send the betrothal gifts, and they got me a wife, who bore me a son. Year in, year out, we hoped and waited, till at last the boy was grown and had taken a wife. She had just borne this granddaughter of mine when, in the child’s third year, my son fell ill and died, and his wife went off and married someone else. My wife and I went through a thousand hardships to bring the girl up, and then the year before last my wife departed this world too. All this property is left, and there’s no one of our clan to inherit it. That’s why I want to take a husband for her into the house. And now, young fellow, you’re thinking of leaving home to cultivate the Way. I expect you’ve met a few wandering Daoists who have turned your head. Why on earth would you do such a thing? Better do as my granddaughter says: marry into my family, carry on this line and take charge of all this property. Wouldn’t that suit us both?” “Everything you say is upside down, old gentleman,” said Xiangzi. “You’ve lived all these years for nothing. I’m just going to leave your shop now.” Again the girl put on her sweetest voice. “Sir! It’s already dusk, and all along the road there are jackals and wolves, tigers and leopards, snakes and scorpions, goblins and demons rampaging about, who knows how many. If you go out of my door, you’ll throw your life away for nothing. Even if you won’t marry into the family, why not stay the night in the lower rooms, just for now, and set off when it’s light?” “Whether a snake bites me or a tiger mauls me was settled in my former life,” said Xiangzi. “A good death or a violent one, it’s death all the same. You needn’t trouble yourself.” “Young sir, now you’re talking even more foolishly,” said the old man. “Even if you want to leave home and seek your masters, you have to keep your life to win long life. If you die first, here and now, how will anyone see the long life and deathlessness of leaving home? Let me give you an example.” “What example is that, old gentleman?” said Xiangzi. “As the saying goes,” said the old man, “I’ve eaten more salt in my time than you’ve eaten soy paste. I’ve read in a book that Emperor Wu of the Han heard that in a cave on Mount Jun there were several pecks of immortal wine, and that whoever drank it would live for ever and never die. So he fasted and purified himself for seven days and obtained the wine. Dongfang Shuo8 said, ‘Your servant knows this wine. Let me taste it first.’ And he drained it at a single draught. Emperor Wu flew into a rage and was going to have Dongfang Shuo put to death. Dongfang Shuo said, ‘What your servant drank was the immortal wine of deathlessness. If Your Majesty kills me today, then it was a wine that hastens death, and it would be of no use to Your Majesty. If it really is immortal wine, then even if Your Majesty kills me, I shall not die.’ Emperor Wu laughed and let him go. So you see: only by keeping Dongfang Shuo alive was it the immortal wine of deathlessness. Young sir, you hope for long life, yet you throw yourself down the road to death first. You’re just asking to die. What sort of leaving home is that? What sort of cultivation?” “Say what you like, a thousand words or ten thousand,” said Xiangzi. “I’ve made up my mind to go. I won’t listen! I won’t listen!” The girl flew into a rage. “This wild Daoist doesn’t know a kindness when he sees one! My old grandfather has talked himself hoarse, and it’s like breathing warm air on a wall. Quick, fetch a rope! We’ll string him up from the beam at the back and starve the thieving Daoist to death. I don’t suppose any kin of his will come to make us pay for his life.” “Since he doesn’t know what’s good for him,” said the old man, “there’s no point in stringing him up. Just throw him out, and let him throw his own life away!” The girl did as he said. With one shove she pushed Xiangzi out of the door, reciting as she did so:

Once outside the shop, Xiangzi was overjoyed, and he answered at once:

But would Xiangzi come out of this journey alive? To learn what happened next, read the next chapter.