吳令某公，忘其姓字。剛介有聲。吳俗最重城隍之神，木肖之，衣以錦，藏機如生。值神壽節，則居民斂資為會，輦游通衢，建諸旗幢，雜鹵簿，森森部列，鼓吹行且作，闐闐咽咽然，一道相屬也。習以為俗。歲無敢懈。公出，適相值，止而問之。居民以告。又詰知所費頗奢。公怒，指神而責之曰：「城隍實主一邑，如冥頑無靈，則淫昏之鬼，無足奉事；其有靈，則物力宜惜，何得以無益之費，耗民脂膏？」言已，曳神于地，笞之二十。從此習俗頓革。公清正無私，惟少年好戲。居年餘，偶于廨中梯檐探雀鷇，失足而墮，折股，尋卒。人聞城隍祠中，公大聲喧怒，似與神爭，數日不止。吳人不忘公德，集群祝而解之，別建一祠祠公，聲乃息。祠亦以城隍名，春秋祀之，較故神尤著。吳至今有二城隍云。
吴令某公，忘其姓字。刚介有声。吴俗最重城隍之神，木肖之，衣以锦，藏机如生。值神寿节，则居民敛资为会，辇游通衢，建诸旗幢，杂卤簿，森森部列，鼓吹行且作，阗阗咽咽然，一道相属也。习以为俗。岁无敢懈。公出，适相值，止而问之。居民以告。又诘知所费颇奢。公怒，指神而责之曰：「城隍实主一邑，如冥顽无灵，则淫昏之鬼，无足奉事；其有灵，则物力宜惜，何得以无益之费，耗民脂膏？」言已，曳神于地，笞之二十。从此习俗顿革。公清正无私，惟少年好戏。居年余，偶于廨中梯檐探雀鷇，失足而堕，折股，寻卒。人闻城隍祠中，公大声喧怒，似与神争，数日不止。吴人不忘公德，集群祝而解之，别建一祠祠公，声乃息。祠亦以城隍名，春秋祀之，较故神尤着。吴至今有二城隍云。
There was once a magistrate of Wu whose name has been forgotten. He was known as a hard, upright man. The people of Wu revered the City God above all other gods. His image was carved of wood and dressed in brocade, with hidden works inside that made him move as if alive. On the god’s birthday the townspeople pooled their money and held a festival. They carried him through the main streets in a carriage, with banners and streamers raised all about and an honour guard in the procession, rank upon rank in close array. Drums and pipes played as they marched, booming and wailing, one unbroken line from end to end of the road. It had become the custom, and no year dared to pass without it. The magistrate went out one day and happened upon the procession. He stopped and asked what it was, and the townspeople told him. He questioned them further and learned how much it all cost. He was angry, and pointing at the god he rebuked it: “A City God rules over a county. If you are dull and senseless, with no power at all, then you are a dissolute, benighted ghost and not worth serving. If you do have power, you ought to spare the people’s goods. How can you drain their fat and grease on such useless expense?” With that he dragged the god to the ground and gave it twenty strokes of the bamboo. From then on the custom ended at once. The magistrate was honest and selfless; only, being young, he loved to play. When he had been in office a little over a year, he set a ladder against the eaves at his official residence to reach for the baby sparrows in a nest, lost his footing, fell and broke his thigh. He died soon after. People heard the magistrate’s voice in the City God’s temple, loud and angry, as if he were quarrelling with the god, and it went on for days. The people of Wu had not forgotten his goodness. They gathered the temple priests to make peace between the two, and built a separate temple for the magistrate; then the voices fell silent. That temple too is called a City God temple, and sacrifices are offered there in spring and autumn; it is more famous than the old god’s. And so, they say, Wu has two City Gods to this day.