The Kui star sends a dream as a loyal and upright man is born;The Ministry of Thunder shows its might as a fox takes refuge

Now, Squire Bao spent his days brooding. One day, as he sat alone in his study turning the matter over, his eyes grew heavy before he knew it, and he fell asleep slumped over the desk. Half asleep, he saw auspicious clouds swirling in mid-air, wrapped in a haze of good omen. Suddenly there was a flash of red light, and a monster1 dropped down in front of him: two horns on its head, a blue face and red hair, a huge mouth with jutting fangs, a silver ingot in its left hand and a vermilion brush in its right. Dancing as it came, it bounded down toward him. The squire gave a great cry and woke. It had been a dream, but his heart was still pounding. He was sitting there dazed when a maid lifted the door curtain and came in to announce: “Squire, wonderful news! The mistress has just given birth to a young master, and I came straight to tell you.” The squire gasped. He was frightened and bewildered beyond measure, and for a long while he sat stunned. Then he groaned and said, “It’s hopeless, hopeless! What misfortune for my house, that such an evil thing should be born into it!” He got up in haste and went to the rear courtyard, sighing at every step. To his relief, Madam Zhou had come to no harm. He asked her a few brief questions and then, without so much as a glance at the baby, turned and went back to his study. As for waiting on Madam Zhou and swaddling the baby, in so well-off a household everything was ready to hand, and there is no need to describe it.

Our story turns to Bao Hai’s wife, Madam Li. Slipping away when she had a moment, she went back to her own room and found Bao Hai sitting there in a daze. “A perfectly good fortune, all set to be split ‘two into one, make it five2’,” she said, “and now it’s turned into ‘three into one, three and one over’! You’d better think of something.” “That’s just what I’ve been fretting about,” Bao Hai replied. “Just now the old man called me into his study and told me about his dream: a monster with a blue face and red hair came dropping out of the sky and scared him awake — and what do you know, that’s when this child was born. I’ve thought it over carefully, and it must be the melon in our east field. It’s turned into a goblin.” At this Madam Li began to egg him on. “This is serious! If he’s left in the house, he’s bound to make mischief. The books have always said that when a goblin gets in at the door, as often as not the family is ruined and its people die. Why not tell the old man now, before it’s too late, and have him thrown out somewhere in the wilds? That would save us the worry, and the estate would be spared the ‘three into one’ as well. Two birds with one stone — what do you say?” Her words woke Bao Hai as if from a dream. He got up at once and went to the study, and as soon as he saw the squire he told him the whole thing from beginning to end — though he said nothing about the family property. Now the squire had been fretting over this very matter, and Bao Hai’s words chimed exactly with his own thoughts. “Good, good,” he said again and again. “I leave it to you. Go and see to it quickly. If your mother asks later, tell her the child died soon after it was born.” Bao Hai took his orders and went back to the bedchamber. Giving out that the baby was dead, he hurried him out, packed him into a tea basket and carried him round behind Jinping Mountain. There he came upon a hollow full of deep grass and set the basket down. He was about to tip the baby out when he saw a green light flash in the grass: it was the glare of a great tiger’s eyes. Bao Hai was frightened out of his wits — so frightened he wet himself. Dropping basket, baby and all, he turned and ran back home, panting for breath. Without stopping to report to the squire, he ran to his own room, threw himself down on the kang3 and cried again and again, “That scared me to death! That scared me to death!” “What are you carrying on like this for, as if you’d seen a ghost?” Madam Li asked in alarm. “Has that goblin been making mischief?” Bao Hai pulled himself together. “Terrible! Terrible!” he answered, and he told her every last detail. “Now wasn’t that frightening? Only I didn’t bring the tea basket back.” Madam Li laughed. “You really are one to spill a whole basket of oil and then go picking sesame seeds off the floor — never mind the big things, fuss about the little ones! What’s one basket worth? We’ve saved a whole share of the estate — isn’t that something to be glad about?” Bao Hai grinned from ear to ear. “It’s true what they say: ‘Better a stout lining than a stout coat4.’ I owe it all to your cleverness, my good wife. I’ll bet the tiger’s smacking its lips over that kid right now!”

But little did the two of them know, as they talked in their room, that there were ears outside the window. The good Madam Wang happened to be passing and heard every word. She hurried back to her own room. The more she thought about it, the crueller it seemed; she was frantic with worry and sick at heart, and before she knew it, tears were falling. She was still weeping when the eldest son, Bao Shan, came in from outside. Seeing her in this state, he asked what was wrong, and she told him everything. “So that’s what’s been going on!” said Bao Shan. “Don’t worry. Jinping Mountain is no more than five or six li5 away. Let me go and look, and then we’ll decide what to do.” With that he was out of the room at once. When her husband had gone, Madam Wang was full of fear and dread: what if the tiger attacked him? What if he couldn’t find Third Brother? Her mind was in turmoil, and she could not settle.

Now Bao Shan hurried round behind Jinping Mountain as fast as he could go. Sure enough, there was a stretch of deep grass. He searched all around and found the tea basket lying on its side on the ground — but no Third Brother. Bao Shan was alarmed. “Oh no!” he kept saying. “The tiger must have eaten him.” He went on a few more steps, and there was a patch where the grass had all been pressed flat, a good foot or more thick, and on it lay a baby, face down, black as lacquer, glossy as oil, and stark naked. Bao Shan was overjoyed at the sight. He hurriedly opened his coat, picked the baby up and tucked him inside against his chest, then turned and made straight for home, slipping quietly back into his own room.

Madam Wang was watching anxiously for his return. The moment she saw her husband come back, her heart was eased, and when she saw that he had brought Third Brother with him, her joy knew no bounds. She quickly opened the front of her dress, took Lord Bao from him and cradled him against her breast. And Lord Bao, clever from birth, no sooner found himself in the good woman’s arms than he began nuzzling about with his head as though he wanted to feed. So she put her nipple in his mouth and slowly nursed him. Bao Shan, standing by, talked it over with her. “We’ve rescued Third Brother,” he said, “but if two babies suddenly turn up in my room, won’t people be suspicious when they see them?” “Better to send our own son, who is just a month old, somewhere else and find someone to raise him,” she said. “Then I can nurse Third Brother alone. Wouldn’t that take care of both?” Bao Shan was delighted. He secretly carried his own baby out and left him elsewhere to be raised. As luck would have it, a man of their village named Zhang Delu had a wife who had just borne a son, but the baby had died before it was a month old, and she was in full milk. Zhang Delu was overjoyed to have Bao Shan’s son.

Now, spring turned to summer and autumn to winter. Time flew, and in the twinkling of an eye six years had passed. Lord Bao was now seven6. He had always called his brother and sister-in-law Father and Mother, and the name they gave him was Heizi — ‘Little Black’. The strangest thing was that from infancy until the age of seven he had never once cried, nor ever once laughed. Day after day he went about with a glum little face, never saying a word, and even when people tried to play with him, he took no notice. So everyone found him tiresome, and apart from Bao Shan and his wife, who sheltered him in every way, nobody loved him.

One day it was Madam Zhou’s birthday. No guests were invited from outside; the family held a banquet of its own. Madam Wang brought Heizi to offer birthday greetings to her mother-in-law. When they had made their bows, they stood to one side. Then Heizi ran up to Madam Zhou, dropped to his knees and, most respectfully, knocked his head on the floor three times. Madam Zhou was so delighted that her face broke into smiles. She took him in her arms and said, “I remember six years ago I gave birth to a son. While I lay in a faint, somehow he died the moment he was born. If he had lived, he would be just as big as this one.” Seeing that no one else was near, Madam Wang dropped at once to her knees. “Mother,” she said, “I beg you to forgive your daughter-in-law her boldness. This child is the son you bore. I feared that at your age you would not have milk enough and could not bear the toil of nursing, so I secretly took him to my own room and raised him there, and never dared say so openly. Now that you ask, Mother, I dare not keep the truth from you.” Of the plot by Madam Li and her husband, the good woman said not a word. Old Madam Zhou hurried to raise her up. “So that’s how it was!” she said. “My son owes everything to your care, my dear, and you spared me all that toil besides. You truly are the most virtuous woman in the world. But one thing: where is my little grandson now?” “He is being raised elsewhere,” Madam Wang replied. Madam Zhou had her little grandson brought at once. The two boys did not look alike, but in size there was little to tell between them. The squire was quickly sent for, and the whole matter was brought into the open. He was glad at heart; but when he remembered what had happened before, he knew he had wronged his wife. Still, what was done was done, and there was nothing he could do about it now.

From then on Heizi acknowledged his true parents and went back to calling Bao Shan and his wife his brother and sister-in-law. Madam Zhou, old as she was, cherished this son and doted on him in every way, and she renamed him Sanhei — ‘Third Black’. Bao Shan and his wife looked out for him too and kept watch everywhere, so that whatever Bao Hai and his wife might be plotting in secret, they could never find their chance. In the blink of an eye two more years went by. By the time Lord Bao was nine, Bao Hai and his wife could think of nothing but how to do away with him.

One day, when Bao Hai was at home, he went to the squire and poured some poisonous advice into his ear. “We farming folk must always put hard work and thrift first,” he said. “There’s no room for idling. If he’s left with nothing to do, he’ll grow up greedy and lazy — and how would that do? Sanhei is nine now; he’s not so little any more. He ought to go along with the village herd boys, or with our Old Zhou’s son Changbao, and learn to graze the cattle and sheep. For one thing he’ll learn a skill, and for another he won’t be eating for nothing.” The squire was won round by this speech. He put it to Madam Zhou as though it were only a matter of Sanhei tagging along each day for a ramble. Madam Zhou agreed, and told Old Zhou, their hired hand, to take special care of him. Old Zhou in turn told Changbao, “When you take the cattle and sheep out every day, keep the Third Young Master happy and amused. If anything goes amiss, I’ll pay you in beatings on the spot — cash, not credit!” So every day the third young master went out with Changbao to graze the cattle and sheep, sometimes outside the village, sometimes by the river, sometimes on the slopes of Jinping Mountain, but never more than five or six li from the village; he would never go any farther.

One day they drove the cattle and sheep to the foot of Etou Peak on Jinping Mountain and, finding a stretch of green grass, let them graze there. The village herd boys played together, all but Lord Bao. He kept to himself, now gazing at the hills and streams, now sitting on the ground beneath the trees, now lying in a fold of the hills with a stone for his pillow — listless and dull, as though something weighed on his mind. He was resting on a rock in the fold of the hills when dark clouds closed in on every side, and thunder and lightning broke out together. Knowing that a downpour was coming, he jumped up and ran to an old temple in a hollow of the hills. He had only just stepped into the hall when there was a tremendous crash of thunder, and wind and rain came on all at once. Lord Bao was sitting upright and cross-legged before the altar table when suddenly he felt someone grab him from behind and hold him tight round the waist. He turned his head to look. It was a young woman7, blushing with shame, and so frightened that it was pitiful to see. Lord Bao thought to himself, “This must be some family’s daughter who was passing this way and got caught in the rain. By the look of her, she’s afraid of the thunder. Never mind a frail young woman like her — even I, Sanhei, feel a chill of fear at thunder like this.” So he simply spread his coat wide and sheltered her with it. Outside, the thunder grew ever more violent, crashing right over their heads. It went on for two or three quarters of an hour; then the rain began to ease, and at last the thunder fell silent.

Before long the clouds scattered and the sky cleared; the sun was already setting. When he turned to look, the young woman was gone. Puzzled, he left the temple, found Changbao, and they drove the cattle and sheep back. They had just reached the edge of the village when along came Qiuxiang, the maid who waited on his second sister-in-law, with a plate of fried cakes in her hand. “The Second Mistress made these for the Third Young Master’s snack,” she said. “Go back and thank my sister-in-law for me,” said Lord Bao. With that he picked one up to eat — but all at once his fingers went numb, and the cake fell to the ground. Before he could pick it up, a mangy dog came up from behind and made off with it in its mouth. “What a waste of a good fried cake, letting the dog have it!” said Changbao. “That’s our mangy dog. I’ll go and chase it back.” Lord Bao stopped him. “Now that it’s had it in its mouth, it’s no good to eat even if you get it back. Let’s get the cattle and sheep penned first — that’s what matters.” Talking as they went, they came to Old Zhou’s place. Changbao drove the cattle and sheep into the pen, and then they heard him shout from the yard, “Oh no! Why is the mangy dog bleeding from its eyes and ears and nose and mouth?” Old Zhou came out into the yard with Lord Bao, and there lay the dog on the ground, blood running from all seven openings of its head. Old Zhou stared at it in astonishment. “This dog has died of poison,” he said. “What can it have eaten?” Changbao put in, “Just now the Second Mistress sent Qiuxiang with a cake for the Third Young Master. He dropped it, and our mangy dog ate it.” At that Old Zhou understood. He asked the Third Young Master into the house and warned him quietly, “From now on, be careful with any food the Second Mistress gives you. Don’t fall into her trap.” Far from believing him, Lord Bao was annoyed with him for trying to make trouble between him and his sister-in-law. He took leave of Old Zhou in a huff and went home, thoroughly out of sorts.

A few days later Qiuxiang came to fetch him, saying the Second Mistress had something urgent to see him about. Lord Bao had no choice but to go with her to his second sister-in-law’s room. As soon as Madam Li saw him, she was all smiles. “Yesterday Qiuxiang went into the back garden,” she said, “and all of a sudden she heard someone talking down in the dry well. So she leaned over the mouth of the well to look down, and without meaning to she dropped a gold hairpin into it. I’m afraid the old mistress will be cross. If we ask someone else to fish it out, the mouth of the well is too narrow for them to get down — and besides, I’m afraid it would get talked about. There was nothing else for it, so I had her fetch you, Third Young Master, as quick as she could.” Then she asked him, “Third Brother, you’re small enough. If you go down the well and feel about for the gold hairpin, you’ll save your sister-in-law a scolding. Would you be willing to go down, Third Brother?” “That’s nothing!” said Lord Bao. “I’ll go down and find it for you, Sister-in-law.” So Madam Li called for Qiuxiang to bring a rope, and they went with Lord Bao to the well in the back garden. Lord Bao tied the rope round his waist and, holding on to the rim of the well, told Madam Li and Qiuxiang to let it out slowly. He had been lowered a little past halfway when he heard a voice from above: “Oh no! I can’t hold it!” Lord Bao felt the rope go slack, and like a bundle of old rags he went tumbling down — thump! — all the way to the bottom. Luckily it was a dry well with no water in it, and the fall did him no harm. Only now did he understand. He thought to himself, “No wonder Old Zhou told me to be careful. So my second sister-in-law really does mean to harm me! But now I’ve fallen into the well and nobody else knows — how am I ever going to get out?”

He was sitting there, miserable, when a light suddenly flashed in front of him. Not knowing what it was, Lord Bao thought, “Can there really be a gold hairpin down here, shining?” He lunged forward to grab it, but his hand closed on nothing, and the light moved on ahead. Puzzled, he went after it again, but the more he lunged, the farther off it was; he could never catch it. Frantic, his face streaming with sweat, he kept saying, “How strange, how strange! How can there be such a long way inside a well?” He could not help chasing after it with all his might, to see what it was. So he lunged and chased for a full li, until all at once the light stopped moving. Lord Bao threw himself forward and caught it: it was an old mirror. He turned it over to look more closely, but in the dark he could make nothing out. He only felt a chill coming off it that struck through to his heart. He was still looking at it when he saw light ahead. He quickly tucked the old mirror into his coat and crawled out. Looking about, he found himself in a ditch outside the back wall of the threshing floor. He thought to himself, “So the dry well in our back garden connects with this passage. Never mind that. Thank goodness I’m out of the well. I’d better just go home.”

He reached home in a thoroughly sullen mood. He sat by himself, but there was nowhere to vent his anger, so he went to Madam Wang’s room and sat there pouting, staring at nothing. “Third Brother,” Madam Wang asked, “where have you been? What’s put you in such a temper? Has someone been bullying you?” “I’ll tell you, Sister-in-law,” said Lord Bao. “Nobody from outside has been bullying me. It’s just that Qiuxiang said my second sister-in-law wanted me, so I hurried off to see her, and what do you know, she had me feel for a hairpin…” And he told her, point by point, how he had been tricked into the dry well. Madam Wang was indignant to hear it, and distressed, but there was nothing she could do. She could only soothe and comfort him, and warn him to be on his guard everywhere from now on. “Yes, yes,” said Lord Bao. As they talked, he took the old mirror from inside his coat and handed it to her. “I came by this in the dark,” he said. “Keep it safe, Sister-in-law. Don’t lose it.”

When Lord Bao had gone, Madam Wang sat alone in her room and thought to herself: “The things my brother-in-law and his wife get up to are so deep and so secret — never mind Third Brother, who is only a child and could never see through them; even my husband and I can hardly fathom their schemes. If some disaster comes of it one day, what are we to do? How contemptible, that the two of them should think only of the family property and forget the bonds of kinship!” She was still sighing over it when Bao Shan came in from outside, and she told him all that had just been said. Bao Shan shook his head again and again. “Nonsense!” he said. “Third Brother must have been up to mischief and fallen into the dry well by accident, and then, afraid of being punished, he made up this pack of lies. Don’t listen to him. From now on just keep him here with us all the time. That will spare us a lot of talk and trouble as well.”

But though Bao Shan said this aloud, at heart he was more troubled than he could say. He thought to himself: “Do I not know what my brother has done before? But how can I, his elder brother, take him to task? I can only let it pass. If I spoke out about this, for one thing it would spoil the peace between brothers, and for another it would breed suspicion between our wives.” He pondered for a long while, then heaved a long sigh in spite of himself and said to Madam Wang, “It seems to me Third Brother has an extraordinary air about him and does remarkable things. There will be no limit to what he becomes. My brother and I have missed our chance — we never studied as boys. Why don’t we engage a teacher for Third Brother now? If Heaven takes pity on us and he wins some official post, however small, it will raise our family’s standing, and it will spare us all the bullying we have to swallow from corrupt officials and grasping clerks. What do you say — wouldn’t that be good?” Madam Wang nodded, saying “Yes, yes” again and again. “But you must put it to Father carefully,” she added. “Don’t worry,” said Bao Shan. “I know how to go about it.”

The next day, when he had seen to the household business, Bao Shan went to see the squire. “Father,” he said, “I have come to put something to you.” “What is it?” asked the squire. “It’s Sanhei,” said Bao Shan. “He has nothing to occupy him. Rather than have him herding sheep all day and roaming about outside, where he’ll learn nothing good, why not hire a teacher to give him some schooling? Take us — we missed our schooling as boys, and though we picked up a little later on, when we come to a difficult account there are still things we can’t read, and people cheat us. If we hire a teacher now, for one thing he can teach Sanhei his books; for another, when we have a difficult document, we can ask the teacher about it; and besides, once Sanhei has learned, he can keep some of the accounts of what comes in and goes out.” When the squire heard that the boy might keep some of the accounts, he said, “Very well. But one thing: there’s no need to hire a great scholar. Anyone who knows a bit more than we do will do. Let him teach the boy for two or three years, just until he can read.” Bao Shan was overjoyed that his father had agreed. He withdrew at once and asked the neighbours to help him find a truly learned teacher: he was determined that Third Brother should make his name at a single stroke8.

Now, when the neighbours heard that Millionaire Bao’s family wanted to hire a teacher, who would not be eager to oblige? One came with a suggestion, another with a recommendation. But Bao Shan would settle for nothing less than a renowned scholar. As it happened, in the next village there lived an old scholar, Master Ning, a man of upright conduct and deep learning — and of an odd temper besides. He had three rules for taking pupils, and if any of them was broken, he would not teach: a dull pupil he would not teach; in his schoolroom he would have only one page boy, and no idlers coming and going; and for ten years the teacher might give notice, but the family might never dismiss him. Because of these three rules — though he never cared how large or small his fee9 — no one dared to hire him.

To learn what happened next, read the next chapter.