Liu Dongjiu of Laiwu held office in Fenzhou1. He was sitting alone in his official residence when he heard laughing voices outside the pavilion, coming nearer. Into the room came four women: one about forty, one perhaps thirty, one twenty-four or twenty-five, and last a girl with her hair still hanging loose. They stood side by side before his desk, looking at one another and laughing. Liu knew well that government offices were full of foxes2, and paid them no attention. After a little while the girl with loose hair took out a red kerchief and playfully tossed it onto his face. Liu picked it up and threw it onto the window sill, and still paid them no attention. The four women laughed and went away.

One day the eldest came and said to Liu, “My little sister is fated to be yours. I hope you won’t throw away the turnip because of its root3.” Liu gave her a careless yes, and she left. Soon she came back with a maid, the two of them bringing the girl with loose hair between them, and sat her down shoulder to shoulder with Liu. “What a fine pair of phoenix mates,” she said. “Tonight you shall light the wedding candles. Serve your Liu well. I’m going.” Liu looked the girl over closely: her radiant beauty had no equal. So he made love to her. Then he asked her who she was and where she came from. “It’s true I am not a living person,” she said, “and yet I really am one. I was the daughter of an official who held this post before you. A fox bewitched me, and I died all of a sudden and was buried in the garden. The foxes brought me back to life with their arts, and so now I drift about lightly, like a fox.” At this Liu felt about her backside with his hand. She noticed, and laughed. “You aren’t thinking foxes have tails, are you?” She turned round. “Go on, feel for yourself.” From then on she stayed and did not leave. Wherever she went or sat, her little maid was with her. The whole household honoured her as the Little Lady4. When the maids and old women came to pay their respects, she rewarded them very generously.

When Liu’s birthday came round the guests were many, more than thirty tables in all, and a great many cooks were needed. He had sent out official summons for them in advance, but only one or two came. Liu was beside himself with rage. When she heard of it she said, “Don’t worry. Since there aren’t enough cooks to be of use, you may as well send away the ones who came. I have no great talents, but thirty tables are not hard to manage.” Liu was delighted, and had the fish and meat, the ginger and cinnamon, all moved into the inner quarters. The household heard nothing but the sound of knives on chopping boards, a busy patter that never stopped. A table was set just inside the door. The servers put their trays down on it, turned to look, and the dishes were already heaped full. They carried them off and came back, a dozen or more of them streaming along the path, and the food never ran out. At the very end the servers came asking for the noodles in broth5. A voice from inside said, “The master never told us beforehand. How can it be got ready on the spot?” Then, after a moment, “There’s no help for it. We’ll borrow some.” In a little while they were called to fetch the noodles. They looked, and there were more than thirty bowls steaming on the table. When the guests had gone, she said to Liu, “Please take out some money to pay such-and-such a family for the noodles.” Liu sent a man there with the price. That family had lost their noodles and were all marvelling at it; when the messenger arrived, the mystery was cleared up.