Huo Huan, styled Kuangjiu, was a man of Jin1. His father had served as a county sheriff and died young. Huo was the youngest of the children he left behind, and cleverer than anyone. At eleven he entered the county school2 as a child prodigy. But his mother doted on him too much and would not let him past the courtyard gate, so that at thirteen he still could not tell his uncles from his nephews. In the same village lived a man named Wu, once a judge in the Court of Judicial Review, who was devoted to the Way; he went into the mountains and never came back. He had a daughter, Qing’e, fourteen years old and beautiful beyond all others. As a child she had secretly read her father’s books and come to admire the Immortal Maiden He3. Once her father had withdrawn from the world, she made up her mind never to marry, and her mother could do nothing with her. One day Huo caught sight of her outside his gate. He was only a boy and knew nothing of such things, but he felt that he loved her more than anything, though he had no words for it. He went straight to his mother and asked her to send the betrothal goose4. His mother knew it could not be done, and so she made difficulties. Huo grew sullen and wretched. Afraid of crossing her son, she had someone who went back and forth between the houses put the proposal to the Wus, and, as she expected, nothing came of it. Walking or sitting, Huo racked his brains, but he could think of no plan. It happened that a Daoist came to the gate holding a little spade, barely a foot long. Huo borrowed it and looked it over. “What is it for?” he asked. “It is for digging herbs,” said the Daoist. “Small as it is, it will go into solid stone.” Huo did not quite believe him. The Daoist struck at a stone in the wall with it, and the stone fell away at the touch as if it were rotten. Huo was amazed, and turned it over and over in his hands, unable to put it down. The Daoist laughed. “If the young master likes it, it is yours.” Huo was overjoyed and offered him money, but the Daoist would not take it and went away. Huo took the spade home and tried it on brick after brick and stone after stone; nothing could stop it. All at once it came to him that if he dug through walls he could see the beauty. He did not know that this was against the law. When the night watch had been set, he climbed over his wall and went straight to the Wu house. He dug through two walls in all before he reached the inner courtyard. A lamp was still burning in a small side room. He crouched and peeped in: it was Qing’e, taking off her evening finery. Soon the candle went out and all was silent. He dug through the wall and went in. She was already fast asleep. He gently took off his shoes and crept onto the bed. But he was afraid that if she woke with a start she would scold him and drive him out, so he lay quietly beside the folds of her embroidered quilt, where he could just smell her fragrant breath; and his heart’s desire was secretly satisfied. Half a night of work, though, had worn him out. He closed his eyes for a moment and before he knew it he was asleep. Qing’e woke and heard someone breathing heavily through the nose. She opened her eyes and saw light coming in through a hole in the wall. In terror she got up at once, drew the bolt in the dark, slipped out, and knocked at a window to wake the serving-women. Together they lit a light, took up sticks, and went in. They found a schoolboy, his hair still in a child’s tufts, sound asleep on the embroidered bed. Looking closer, they saw it was young Huo. Only when they shook him did he wake. He sat up at once, his eyes flashing like shooting stars. He did not seem very frightened, only abashed, and he said not a word. They called him a thief and shouted threats at him. Then he began to cry. “I’m not a thief. It’s only that I love the young lady, and I wanted to be near her sweetness.” They doubted, too, that a child could have dug through so many walls. Huo brought out the spade and told them what it could do. They tried it and were astounded; it must be a gift from the gods, they said. They were about to go together and tell the lady of the house. Qing’e bowed her head and thought, and seemed not to think it a good idea. The women saw what was in her mind and said, “This boy’s name and family would be no disgrace to you. Better to let him go, so that he can send a go-between again. In the morning we’ll tell the lady it was a burglar. How would that be?” Qing’e made no answer. So they hurried Huo off. Huo asked for his spade. They all laughed. “Silly child! Still thinking of your burglar’s tool?” Huo spied a phoenix hairpin by the pillow and slipped it into his sleeve. A maid saw him do it and quickly told her mistress. Qing’e said nothing, and was not angry. An old woman slapped him on the neck. “Don’t call him silly. He’s as sharp as they come.” Then they dragged him out, back through the hole he had made. When he got home he did not dare tell his mother the truth; he only begged her to send a go-between again. His mother could not bear to refuse him outright, but she asked go-betweens far and wide to find him a good match elsewhere, and quickly. Qing’e learned of it and was frantic. She secretly sent someone she trusted to drop a hint to Huo’s mother. The old lady was pleased and sent a go-between. But just then a little maid let slip what had happened that night. Lady Wu felt disgraced and was beside herself with rage. When the go-between arrived it only fed her anger: she scored the ground with her stick and cursed Huo, and his mother too. The go-between fled home in fright and told her everything. Huo’s mother was angry in her turn. “Whatever my worthless son did, I knew nothing of it. How dare she insult me like this? When they were lying thigh to thigh, why didn’t she kill the rake and the slut together?” From then on, whenever she met any of the Wus’ relations, she poured out the whole story. When Qing’e heard, she was so ashamed she wanted to die. Lady Wu bitterly regretted what she had done, but she could not stop Huo’s mother talking. Qing’e secretly sent someone to speak gently to Huo’s mother and swear that she would marry no one else; her words were full of grief. Huo’s mother was moved and said no more about it; but all talk of a match was dropped too. Then a Mr. Ou from Qin5 came to be magistrate of the county. He read Huo’s writing and thought highly of him; he often called him into his private quarters and showed him every favour. One day he asked Huo, “Are you married?” “Not yet,” said Huo. Pressed further, he answered, “Some time ago there was a sort of understanding with the daughter of Wu, the former judicial reviewer. Later, over a small difference, it came to nothing.” “Do you still want her?” Huo blushed and said nothing. The magistrate laughed. “I will arrange it for you.” At once he sent the county sheriff and the director of studies to take the betrothal gifts to the Wus. Lady Wu was delighted, and the match was settled. A year later Huo brought his bride home.

As soon as she came through the door, Qing’e threw the spade on the ground. “This is a burglar’s tool. Take it away!” Huo laughed. “Don’t forget our go-between.” He treasured it, and always carried it at his belt. Qing’e was gentle, kind and quiet. Three times a day she went to wait on his mother; the rest of the time she sat silent behind a closed door, and paid little attention to the household. But whenever his mother went out to a funeral or a celebration, Qing’e managed everything, and all was in perfect order. After a year or so she bore a son, Mengxian. She left everything to the wet nurse, and seemed not to care for him much. Four or five years later she said to Huo out of nowhere, “Our bond of love has lasted eight years now. From here the parting is long and the meeting short. What can be done?” Huo asked her in alarm what she meant, but she had already fallen silent. She dressed in all her finery, bowed to his mother, and went back into her room. He went after her to ask, and found her lying on her back on the bed, no longer breathing. Mother and son mourned her bitterly; they bought a fine coffin and buried her. Huo’s mother was old and frail. Again and again she would hold the child and think of his mother, as if her very lungs and liver were being torn; she fell ill of it, and took to her bed and could not rise. She could not keep food down and craved only fish broth, but there was none to be had nearby; it could be bought only a hundred li6 away. At the time all the servants and horses were out on errands. Huo was a truly devoted son and could not wait. He took money and went alone, walking day and night without rest. On his way back, when he reached the mountains, the sun had already set, and he was so lame in both feet that he could not take another step. An old man came up behind him and asked, “Blisters on your feet?” Huo said yes. The old man drew him to sit at the roadside, struck a light from a flint, wrapped some powdered medicine in paper, and smoked both of Huo’s feet with it. When he told Huo to try walking, not only was the pain gone, Huo felt stronger and nimbler than before. Huo thanked him with deep feeling. “What is your hurry?” asked the old man. Huo told him his mother was ill and went through the whole story. “Why not marry again?” “I have not found anyone good.” The old man pointed far off to a mountain village. “There is a beauty there. If you will come with me, I will be your go-between.” Huo excused himself: his mother was ill and waiting for the fish, and he had no time just now. The old man raised his joined hands and told him to come to the village another day and just ask for Old Wang. Then he took his leave. Huo got home and cooked the fish for his mother. She ate a little, and within a few days she was well. Then he took a servant and horses and set off to find the old man. When he reached the spot, he could not tell where the village was. He wandered about for a long time while the evening sun sank lower. The hills and valleys were a tangle, and there was no seeing far. So he and the servant split up and climbed different peaks to look out for houses. But the mountain paths were so rough that they could ride no further. By the time Huo had scrambled up on foot, the dusk had closed in like smoke. He paced about looking every way, but there was no village anywhere. He was about to go down when he found he had lost the way back, and his heart burned with worry. Blundering about in the dark, he fell over a cliff. Luckily, a few feet down there was a narrow ledge, and he landed on it. It was barely wide enough to hold him, and below it was black and without bottom. He was too terrified to move an inch. Luckily again, little trees grew all along the cliff edge and hemmed him in like a railing. After a while he saw the mouth of a small cave beside his feet. Secretly glad, he pressed his back to the rock and wriggled in like a grub. Feeling a little safer, he hoped that when day came he could call for help. Before long he saw a light deep inside, like a point of starlight. He made his way toward it, three or four li perhaps, and suddenly came upon corridors and halls. There were no lamps or candles, yet it was as bright as day. A beautiful woman came out of one of the rooms. He looked: it was Qing’e. She saw him and cried in surprise, “How did you get here, my love?” Huo had no time for explanations; he clutched her sleeve and sobbed. She calmed him, and asked after his mother and her son. He told her all their troubles, and she was saddened too. “You have been dead more than a year,” said Huo. “Is this the underworld?” “No,” she said. “This is the home of immortals. I did not die then: what you buried was only a bamboo staff7. That you have come here now means you have some share in the immortals’ destiny.” She led him in to pay his respects to her father, a man with a long beard sitting in the hall. Huo hurried forward and bowed. “Huo has come,” said Qing’e. The old man rose in surprise, took his hand, and talked a little of this and that. “It is very good that my son-in-law has come,” he said. “It is only right that you should stay here.” Huo excused himself: his mother was waiting for him, and he could not stay long. “I know that,” said the old man. “But what harm is there in staying three or four days?” He gave him food and wine, and had a maid make up a bed for him in the west hall, spread with brocade. When Huo had retired, he asked Qing’e to share his bed. She refused him. “What place do you think this is? Is this somewhere for such lewdness?” Huo caught her arm and would not let go. The maids outside the window tittered, and she was more ashamed than ever. While they were struggling, the old man came in. “Common bones defiling my grotto8!” he shouted. “Get out at once!” Huo had always been proud and quick to take offence, and in his shame he could not bear it. His face darkened. “Love between man and woman is something no one escapes. What business has an elder spying on me? I will go at once, gladly — but your daughter must come with me.” The old man did not argue. He beckoned to his daughter to follow Huo, and opened the back door to see them out. But once he had tricked Huo out of the door, father and daughter shut it and were gone. Huo turned around: there was nothing but sheer, jagged cliff, without the smallest crack. He was alone with his shadow, and had nowhere to go. He looked up: the slanting moon hung high, and the stars were already few. He stood there in despair for a long time. Grief turned to rage. He faced the cliff and shouted and wailed, but no one answered. In a fury he took the spade from his belt and began to hack into the rock, cursing as he dug. In no time he had dug three or four feet in. Faintly he heard a voice say, “What a pest!” Huo dug harder and faster. Suddenly a pair of doors swung open at the end of the hole, and someone pushed Qing’e out. “Go, go!” And the rock closed up again. “If you love me enough to make me your wife,” Qing’e said reproachfully, “is this any way to treat your father-in-law? Where did that old Daoist come from, giving you a burglar’s tool to pester people half to death?” Now that he had her, Huo had all he wanted and did not argue; his only worry was that the way was dangerous and home hard to reach. Qing’e broke off two branches, and they each sat astride one. The branches turned into horses that went at a gallop, and in a moment they were home. Huo had been missing for seven days.