Gong was a scholar of Minzhou. On his way to sit the examination at Xi’an1, he stopped to rest at an inn and bought wine to drink by himself. A big, imposing man came in, sat down and began to talk with him. Gong raised his cup and invited him to drink, and the stranger did not decline. He said his name was Miao. His talk and laughter were coarse and loud. Finding him uncultivated, Gong treated him with haughty coolness, and when the wine ran out he bought no more. “Drinking with a sour scholar,” said Miao, “is enough to stifle a man!” He got up, went to the counter for wine, and came back carrying a huge jar. Gong declined to drink. Miao seized his arm and pressed him to drain his cup, until the arm hurt as if it would break. Gong had no choice and emptied several cups for him. Miao drank from a soup bowl himself and laughed. “I’m no good at pressing a guest. Go or stay, as suits you.” Gong packed at once and set off. After a few li his horse fell sick and lay down in the road, and he sat at the roadside waiting. The baggage was heavy, and he had no idea what to do, when Miao came looking for him. Learning what was wrong, Miao took off the baggage and handed it to the servant, then got his own shoulder under the horse’s belly and carried it on his back. He hurried more than twenty li before he reached an inn, where he set the horse down at a trough. After a while Gong and his servant arrived. Gong was amazed and took him for a god. He treated him lavishly, bought wine and food, and ate and drank with him. “I’m a big eater,” said Miao. “You could never fill me. Plenty to drink will do.” He drained a whole jar, then rose to take his leave. “It will be some days before your horse is cured. I can’t wait. I’m off.” And he went. Later, when the examination was over, three or four friends invited Gong to climb Mount Hua, and they spread a feast on the ground. They were in the midst of feasting and laughing when Miao suddenly appeared, a huge wine vessel in his left hand and a pig’s knuckle in his right. He threw them down. “I heard you gentlemen were climbing the mountain. I’ve come to hang on to the tails of your thoroughbreds.” They all rose and greeted him, and sat down together anyhow, drinking hard and merrily. The others wanted to compose linked verse. Miao objected: “Drinking freely is great fun. Why go to the misery of thinking?” They would not listen, and laid down the Golden Valley forfeit2. “Whoever does badly,” said Miao, “should be dealt with by military law!” They laughed. “The offence hardly calls for that.” “If you won’t have me executed,” said Miao, “even a soldier like me can do it.” Jin, in the seat of honour, began: “Looking down from the sheer crag, the eye sees only emptiness.” Miao carried on offhand: “I chip the spittoon3 with my beating; the sword gleams red.” The man in the next seat pondered a long time, so Miao took up the pot and poured for himself. After a while, as the lines went round in turn, they grew more and more vulgar. Miao shouted, “That’s quite enough! If you’ll spare me, stop now!” They would not listen. Miao could stand it no longer. He suddenly let out a dragon’s roar that echoed through the hills and valleys, then got up and did a lion dance, bobbing up and down. Their poetic thoughts thrown into confusion, they gave up versifying and sent the cups flying round again. By now they were half drunk, and the guests took turns reciting what they had written in the examination hall, each praising the others. Miao did not want to hear it and pulled Gong into a finger-guessing game. Round after round was won and lost, and still the guests went on reciting and praising. Miao said harshly, “I’ve heard it all. Writing like this is only fit to read to your old woman at the bedside. Droning on in front of a crowd is disgusting!” The guests looked abashed, but they hated his coarseness all the more, and chanted louder still. Miao was furious. He threw himself to the ground with a great roar and at once turned into a tiger. He sprang on the guests and killed them, and went off roaring. The only ones left were Gong and Jin. Jin passed the provincial examination that year. Three years later he was passing through Huayin again when he suddenly saw Ji, one of those who had been devoured on the mountain. Terrified, he wanted to gallop away, but Ji caught his bridle and would not let him go. So Jin dismounted and asked what he wanted. “I am now Miao’s ghost-slave4,” Ji answered, “and the service is very bitter. Only when another scholar has been killed can I be replaced. Three days from now a man in a scholar’s gown and cap is due to be eaten by the tiger, but only if it happens below Azure Dragon Ridge will he be the one who takes my place. If on that day you invite plenty of men of letters here, you will be doing your old friend a service.” Jin dared not argue. He respectfully promised, and they parted. Back at his lodgings he thought it over all night and could find no way out. He made up his mind to break his promise and take whatever reproach the ghost might bring. Just then a relative of his, Jiang, came to visit, and Jin told him of this strange business. Jiang was a scholar of some reputation, but a man of the same county named You had placed above him in the examinations, and he secretly nursed a grudge. When he heard Jin’s story, he privately resolved to trap You. He sent a note inviting You to climb the mountain with him, and went himself dressed in white5. You did not understand what this meant. Halfway up the ridge, wine and dishes were laid out, and Jiang was courtesy itself. It happened that the prefect was climbing to the top of the ridge. His family and Jiang’s were old friends, and hearing that Jiang was below, he sent someone to summon him. Jiang dared not appear in white, so he and You exchanged caps and gowns. They had not finished changing when the tiger suddenly appeared, took Jiang in its jaws and was gone.