Now, when the false young lady1 heard Lord Shao’s question, she told him the whole story: she was sickly, and on her parents’ orders she had been on her way to Tang County to see a doctor and recover her health. “Then your father was at fault,” said Lord Shao. “You are a delicate girl from the women’s quarters. How could he send you off to Tang County with no one but your nurse and her husband2 to take you?” “I have often gone back and forth before,” the false young lady answered quickly. “I never thought the boatmen would turn wicked this time. It is just your niece’s bad luck.” “By rights I ought to see you home,” said Lord Shao, “but the Emperor has set me a deadline3 and I cannot delay. Rather than going on to Tang County, why not come with this old man to Changsha? My old wife is here with us, and so are your sisters — my girls — so you won’t be lonely. When you are well again, I’ll write to your father. What does my niece think?” “Since you are so kind to me, Uncle,” said the false young lady, “how could your niece refuse? But where is my aunt? I should go and pay my respects.” Lord Shao was overjoyed and quickly had the serving women and maids help the young lady across to his lady’s boat. Lord Shao had three daughters, and when they met the false young lady, every one of them was delighted. From then on Jiahui stayed with Lord Shao’s family and nursed herself back to health. There had never been much wrong with her, and within a few days she was well. His lady once asked her privately whether she was promised to anyone. “Since I was little I have been betrothed to Shi Jun,” she answered, and the lady quietly told her husband. From that day the boats sailed on until they came to the Double Fork at Meihua Bay. Here the water split in two: one branch ran southeast, toward Changsha; the other ran northeast, toward Lüya Shoal.

Our story turns to Lüya Shoal, where thirteen fishing families lived. Among them was a man past forty named Zhang Li, an utterly honest, decent sort. He had an old woman of his own, Madam Li4. The old couple had neither sons nor daughters and made their living from fishing day by day. One night Old Zhang cast his net, and when he began to haul it in, it felt heavy. Thinking he had caught a big fish, he called again and again, “Mother, come quick, come quick!” Madam Li heard and came out. “Big Brother, what are you calling me for?” (This was how the old pair had always addressed each other: the man called the woman Mother, and the woman called the man Big Brother. Nobody knew how it had started, but by now they were used to it and thought nothing of it.) “Mother, give me a hand,” said Zhang Li. “This catch is no small fry.” Madam Li came over and helped him haul it up into the boat. They opened the net and looked: it was the body of a woman, held up on a bamboo window frame. Zhang Li spat again and again. “Bad luck! Bad luck! Quick, throw it back in the water.” Madam Li hastily stopped him. “Don’t be so hasty, Big Brother. Let me feel whether there’s any breath left in her. Haven’t you heard the saying, ‘Saving one life is worth more than building a seven-storey pagoda5’?” She felt, and sure enough, the girl’s heart was still fluttering under her breast. “There’s still breath in her,” she said. “Quick, get the water out of her.” Madam Li pressed her palms flat and rubbed the girl’s chest. Before long a good deal of clear water came out, and little by little the girl came to and began to moan. The old woman helped her sit up, let her gather her wits a moment, then spoke to her gently and asked her, step by step, who she was and how she came to be there.

This girl was none other than the young lady Mudan. After she fell into the water, the bamboo window frame had held her up, and she had drifted downstream who knows how many miles until she came to rest here. She knew well enough what had happened but would not tell the truth. “I’m a maid in the household of the Tang County magistrate6,” she answered. “We were going to fetch Miss Jin, and I was leaning on a bamboo window, gazing at the water, when the window fell out and I fell in with it. Before I knew it I had drifted here. May I ask your name, good mother?” Madam Li told her everything, then quietly put her head together with Zhang Li. “You and I have gone half our lives with no son or daughter. This girl, now — I can see she’s very pretty and speaks so cleverly. Why don’t we take her for our daughter? Then we’d have someone to lean on later, wouldn’t we?” “Whatever you think best, Mother,” said Zhang Li. Madam Li put it to Mudan, and Mudan agreed again and again. Seeing that she had agreed, Madam Li was overjoyed. At once her heart swelled with love for her daughter; she no longer cared about fishing and hurried Big Brother to get back to the village so she could find her daughter a change of clothes. Zhang Li poled the boat away and they came back to the village. Madam Li helped Mudan into their thatched hut, found her a clean set of clothes and had the young lady change. She who had once been hung all about with pearls and kingfisher feathers now wore a thorn hairpin7 and a plain cloth skirt.