9

Duke Pei of Jin Returns a Concubine to Her Rightful Husband

Back in the days of Emperor Wen [r. 179–156 B.C.E.] of the Han dynasty, there was a court minister named Deng Tong who stood high in the emperor’s favor. Such was the emperor’s fondness for him that he was always at the emperor’s side, in the traveling retinue as well as on the royal bed. There was a physiognomist of divine talent by the name of Xu Fu, who, judging from the two vertical lines that extended from both sides of Deng Tong’s nose down to his upper lip, predicted that he was to die of hunger and poverty. The emperor exploded with rage when he heard of this: “It is up to me alone to decide who is to gain wealth and who is not. Who then, may I ask, can reduce Deng Tong to poverty?” He thereupon gave Deng Tong a copper mine in Sichuan so that he could have copper coins minted for his own use. Thus it came about that the land was flooded with coins produced by Deng, whose wealth matched that of the whole empire.

One day, Emperor Wen found himself in unbearable pain from a running sore, whereupon Deng Tong fell to his knees and sucked out the pus and blood. Much relieved of the pain, the emperor asked, “What kind of people in the whole world love each other the most?”

Deng Tong replied, “No love is deeper than that between father and son.”

It so happened that the crown prince stepped into the palace at that moment to inquire after his father’s health, only to be told by the emperor to suck at the sore.

The crown prince declined, saying, “As I have just eaten fresh meat, I am afraid that it would be inadvisable for me to be near what ails you.”

The emperor sighed after the crown prince had left. “Even my son,” said he, “whose love for me should be surpassed by none, refuses to do what Deng Tong did for me. Indeed, Deng Tong loves me more than my son does.”

Favors were further bestowed upon Deng Tong. When the emperor’s remarks reached the ears of the crown prince, hatred burned in him against Deng Tong for his sucking of the sore. In due course, the emperor died, and the crown prince ascended the throne as Emperor Jing [156–140 B.C.E.]. He set about inflicting punishment upon Deng Tong under charges that Deng had ingratiated himself with the deceased emperor by sucking at his sore and that he had disrupted the empire’s monetary laws. All of Deng Tong’s assets were registered onto imperial ledgers and confiscated. Deng himself was thrown into an empty cell and denied food and water until he starved to death.

Later, also during the reign of Emperor Jing, Prime Minister Zhou Yafu, with similar vertical lines from his nose to his upper lip, was cast into prison on some trumped-up charges by the emperor out of jealousy of his prestige. He died while on a hunger strike as a statement of his indignation. These are two instances of men of immense wealth and the highest rank who died of unnatural causes because of the hunger lines on their faces.

However that may be, there is also the argument that physiognomy is less important than personal character. Among those with the most propitious physiognomic features, some lost their moral credit in the otherworld by committing evil deeds and were, therefore, condemned to a miserable end. By the same token, among those with features that portend calamity, some have turned doom into bliss by grace of their personal integrity and good deeds that earned them merit in the otherworld. I am not saying that physiognomy is unreliable but that human e ort can indeed prevail over predestined fate.

Now I come to a certain Pei Du of the Tang dynasty, who had been poverty-stricken in his youth before his time had come. A physiognomist said that he was to die of hunger, because he had lines that ran from both sides of his nose down to his upper lip. Later, when touring Fragrant Hill Temple, he found three jeweled belts on the balustrade of a pavilion over a well. Pei Du thought to himself, “Someone must have left them behind inadvertently. I should not benefit myself at the expense of others. That would be an unconscionable thing to do.” So, he sat down and waited for the owner to come.

Before long, a woman came into view, saying tearfully, “My father is in jail. I borrowed three jeweled belts to redeem him. But I lost them when I stopped at this temple to wash my hands before burning incense. Should any one have found them, please have pity on me and return them to me so that my father’s life can be spared.”

Pei Du promptly handed the three belts to her. She bowed with gratitude and went on her way.

Shortly thereafter, he met the physiognomist again. Agape with astonishment, the latter said, “Your physiognomy has totally changed,” he said. “You are no longer the man in whom I saw hunger. You must have done some good deed that earned you merit in the netherworld.”

Pei Du denied this, but the physiognomist insisted, “Try to think back. You must have done something like saving a person from drowning or putting out a fire,” whereupon Pei Du told him about the returning of the belts.

“This is a major merit,” said the physiognomist. “Please accept my congratulations in advance, for you will gain both riches and honor.”

As it turned out, Pei Du passed the imperial examinations later on, rose to be the prime minister of the empire, and lived to a ripe old age. Truly,

Storyteller, you have told how Duke Pei of Jin gained wealth and honor through good deeds, but do you also know that his good deeds were even more numerous after he achieved wealth and rank?

Well, then, listen while I tell of how he returned a concubine to her rightful husband, and a remarkable story it is.

It is said that in the thirteenth year of the Yuanhe reign period [818], under Emperor Xianzong of the Tang dynasty, Pei Du led the imperial troops in defeating the rebel Wu Yuanji of the Huaixi region. Upon returning to the imperial court, he was made prime minister as well as duke of Jin. Two other commanders long in rebellion, who controlled strategically positioned outlying prefectures, submitted a memorial to the throne out of fear of Pei Du’s awe-inspiring might, stating their willingness to yield land in redemption of their o ense. Wang Chengzong, regional commander of Heng and Ji,¹ conceded the two prefectures of De and Li. Li Shidao, regional commander of Zi and Qing,² conceded the three prefectures of Yi, Mi, and Hai.

Seeing that the rebellions had been subdued and all was well with the empire, Emperor Xianzong started a grand-scale construction project, renovating the Hall of the Virtue of the Dragon, dredging Dragon-Head Lake, and building the Hall of Brightness. Under the influence of a Taoist hermit by the name of Liu Mi, the emperor tried his hand at concocting an elixir of longevity, turning a deaf ear to Pei Du’s repeated remonstrations.

There were then two evil ministers in the court. One was Huangfu Bo, director of the Bureau of General Accounts, and the other was Cheng Yi, Salt Monopoly commissioner. Together, they did nothing but extort from the people money that they called a “surplus” tax for use in times of peace. This pleased the emperor immensely. The two sycophants were made joint managers of state a airs with the Secretariat and the Chancellery.

Ashamed to be associated with such people, Pei Du petitioned to be allowed to retire. However, instead of granting the request, the emperor accused him of trying to form factions. Thus it was that he came to be distrusted and resented by the emperor. Realizing that his fame and merit were too great for his own good, Pei Du detached himself from a airs of the court in order to avoid invoking the emperor’s anger any further. Instead, he indulged in the pleasures of wine and women to provide himself with some amusement in his declining years. ([Illegible] How sad!) Officials all over the land o ered him singers and dancers. It was not that he sought any such o ers, but those ingratiating officials, in trying to curry favor with the prime minister, laid hold of the girls either by purchasing them at high prices or by sheer force. Falsely presented as domestic women of pleasure or as maidservants, the beautifully dressed girls were eagerly sent to the prime minister. Duke Pei, for his part, felt obliged to accept whatever came his way.

There lived a certain Tang Bi, courtesy name Guobao, in Wanquan [Ten Thousand Springs] County in Jinzhou Prefecture. He had started his career from the post of county marshal of Longzong County in Kuozhou, a position he had acquired through recommendations on the merit of his filial piety, and was now magistrate of Kuaiji³ of Yuezhou. Before he started his official career, he was betrothed to a Huang Xiao’e, daughter of Imperial Student Huang of the same district, but at the time Xiao’e was too young to marry. When she was of age, Tang Bi had left for the south, where his official duties for his two successive posts took him. Thus, the wedding was put o from year to year.

Now eighteen years of age, Xiao’e had a face as fair as a flower and a figure as graceful as a carved jade statue. Her beauty was no less striking than her talent in music. As for the vertical bamboo flute, the pipe, the pipa [fourstringed lute], and the like, there was none that she could not play well. As it happened, the prefect of Jinzhou was selecting from the region beautiful singing girls to be o ered to Pei Du, the duke of Jin, to please the latter. The group of five that had already been assembled still needed a girl of outstanding talent to be their leader. Huang Xiao’e’s fame reached the ears of the prefect, and he bade the magistrate of Wanquan County to approach the girl with an o er of no less than thirty thousand in cash to be paid by the prefect, because the daughter of a member of the National University was not to be shortchanged. The magistrate, all too eager, in his turn, to ingratiate himself with the prefect (Evil is bred in the continuous chain of attempts to ingratiate oneself with one’s superiors), dispatched a messenger to the Huang residence, only to be told by Mr. Huang that his daughter was already betrothed and that he therefore had to decline the o er with regret. To the magistrate’s repeated commands Mr. Huang turned a deaf ear.

While all this was going on, the Clear and Bright Festival⁴ came around. The entire Huang family went out to sweep the ancestral graves, leaving Xiao’e at home all by herself. When the magistrate learned of this, he went in person to the Huang residence, where he found Xiao’e after a search and had her carried away in a sedan-chair. In the company of two women attendants, she was brought immediately to the prefect’s tribunal. The three hundred thousand in cash was thrown down in the Huang residence as the price for the girl.

Upon returning and learning that his daughter had been kidnapped by the county magistrate, Mr. Huang hurried with all speed to the county tribunal, but was told that his daughter had already been sent to the prefectural tribunal, whereupon he went to Jinzhou and appealed to the prefect’s sympathy.

The prefect said, “With her remarkable beauty and talent, your daughter will surely gain favor with the prime minister. Wouldn’t that be better than marrying some common man and busying herself with household chores? What’s more, you have already pocketed six hundred thousand in cash. Why don’t you give the money to the man your daughter is betrothed to so that he can get himself another wife?”

Mr. Huang countered, “I did not take the money in the county magistrate’s presence. It was left in my house while I was away paying respects to my ancestors’ graves. I brought with me the entire amount, which is no more than three hundred thousand, for what I want is my daughter, not the money.”

With a slap on the table, the prefect roared in a towering rage, “You sold your daughter for a price that you claim to be three hundred thousand less than what it was, and now you are here pestering me with your endless harangue. What kind of behavior is this! Your daughter, I tell you, is already in the prime minister’s mansion. You can go there to claim her instead of wasting your time with me.”

Seeing that the infuriated prefect was resorting to brazen lies, Mr. Huang did not venture to say anything further but left the place with tears in his eyes. He stayed in Jinzhou for several days in the vain hope of seeing his daughter, if only once. As nothing came of his waiting, he could not do otherwise but return home, and that he did with a sigh.

Meanwhile, the prefect lavished a thousand pieces of gold on fancy costumes and fine jewelry for the six girls, until they looked no di erent than fairy maidens from heaven. From morning till night, they practiced in the tribunal on a whole range of musical instruments until, finally, the duke of Jin’s birthday drew near, and the group was escorted to his mansion as his birthday present. The prefect had spared neither pain nor money in his attempt to impress the prime minister. As it turned out, however, the prime minister’s mansion was already teeming with numerous singers and dancers and beauties o e red by local officials from all quarters of the land. The addition of this group of six was hardly enough to impress the prime minister. (How sad it is that girls as pretty as flowers are reduced to nothing more than Liaodong pigs!)⁵ This is usually what happens to sycophants, who not only gain nothing for their pains but also have to sustain losses. (The small-minded would gladly sustain such losses.) There is a poem that bears witness:

Let us follow another thread of the story and turn to Tang Bi, who was due for a promotion and a reappointment to another location, his term of office at Kuaiji having just expired. Since Huang Xiao’e should by now be old enough to marry, he decided to return to his native town to hold the wedding before going to the capital to receive his next appointment. Consequently, he packed up the belongings acquired during his term of office and set out in the direction of Wanquan County. The very day after his arrival, he paid a visit to Mr. Huang, who guessed what he came for and, before he raised the subject, gave him a full account of how the young lady had been kidnapped. Tang Bi was struck speechless. It was a good while before he said bitterly, between clenched teeth, “What is there to live for if a worthy man drifting around as a petty official cannot even protect his wife?”

Mr. Huang tried to comfort him with these words: “My good son-in-law, being as young and talented as you are, you will surely be blessed with a good marriage. It is my daughter’s misfortune to have been taken by force away from you. Please do not let excessive grief jeopardize your future.”

But Tang Bi was not to be placated. He talked instead of fighting it out with the prefect and the county magistrate.

Mr. Huang tried again: “With her already gone, what’s the good of more arguing? Moreover, you’ll be standing in the way of Prime Minister Pei, who is now second only to the emperor in the whole empire. Your career will be at stake if you incur his ill feelings.” Having spoken these words, he ordered that the three hundred thousand in cash left behind by the magistrate be brought out. When handing the money over to Tang Bi, he said, “This is to help you find another match. My daughter is wearing your betrothal gift of carved green jade, and therefore I cannot return it to you. Please put your own future before everything else. Do not let a small setback compromise your career.”

With tears streaming down his cheeks, Tang Bi said, “For a man approaching thirty years of age, the loss of such a good fiancée means the end of all hopes of marriage. Nor will I ever seek advancement in career again, for the pursuit of some meager fame and fortune does nothing but ruin a man.” With these words, he gave way to his emotion and so did Mr. Huang. The two cried their hearts out before Tang Bi took his leave, but nothing could make him take the money. He returned empty-handed.

The following day, Mr. Huang called upon Tang Bi and repeatedly urged him to go without delay to the capital for reappointment and, thereafter, to start looking for a good match. Tang Bi would hear nothing of it at first, but, unable to withstand any longer Mr. Huang’s persistent nagging for several days on end, he conceded, thinking that rather than brooding at home, he might as well take a trip to Chang’an to take his mind o his troubles. Much against his inclinations, he selected a propitious day and engaged a boat for the purpose. Mr. Huang slipped the three hundred thousand onto the boat and quietly instructed Tang’s men in these words: “Do not tell your master about the money until two days after the boat sets out. It’s for him to use in the capital and get himself a good post.”

The sight of the money sent another wave of grief over Tang Bi. He said to his servants, “This is money given in exchange for Mr. Huang’s daughter. Not a cent is to be touched.” (How sad!)

Upon arriving in Chang’an after a few days, he hired some men to carry the baggage on their shoulder-poles and found lodging in an inn near the east side of Prime Minister Pei’s mansion, the more convenient for him to make frequent inquiries about Xiao’e. (He still has his heart set on finding out about her.) The following morning, he reported to the Ministry of Personnel and had his credentials examined. Then he returned to the inn and, immediately after lunch, went to stand at the entrance of the mansion. At least ten times each day he went there, but a month went by without his getting half a word in. Officials going in and out of the mansion looked as busy as ants. Who would dare go up to them with some woeful tale? Truly,

One day, on the list of imperial appointments publicized by the Ministry of Personnel, Tang Bi found his own name. He was to assume the post of administrative supervisor in the prefecture of Huzhou, in the south. Being familiar with the area, Tang Bi was delighted. When the appointment letter came, he packed up his belongings and hired a boat for the journey out of the capital. When he came upon the area of Tongjin, the boat was attacked by a gang of robbers. As the ancient proverb has it, “To put o hiding your money is to invite thieves.” The three hundred thousand cash that Tang Bi took with him wherever he went had somehow caught the greedy eye of some miscreants, who had banded together for action. They followed him from the capital all the way to Tongjin and, having reached an understanding with the boatman, waited for night to fall before they struck. Tang Bi, however, was not destined to die that night. He was relieving himself on the bow of the boat when the commotion started. Without a moment’s delay, he threw himself overboard into the river, scrambled ashore, and heard the robbers pole the boat away after all the racket died down. Wondering whether his servant was dead or alive, he stood there all by himself, with nothing left in his possession but the clothes on his back. Truly,

The three hundred thousand cash and his personal belongings were trifles compared with the loss of his certificates of office and the appointment letter, which were the identification papers for his new post. With those went all his hopes of holding office. At his wit’s end, he took stock of the situation: “As ill luck would have it, I now have nothing to my name. To return home would be too much of a disgrace. To go to the capital and seek help from the Ministry of Personnel would be out of the question without a penny of traveling money. There is no acquaintance of mine in these parts whom I can ask for a loan. Am I to be reduced to begging?” The thought of drowning himself in the river crossed his mind, but he told himself, “Surely this is no end for a worthy man.” He sat by the side of the road and broke down in tears. The crying started him o on a new train of thought, only to bring on another burst of sobs. He ran his mind over various plans but found none that would do him any good. And so he wept from midnight to daybreak.

Luckily, rescue came in the form of an old man with a sta , moving toward him. “Why are you weeping, sir?” asked he, whereupon Tang Bi gave an account of how he was robbed while on his way to assume a new post.

“Pray forgive me for not recognizing a man of distinction,” exclaimed the old man. “Please follow me to my humble house a short distance away.” He led Tang Bi to his home about one li away and went through the proper salutations. “My surname is Su,” said he. “My son, Su Fenghua, being the county marshal of Wuyuan in Huzhou Prefecture, is actually a subordinate of yours. (A good opportunity presents itself.) I will be all too happy to be of service to you for your journey to the capital.” So saying, he hastened to set out wine and food, and had Tang Bi change into a new outfit. He also presented Tang Bi with twenty taels of silver for his traveling expenses.

With profuse thanks, Tang Bi took leave of Mr. Su and went on his way all by himself. Upon reaching the capital, he took his lodging in the same inn where he had stayed before. The innkeeper’s heart went out to him at hearing about his misfortune. When Tang Bi sorrowfully reported the case to the Ministry of Personnel, he was told that since he had no identification papers whatsoever, there was no way to decide as to the truth of his statement. Five days of pleading produced no e ect, although he had exhausted all the silver he had to satisfy employees of the yamen.

Back at the inn, as he sat there with tears in his eyes, brooding over his anxieties and lamenting his ill fate, there stepped in from the outside a man of an age past the prime of his life, looking like a lower-ranking officer wearing a gauze hat with soft flaps, a purple outfit, a leather belt, and a pair of black boots. As his eyes came to rest upon Tang Bi, he sat down with a bow opposite him and asked, “Where, may I ask, are you from, and what brought you here?”

Tang Bi replied, “Don’t ask me, for I’m afraid the story of my misery will take a considerable time to tell.” Before the words were quite out of his mouth, the tears came streaming down.

“Pray let me hear what is troubling you,” said the man in purple. “Please tell me everything. I might be able to help.”

“My name is Tang Bi. I am a native of Wanquan County of Jinzhou. I was on my way to my new post as administrative supervisor of Huzhou when, in the area of Tongjin, I came upon a group of robbers, who took away everything I had, including my certificates of office and the appointment letter, thus making it impossible for me to assume office.”

“It is not your fault that you ran into robbers. Why didn’t you report to the Ministry of Personnel to apply for a reissuance of the appointment letter? What kept you from doing that?”

“I did plead several times, but to no avail. And now, without anyone to turn to for help, I can’t leave the city any more than I can stay.”

“The incumbent prime minister, Duke Pei of Jin, is a compassionate man most inclined toward helping those in distress. Why don’t you go to see him?”

That remark plunged Tang Bi into deeper despair. “Please don’t mention that man,” he said between louder sobs. “That very name stabs me to the heart.” (Good twist in the plot.)

The man in purple was astounded. “Why do you say so?”

Tang Bi explained, “As I have held office in di erent places in the south, I have not been able to marry my prospective wife betrothed to me from early childhood. The prefect and the county magistrate kidnapped her to make her join a band of female musicians that they then o ered to the duke of Jin. That is how I, a man in the prime of life, have come to remain a bachelor. Although the duke had no hand in the kidnapping, he is not any less to blame, because it is his willingness to accept bribery that encourages the local officials to scramble for his favor. How can I bear the sight of that man?”

“What is the name of your betrothed?” asked the man in purple. “What betrothal gifts was she given?”

“Her name is Huang Xiao’e. The betrothal gift of a piece of carved green jade is still with her, I believe.”

“As I happen to be a personal bodyguard of the duke,” declared the man in purple, “I have the privilege of access to his private quarters. I will gladly make some inquiries on your behalf.”

“Now that she has entered that mansion, there is no hope of our seeing each other again. If you would be kind enough to get a word in and let her know my feelings, I shall die contented.”

“By this time tomorrow, I will certainly bring you good news.” With these words, the man in purple folded his hands in front of him and stepped out of the inn.

As Tang Bi thought about what had just occurred, regrets began to set in: “That officer in purple must have been a trusted follower of the duke and sent out as a spy. I shouldn’t have made those accusing remarks. If those words get into the duke’s ears and stir his anger, much trouble will be in store for me.” And thus he fretted all through the wakeful night.

When daylight finally came, he washed and dressed and went to the Pei mansion for a look. Word got out that the duke had excused himself from public appearance for the day. Even so, the traffic of messengers in and out of the mansion kept flowing, but the man in purple was nowhere to be seen. After having waited for a long time, Tang Bi returned to the inn for lunch and then came back to the mansion, but still had no luck. As the day was drawing to a close, that the man in purple had broken his promise became a certainty. With sigh after sigh, the dejected Tang Bi dragged himself back to the inn.

He was about to light the lamp when he caught sight of two men looking like runners from the court entering the inn in great haste, asking, “Who is Administrative Supervisor Tang Bi?” So frightened was he that he hid himself around a corner without daring to reply. (A wonderful story.)

The innkeeper approached them with the question “Who might you be?”

“We are runners from the Pei mansion. We are here at the bidding of the duke to invite Administrative Supervisor Tang to the mansion for a talk.”

The innkeeper said with a point of his finger, “He’s right there.”

Tang Bi had no alternative but to step forward and present himself, saying, “I am a perfect stranger to the duke. Why this sudden invitation? Besides, I am not appropriately dressed for the occasion. I wouldn’t dream of being amiss in decorum.”

The runners insisted, “The duke is waiting. Please do not decline, sir.”

Supported on both sides, he was brought to the mansion with the speed of wind. Once inside the main hall, the two men went into the inner quarters after telling him, “Please be seated, sir. After reporting to the duke, we will be back in a moment to usher you in.” Presently, hurried footsteps were heard before the two men reappeared with the words “The duke is inside, being on leave today, and invites you in.” They wound their way through the mansion grounds, which were lit as bright as day. The two men, one in front and the other behind, escorted Tang Bi into a small room lined with two rows of gauze lamps. The duke, wearing casual clothes and a cap with pointed corners, was already standing there waiting, his hands folded in front of his chest in a gesture of respect. A consternated Tang Bi broke into a sweat and fell prostrate on the ground, without daring to venture a glance upward. The duke ordered that he be helped to his feet, saying, “Please do not stand on ceremony. This is but a private meeting.” He then bade Tang Bi sit down. Tang Bi did so by the duke’s side only after a few moments of customary demur. He stole a glance at the duke and found the latter to be none other than the very man in purple he had met at the inn. He broke into a sweat and went breathless with fear, keeping his head down all the time.

What had happened was that Pei, in his moments of leisure, was given to traveling incognito for his own amusement. The day before, a whim took him to the inn, where he met Tang Bi. After returning to the mansion, he checked the register for the name of Huang Xiao’e and called her into his presence. Much impressed by her beauty, he questioned her about her personal history and found that her account tallied with Tang Bi’s version. When he asked to see the carved green jade, he saw that the piece of jade was worn tight and secure on her arm. Overcome by sympathy, the duke said, “Your prospective husband is here. Do you wish to see him?”

With tears in her eyes, Xiao’e answered, “A pretty woman is doomed to a sorry fate. I don’t expect to see him again. It is up to the duke to decide whether I should see him. I wouldn’t dream of taking the decision upon myself.” (Good answer.)

The duke nodded and told her to withdraw for the moment. Secretly he instructed his attendants to get ready gifts worth a thousand strings of cash and had a messenger send to the Ministry of Personnel an appointment form on which he had filled in Tang Bi’s name. It was an authorization for checking his background and issuing another copy of the letter appointing him as administrative supervisor of Huzhou Prefecture. It was not until after all this had been done that he sent for Tang Bi (One needs to be thorough in dealing with relationships. I wish I could meet such people!), who, in his state of fright, had no inkling of the duke’s good intentions.

The duke addressed him as follows: “From what you told me yesterday, I learned of the pain deep in your heart. I plead guilty to failing to stem the flow of presents, thus separating you from your wife.”

Tang Bi rose from his seat and fell to his knees, saying, “In my confused state yesterday brought on by the series of mishaps that befell me, I made some a ronting remarks punishable by death. I humbly beg for your magnanimous forgiveness.”

The duke bade him rise. “Today is an auspicious day,” he said. “I have taken it upon myself to preside over the wedding ceremony for you. I have about a thousand strings of cash to o er as a humble wedding present, in atonement for the wrong I did you. As soon as the wedding is over, you may go to your new post with your wife.”

Tang Bi thanked him profusely but did not muster up enough courage to ask about the new post. A musical fanfare was heard coming from the private quarters, then there appeared several pairs of red lanterns, a band of female musicians, and some matrons of honor and waiting women, all of whom ushered in Huang Xiao’e, fresh as a flower and fair as jade. Before Tang Bi could dodge to one side, one of the matrons said, “Bride and bridegroom, please salute each other.”

As the waiting women spread out the red carpet, Huang Xiao’e and Tang Bi stepped on it and made four bows skyward, to which the duke bowed back from his position to one side. Sedan-chair carriers who had long been waiting for the bride outside the room now carried her all the way to the inn. Tang Bi, too, was enjoined by the duke to return there without delay. As he approached the inn, he heard a clamor of voices. There for all to see were chests of silk and caskets of gold and cash watched over by the two runners, who were waiting to deliver the goods to Tang Bi in person. There was a small box sealed by a strip of paper bearing the duke’s handwriting. On opening it, Tang Bi found, to his immense delight, a reissued letter of appointment for the position of inspector of Huzhou. That night, the room in the inn served as their bridal chamber. Their joy knew no bounds, far exceeding that of average couples at the consummation of their marriages. Truly,

Thus it came about that Tang Bi was blessed now with a wife, a career, and a fortune worth a thousand in cash, a change of luck no less remarkable than that of a wretched soul condemned to the eighteenth tier of hell rising to the thirty-third circle of heaven. Such bliss would not have been possible without Pei’s gracious kindness.

The following day, Tang Bi paid the duke another visit to express his gratitude, only to be turned away by the gatekeeper, who had been so instructed by the duke. Back at the inn, Tang Bi packed his clothes for the journey and, before setting out, hired several servants, who followed the couple back to their native village. The reunion with Mr. Huang, father of the bride, was filled with joy, as if spring had come to a withered tree or a broken string on a lute had been joined together again. A few days later, the couple went on their way to Huzhou for Tang Bi to take up his new post. Out of gratitude toward Duke Pei, they had a statuette of him carved out of agalloch eaglewood, to which they o ered prayers morning and night for his well-being and longevity. Indeed, the duke lived to be over eighty years of age, with a growing and flourishing clan of descendants, a blessing that was attributed to his good deeds, which earned him merit in the netherworld. As the poem says,