10

Magistrate Teng Settles the Case of Inheritance with Ghostly Cleverness

The above lyric poem to the tune of “The Moon over the West River” urges brothers to live in harmony. All of the classics and scriptures of the three teachings of our time serve the same purpose of exhorting people to virtue. Confucianism has the Thirteen Classics, the Six Classics, and the Five Classics; Buddhism has the many volumes of the Tripitaka; and Taoism has the Zhuangzi, the Liezi, and so forth. However, all of these volumes that fill up trunks and clutter desks are in fact quite superfluous, for, as I see it, only two words suffice to make a good person: xiao and ti—filial piety and fraternal love. Again, of these two, just xiao, “filial piety,” would suffice.

Those who show filial piety to their parents and love and honor whatever their parents love and honor will, for the sake of the parents, extend such feelings to their brothers, who are like branches on the same tree. Thus, how can there be any lack of harmony? As far as family estates are concerned, since they were all acquired by the same parents, why divide them up into what is “yours” and what is “mine,” what is fertile and what is barren? If you were born into a poor family without a penny to inherit, you would naturally have to earn a living, however hard it might be, by the sweat of your brow. As for those with land and property to inherit, if they fight over the size of their portions and all too readily accuse their parents of favoritism and lack of fairness, in the Nine Springs of the netherworld the parents would surely be saddened, something that filial sons should never allow to happen. (Well said.)

Therefore, it is as the ancients said so well: “Brothers are hard to come by, but land is easy to acquire.” Why are brothers hard to come by? Well, for everyone in this world, parents are the people dearest to you, but, at the time you were born, your parents should have at least reached a mature age and will therefore die before you do. They can be with you for no more than half of your life. As for a married couple whose love for each other has no equal, they may enjoy each other’s company to a hoary old age, and yet, before they were married, they lived in separate households, under di erent family names, in childhoods that they did not share. Only brothers, born in the same family and as close to one another as hands and feet, can be with each other all their lives, consulting each other and helping each other out in times of need. How deep the bonds are! Fertile lands and wealth, if lost, can be won back some day, but loss of a brother is no less than loss of a hand or a foot that would leave you maimed for the rest of your life. Is it not true, then, that “brothers are hard to come by but land is easy to acquire?” Rather than fall out for the sake of a piece of land, it would be better that brothers be penniless with nothing to inherit, for they could at least be spared involvement in disputes.

I now propose to tell a story that took place in our dynasty [the Ming], a story titled “Magistrate Teng Settles the Case of Inheritance with Ghostly Cleverness.” It exhorts people to value morality over money and not to forget “filial piety and fraternal love.” Dear audience, whether you have brothers or not is none of my business. What matters is that everyone should follow his conscience and learn to be a good person. Truly,

As our story has it, during the Yongle reign period [1403–24] of the current dynasty, there lived, in Xianghe [Fragrant River] County in Shuntian Prefecture under the direct jurisdiction of Beijing, a certain Prefect Ni, whose given name was Shouqian and courtesy name Yizhi. He was in possession of immense wealth, fertile lands, and fine houses. His wife Chen-shi had given birth to an only son named Shanji but died after he had grown up and married. Prefect Ni resigned from his post and lived the life of a widower. Advanced in years though he was, he remained active and healthy and, instead of enjoying a life of leisure, kept himself busy attending to all matters relating to the collection of rents and loans of money.

When he was seventy-nine years old, his son Ni Shanji said to him, “As the saying goes, ‘Rare are those who live to be seventy.’ Being seventy-nine going on eighty next year, why don’t you turn the family business over to me? Wouldn’t it be nice to have everything done for you so that you can just enjoy life?”

The old man shook his head and said,

Every year in the tenth month, Prefect Ni would go in person to his farms to collect rent and stay out for the entire month. His tenant farmers would treat him royally to their fattest chickens and the finest wine. This year, he went again and stayed several days. When taking a leisurely walk around the village one afternoon, viewing the bucolic scenery, he suddenly saw a girl and a white-haired old woman pounding clothes on a rock by the stream. In spite of her rustic country attire, the girl was quite attractive:

In spite of his age, Prefect Ni found himself in raptures at the sight. After she finished the laundry, the girl left with the old woman. The old man kept his eyes on her and saw that, after passing several houses, she went through a small white latticed gate. He hurriedly turned back, summoned the manager of the farmstead, described to him what he had seen, and told him to find out about the girl’s background and whether or not she was betrothed. “If she is not,” said he, “I would like to take her as my concubine. I wonder if she would be willing.”

All too eager to please his master, the manager set to work immediately. As it turned out, the girl, with the family name of Mei, was the daughter of a scholar but living now with her maternal grandmother, both of her parents having died when she was young. Seventeen years of age now, she remained unbetrothed.

Having thus established the facts, the manager said to the old woman, “My master is impressed with your granddaughter’s looks and wants to take her as his concubine. Although a concubine, she’ll have no one above her to order her about, because the first wife died long ago. Once she is married, not only will she be richly provided for, which is a matter of course, but you, Granny, will also be well taken care of in terms of clothes, tea, and rice, not to speak of a decent funeral when you pass away. I wonder if such good fortune is in your stars.”

These sweet words were so persuasive that the old woman gave her consent right away. In fact, it was because the marriage was predestined that the match was so easily made. At the manager’s report, Prefect Ni was immensely delighted. The betrothal gifts were decided upon, and an auspicious day for the wedding was chosen after consulting the imperial calendar.² Afraid that his son might raise objections, he presented the gifts and held the wedding ceremony right there at the farmstead. What a handsome wedded couple they made, with one so old and the other so young! There is in evidence a lyric poem to the tune of “The Moon over the West River”:

That night, Prefect Ni mustered up his vital force and fulfilled what was expected of a bridegroom. Truly,

Three days later, he called a sedan-chair and brought Mei-shi back to his home, where she was presented to his son and daughter-in-law. All the men and women of the household came to kowtow to her, addressing her as “Young Mistress.” Prefect Ni distributed gifts of cotton and silk, to the delight of all and sundry except Ni Shanji. Displeased, he said nothing in public, but privately he complained to his wife, “What a dirty old man! At his age, when he’s like a candle in the wind, he should have enough sense to know that with at most five to ten years to live, he shouldn’t be doing such a stupid thing. He needs to have enough stamina to deal with such a flower of a girl. He can’t very well leave her alone and make her a wife in name only. Also, goodness knows how many old men’s young wives, when left unsatisfied, have illicit a airs and bring disgrace to the family. What’s more, for a young woman, living with an old man is like living out a year of famine away from home. When the crops are ripe and the famine is over, she’ll be gone. While married, she’ll steal from here and there to fatten her own private savings, which she’ll hide in di erent places, but, at the same time, she’ll use her charms to have the old man buy her clothes and jewelry. When the tree falls and the birds fly away, so to speak, she’ll marry someone else and take all her booty with her to enjoy her new life. She’s like a worm in the wood and a maggot in the grain. Nothing does a family more harm than having such a woman in its midst!”

He continued, “This woman, with her coquettish ways, looks like a prostitute, with none of the good manners of someone from a decent family. She seems to be an expert in putting on airs and an old hand at capturing husbands. She should be more of a maidservant than a concubine for our father. If we call her ‘Sister,’ we’d be leaving some room for ourselves in the future. It’s laughable that our father is so muddle-headed that he wants everyone to call her ‘Young Mistress.’ He can hardly expect us to call her ‘Mom’! We’d better not humor her too much, lest all the fawning and cringing make her think too much of her importance and turn around to bully us.”

The couple’s whisperings went on without stop. Some eavesdroppers quickly set their tongues wagging. When word got to his ears, Prefect Ni kept his displeasure to himself. Fortunately, Mei-shi was of a gentle disposition and treated people nicely regardless of status, so that all lived in peace.

Two months later, Mei-shi found herself pregnant, but kept the news from all except her husband. One day stretched to three days and three stretched to nine until, in the tenth month, when the pregnancy was carried to full term, a son was born, to the amazement of the entire family. That day being the ninth of the ninth month, the boy was given the pet name Double Ninth. On the eleventh day of the same month, which happened to be Prefect Ni’s eightieth birthday, a steady flow of visitors came to o er their congratulations. Prefect Ni held a feast in celebration partly of his birthday and partly of the boy’s third day after birth.

The guests said, “To have a son at your advanced age, sir, is a sign that, with your vigor, you should have a great many more years ahead of you.” The prefect was greatly delighted.

Ni Shanji, however, commented again behind his father’s back, “A man stops producing sperm at the age of sixty. He’s already eighty. Has anyone seen a withered tree bursting into blossom? This boy is definitely not of my father’s blood but a bastard from who knows where. I’ll never acknowledge him as a brother.” Again, these words came to the ears of his father, who, as before, kept the knowledge to himself.

Time sped by like an arrow. Quite unnoticeably, another year passed by. To mark the boy’s first birthday, a tray containing various objects was prepared for a test of the boy’s disposition.³ Members of the clan, close and distant, came again to o er their congratulations. Ni Shanji, however, went out, although he should have stayed to entertain the guests. The prefect knew what was on his mind, but, instead of calling him back, took it upon himself to drink with the clansmen for the whole day. Though he said nothing, he was none too pleased. As the ancients put it, “A filial son brings the father peace of mind.” But Ni Shanji was a greedy and ruthless soul obsessed by the fear that the boy would grow up to take away a share of the family property. That was why he refused to acknowledge the boy as a brother and spread around malicious rumors so that, in the future, he could keep the mother and son under his thumb.

Prefect Ni, being a man who had attained office through assiduous studies, was smart enough to have seen through his son’s designs. His only regret was that at his age, he could hardly a ord to antagonize his older son, because he was too old to see Double Ninth grow up and the boy would most likely have to depend on his brother for a living. There was no alternative for him but to put up with the insolence. The sight of the little baby and his youthful wife filled his heart with pain. All too often, such thoughts plunged him into shifting moods of depression, anguish, and remorse.

Four years later, when the boy had grown to be a smart and active fiveyear-old, the prefect wished for him to start schooling and gave him the school name Shanshu, after his brother Shanji.⁴ An auspicious day was chosen, on which he prepared some fruits and wine and took the boy to pay his respects to the teacher. The teacher being the same one whom Prefect Ni had engaged at home to teach his grandson, it was a most convenient arrangement for the little uncle and nephew to go to the same class. But Ni Shanji had other ideas. He was annoyed that the boy was named Shanshu, which meant that he and the boy were of the same generation. And now that the boy was to go to the same class with his son, he thought it best to call his son back and find him another teacher, for he was afraid that if his son got used to calling the boy “Uncle,” his son would be bullied by the latter in the future. That very day, he called his son out and, pleading illness, kept him from class for several days in a row. At first, Prefect Ni thought his grandson was indeed taken ill, but, a few days later, the teacher said to him, “Your son engaged another teacher to set up a separate class. I wonder why he did that.”

It would have been well if Prefect Ni had not heard about this, but when he did, he smoldered with rage in spite of himself. He was about to summon his older son and ask him a few questions when he thought, “Being born to be such an unfilial sort, he won’t listen to reason. I’d better let him be.” In low spirits, he returned to his room but accidentally tripped over the threshold and fell. Mei-shi hastened to raise him to his feet and helped him sit down in a recliner. By this time, he had already lost consciousness. Without a moment of delay, she called a doctor, who said it was a stroke. After having been revived by some ginger soup forced down his throat, he was helped to bed. Though his mind was clear, he was paralysed all over, unable to move an inch. Mei-shi sat at the head of the bed preparing herbal medicine and attending devotedly to his needs, but several doses of the medicine in succession proved to be totally ine ectual. The doctor said after feeling his pulse, “He is beyond hope of a full recovery. He’ll linger for some days at best.” Upon hearing this, Ni Shanji also came for a few visits. Realizing that his father was too gravely ill to ever rise again, he started throwing his weight about, beating and scolding servants as if he already were master of the house. Such behavior vexed his father even more. Mei-shi could do nothing but weep. The little boy stopped his lessons and stayed in the room to keep his father company.

Well aware of the gravity of his illness, Prefect Ni called his older son to him and took out an account book with records of all the family’s lands, houses, and accounts to be collected. He said, “Shanshu being only five years old, he needs all the help he can get. Mei-shi is also too young to manage a household. Since it will not be of any use to give them any share of the family estate, I have decided to bequeath everything to you. After Shanshu grows up, please, for my sake, find him a wife and give him a small house and about fifty or sixty mu⁵ of good land so that he won’t go cold or hungry. What I have just said has already been written in the family account book for you to keep as a guideline when dividing up the family property. Whatever Mei-shi wishes to do, either to remarry or to stay with her son, let her have her way. You’ll have been a filial son if, after I die, you do everything as I just said, and I’ll be able to rest content at the Nine Springs.”

Ni Shanji opened the account book and found that, sure enough, everything was written clearly, in a most detailed fashion. All smiles, he promised readily, “Don’t worry, Father, I’ll surely do as you say.” With that, he went o merrily, clutching the account book in his arms.

Seeing that he was a safe distance away, Mei-shi said tearfully, pointing at the boy, “Isn’t this little one also of your own flesh and blood? Now that you have given the older son everything, what will my son and I live on?”

“You may not know it,” said Prefect Ni, “but I believe Shanji is not a kind man. If the family estate were divided equally, this little one’s life would be put in jeopardy. The best thing to do is to give Shanji everything to his satisfaction so that he won’t have grounds for jealousy.” (None knows a man better than his father. This old man has good sense.)

Mei-shi rejoined tearfully, “You may very well say so, but, as the ancients put it, ‘All sons, by whichever wife, are sons no less.’ Such unfairness will make you a laughing stock.”

“I can’t a ord to concern myself with that,” said Prefect Ni. “You are still young. I entrusted the boy to Shanji while I am still alive so that after I die, you may, in one year’s time at most and half a year’s time at least, pick a good husband and enjoy the rest of your life without having to subject yourself to their bullying.”

“What kind of talk is this!” protested Mei-shi. “I am also from a Confucian scholar’s family. A woman should follow her one and only husband to the end of her life. Moreover, how can I bear the thought of parting with my son? Whatever happens, I’ll be at his side.”

“Will you indeed maintain widowhood for the rest of your life? Won’t you regret it later on?”

Thereupon Mei-shi took a solemn oath.

“If you are indeed determined to do so,” said the prefect, “you don’t have to worry that you and the boy will have nothing to live on.” So saying, he groped around his pillows and produced something, which he handed over to her. At first, Mei-shi thought it was another family account book, but she found it to be a scroll one foot wide by three feet long.

“Why would I need a scroll?”

“This is a portrait of me,” answered the prefect. “There’s more to it than what you see now. Put it away in a safe place and don’t show it to anyone until the boy is grown up. Keep your feelings to yourself even if Shanji refuses to take care of him. Wait until a wise judge appears before you go to him for justice. Take this scroll, tell him about my will, and ask him to reflect well upon the case. He will surely come up with a settlement that will give you and the boy enough to live on.” Mei-shi accordingly put the scroll away.

To make a long story short, Prefect Ni lingered on for a few more days. Then one night he choked on some phlegm and failed to wake up to callings of his name. He died at the age of eighty-four. Truly,

In the meantime, with the family account book now in his possession, Ni Shanji obtained keys to the various storehouses and busied himself every day with checking family possessions in money as well as in kind. How could he spare a moment for a visit to his father? It was not until Mei-shi sent a maid to inform him of his father’s death that he and his wife showed up with a few wails of grief. Within a couple of hours, they were o again, leaving Mei-shi to keep vigil over the body. Fortunately, the burial clothes and the coffin had been prepared beforehand. There was no need for Shanji to be bothered about anything.

After the body had been encoffined and the mourning clothes put on, Mei-shi and her son kept vigil in the hall of mourning. Weeping from morning to night, they stayed with the coffin with never a step away from the room, whereas Shanji occupied himself only with receiving visitors and registering their names, without any indication of grief or pain. Before the customary forty-nine days of mourning were over, a day was chosen for the burial.

On the night the soul of the deceased was supposed to return home,⁶ Shanji and his wife went to Mei-shi’s room and rummaged through the trunks and boxes in search of any private savings that his father might have put away. Afraid that they might take the prefect’s portrait, Mei-shi, being the sensible woman she was, voluntarily opened the two trunks that she had brought with her as a bride and took out some old clothes for Shanji and his wife to examine. (Mei-shi, with her wisdom and virtues, is the only possible protection for the fatherless child.) Seeing that she was so obliging, Shanji changed his mind and turned his eyes away from the trunks. After creating quite a mess, Shanji and his wife went away. Mei-shi gave way to her grief and burst into loud sobs. The sight so disturbed the little boy that he, too, started weeping. At such a scene,

The following morning, Shanji called in a builder to remodel the house, for his son was about to be married. Mei-shi and her son were moved into three storage rooms in the backyard and were given nothing more than a small four-legged bed and a few coarse tables and stools. There was not even a decent piece of furniture. Of her two maids, they took away the older one, leaving only the eleven- or twelve-year-old maid. The mother and son’s daily provisions had to be brought over from Shanji’s kitchen, and no one cared whether there was food for them. Vexed at the inconvenience, Mei-shi asked for some rice and did her own cooking on a makeshift earthen stove. By doing some sewing morning and evening, she made enough money to be able to a ord provisions for a simple life. She also paid for her son’s lessons at a neighbor’s house.

More than once, Shanji sent his wife to persuade Mei-shi to remarry and sought the services of matchmakers, but they gave up the idea when Mei-shi swore that she would rather die than submit. As Mei-shi was as forbearing as could be and never had a word of complaint, Shanji, for all his maliciousness, put the mother and son out of his mind.

Time shot by like an arrow. Quite unnoticeably, Shanshu had grown to be fourteen years old. Being discreet by nature, Mei-shi had never told the boy a word about the past, for fear that he might not know how to guard his tongue. Should he say something that would lead to trouble, he would only be hurting their own chances. Now that he was a fourteen-year-old capable of figuring things out for himself, he could not be kept in the dark any longer.

One day, he asked his mother to buy him a new silk gown. As Mei-shi answered that she could not a ord it, Shanshu said, “My father was a prefect and had only two sons. Why is my brother so rich, whereas I can’t even have a new gown? Since you don’t have the money, Mother, I’ll go and ask my brother for some.” With those words, he turned to go.

Mei-shi grabbed him and said, “My son, a silk gown is not important enough for you to go beg for it. It is often said, ‘Those who count their blessings will have more coming their way,’ and ‘Those who wear coarse cotton when young will wear silk when they grow up.’ If you wear silk now when you’re young, you won’t even have coarse cotton to wear later. In a few more years’ time, after you’ve made progress in your studies, I would go so far as to sell myself to buy clothes for you. Your brother is not one to provoke. Why bother him?”

“You’re right, Mother.” While saying so, he thought di erently to himself: “My father’s immense wealth should, by rights, be divided between us two brothers. I am not a stepson brought here from a previous marriage. Why doesn’t my brother take the least care of me? And what strange things Mother says! Am I to understand that the only way I can have some lousy silk is for my mother to sell herself? My brother is not some man-eating tiger. Why should I be afraid of him?” He struck upon a plan. Unbeknownst to his mother, he headed straight for the great house and sought out his brother. When he said his greetings to his older brother, the latter was taken by surprise and asked him what he had come for.

“I am an official’s son,” said Shanshu, “but my tattered clothes are a subject of ridicule. I am here to ask you for some silk to make a gown with.”

“You should ask your mother for that,” said Shanji. “Father’s family property is in your care, not Mother’s.”

At the mention of the words “family property,” which signified awareness of a larger issue, Shanji reddened. “Who made you say this?” he demanded. “Are you here today to ask for clothes or to fight over family property?”

Shanshu said, “We can hardly avoid dividing the inheritance some day, can we? But I’m here today just to ask for some clothes to look more decent.”

“What do you care about decency, you bastard! Even if Father did leave property worth ten thousand strings of cash, there is the legitimate son, and the legitimate grandson as well. What business is it of yours, bastard! Whose evil words sent you here to ask for what’s more than your share? Don’t you provoke me, or else you and your mother will have no roof over your heads!”

“Both of us are Father’s sons. How come I am a bastard? What if I do provoke you? Don’t tell me you’ll bump o my mother and me and keep the entire inheritance for yourself !”

Shanji flew into a rage. “You little beast! How dare you contradict me!” He grabbed the boy by his sleeve and hit him on the head with his fist seven or eight times, until the boy’s head was all bruised and swollen. Then Shanshu tore himself free and dashed o like a streak of vapor. Weepingly he went to his mother and told her everything. Mei-shi scolded, “I told you not to stir up trouble. It served you right for not listening to me!” For all the harshness of her words, she was reduced to tears as she used her blue cotton blouse to rub the bruises on his head. There is a poem in evidence:

After giving much thought to the matter, Mei-shi sent her maid to Shanji, for fear that the latter might be unforgiving, to apologize for her son’s o ense against his older brother, saying that the boy was too young to know much about the proper codes of behavior. But Shanji’s anger remained unassuaged.

Early the following morning, Shanji invited a few clansmen, took out his father’s handwritten instructions for the division of family property, and summoned Mei-shi and her son. After showing the document to all present, he said, “As you, my venerable elders, are witnesses, it is not that I refuse to support the mother and son and want to drive them out, but yesterday Shanshu quarreled with me over the family property and said words that he shouldn’t have said. I’m afraid that when he grows up, he might have much more to say. Therefore I am sending them out of this house to live at the East Farmstead in a house with fifty-eight mu of land. This is in strict accordance with father’s will. Not in the least would I ever dream of making arbitrary decisions on my own. That is why I humbly ask that you, my elders, serve as witnesses.”

The clansmen knew all too well what a ruthless man Shanji was. With the father’s will in front of their eyes, who would venture to speak out of turn and antagonize him unnecessarily? All of them said only things that would please his ears. Those bent on currying favor with him said, “‘A dead man’s handwritten will is worth more than a thousand pieces of gold.’ The inheritance being divided in accordance with the will, there is no more to be said.” Even those in sympathy with Shanshu and his mother said only, “‘A man shouldn’t live on the rice he inherits; a woman should not go on wearing her dowry clothes.’ Goodness knows how many people have built themselves a fortune from nothing. Now that you have a house to live in and land to till, you can’t say you don’t have anything to start with. One needs to work one’s way up. Don’t complain that the porridge you get is too thin. Everyone has his own fate.”

Mei-shi knew that the rooms in the backyard were not meant to be a permanent abode for them. So she had no other choice but to do as she was bid. With her son, she thanked the elders of the clan, took respectful leave of the ancestral shrine, bade farewell to Shanji and his wife, took a few pieces of old furniture along with the two trunks that she had brought with her as a bride, and went on the back of a hired beast to the East Farmstead. It was a dilapidated house grievously out of repair, and the land was overgrown with weeds. With many tiles missing, the leaky roof made the house too damp for it to be inhabitable. Making the best of the situation, she cleaned a couple of rooms and put the beds in place. When she called in some tenants for information, she was told that the fifty-eight mu of land could not be any poorer, yielding less than half of a crop in a good year. In a bad year, just to put in the seeds was to su er a loss. Mei-shi could only bemoan their bitter fate.

It was her son who had the good sense to say to her, “My brother and I being sons born of the same father, why was our father so partial when it came to inheritance? There must be a reason behind it. Could it be that the will was not in my father’s handwriting? It is said since ancient times, ‘Family property should be divided equally, regardless of status.’ Mother, why don’t you bring the matter to court? We’ll go by the judge’s ruling.”

Now that the boy had raised the matter, Mei-shi told him all that she had kept from his knowledge for over ten years. “My son,” said she, “there is nothing suspicious about the will. It is indeed in your father’s handwriting. He was afraid that because you were so young, you might be cheated by your brother. That’s why all the property was left to your brother to put his mind at ease. Before your father passed away, he gave me a scroll with his portrait on it, saying repeatedly that there was a riddle to it and that if I could wait until an upright and wise judge came to this place and submit the case to him, you and I would be free from poverty.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier about all this? Where’s the portrait? Show it to me quickly.”

Mei-shi opened a trunk and took out a cloth-wrapped parcel. After removing the cloth, she came upon a layer of oilpaper that was bound and sealed. When the seal was broken, they saw a scroll one foot wide by three feet long. They spread it out, hung it on a chair, and kowtowed to it. Mei-shi pleaded to the portrait, “Please forgive us for any lack of propriety, but incense and candles are hard to come by in these rustic quarters.”

After the kowtows, Shanshu rose and took a closer look at the portrait. It was a most lifelike portrait of the prefect seated in a chair with an official’s black gauze cap over his white hair. Holding an infant to his bosom, he was pointing to the ground with one hand. As no amount of thinking yielded the slightest clue, Shanshu could do no better than wrap up the scroll and put it back in the parcel as before, his mind deeply disturbed.

A few days later, Shanshu went to a neighboring village to find someone who could shed light on this mystery. As he chanced to pass by the Lord Guan Temple,⁷ there came into view some villagers carrying over their shoulders a pig and a sheep in a sacrificial rite to honor Lord Guan. As Shanshu stopped in his tracks to take a look, an old man passing by also stopped and leaned on his bamboo sta to watch. “What’s the sacrifice for?” asked the old man.

“We were wrongly accused in a court case. Luckily, we had a wise magistrate who saw that justice was done. As we had made promises to the gods to repay them if we won the case, we are here today to give votive o erings.”

“How were you wrongly accused?” asked the old man. “And how was the case settled?”

One man in the crowd said, “In this county, as is ordered by the authorities, ten households constitute one security unit. I am Cheng Da, the unit headman. In our unit, there is a master tailor named Zhao who often worked nights in clients’ houses and would stay away from home for days at a time. One day, he left home again, and, after an absence of over a month, his wife, Liu-shi, sought help from us to search high and low for him, but not a trace of him was found.

“A few days later, a corpse with a crushed head floated up in the river. After the local headman reported to the authorities, the clothes were identified as belonging to Tailor Zhao.

“The day before Tailor Zhao left home, he and I had some angry words after drinking. In a rage, I charged into his home and smashed a few things. That did happen. But, as it turned out, his wife brought the case to court and charged me with murder. Mr. Qi, the county magistrate at the time, believed her story and sentenced me to death. My neighbors in the same security unit were also implicated because they would not inform against me. I had nowhere to go for vindication and stayed in prison for three years.

“Luckily, the new magistrate named Teng is a very wise man, though he has no more than a juren degree. When it came time at the height of summer for the annual review of cases of the convicted, I presented my case to him with tearful pleas for justice. He was also perplexed and said, ‘A drunken brawl is not some major feud that involves killing.’ He accepted my petition and issued warrants to bring witnesses to court for a review of the case.

“Upon first sight of Tailor Zhao’s wife, Magistrate Teng asked, of all things, if she had remarried. Liu-shi said, ‘I have, because it was too hard to maintain widowhood in my poverty.’ When asked who her new husband was, she replied, ‘It’s Tailor Shen Bahan.’ Magistrate Teng immediately had Shen Bahan brought to court and asked him, ‘When did you marry this woman?’ The man said, ‘I didn’t marry her until more than a month after her husband’s death.’ The magistrate asked, ‘Who was the matchmaker? What betrothal gifts did you give?’ The man replied, ‘The now deceased Tailor Zhao had borrowed seven or eight taels of silver from me. When I heard about his death, I went to his house to ask what had happened and to press for the return of the money. Liu-shi had nothing to pay me back with but agreed to marry me to o set the debt. We didn’t have a matchmaker.’ The magistrate asked again, ‘Being someone who works with his hands, where did you get all that silver?’ The tailor replied, ‘That was the total sum of small loans over a period of time.’

“The magistrate gave him paper and pen to write a detailed list of the loans. According to Bahan’s list, there were altogether thirteen loans in rice or in cash, totaling seven taels and eight mace of silver. After reading the list, the magistrate roared, ‘It was you who beat Tailor Zhao to death. How dare you falsely accuse an honest man?’ The ankle-squeezer was applied to him, but he still refused to confess. The magistrate said, ‘Let me give you the facts of the case, and you’ll have to acknowledge the truth. If you were in the money-lending business, why were all loans given out to Tailor Zhao only? It must be because you had an a air with his wife and, since Zhao had designs on your wealth, he looked the other way. Later, you murdered him in order to join his wife in a legitimate marriage. Then you had the woman press charges against Cheng Da. Your handwriting on this list of loans matches the handwriting on the accusation paper. Who can the murderer be if not you?’ (Good reasoning.)

“He ordered that the finger-squeezer be applied to the woman to make her confess. When she heard the magistrate’s account, accurate to the last detail, she was frightened out of her wits by the power of his mind, which was clearly on a par with that of Master Guigu.⁸ How could she dare deny anything? She confessed as soon as the finger-squeezers were put on. Bahan was also obliged to confess.

“As a matter of fact, when Bahan had first begun his clandestine a air with Liu-shi, no one knew about it. Later, when they started seeing each other more and more often, Tailor Zhao was afraid that others might notice, and he tried to put an end to the relationship. Bahan consulted Liu-shi about murdering Zhao and marrying her, but Liu-shi objected. When Zhao came back one night from his work at a client’s house, Bahan coaxed him into a wineshop, where he made Zhao drink himself into a stupor. When they left the wineshop and went to the river’s edge, Bahan knocked him to the ground, smashed his head with a rock, and tossed him into the river. Then he waited for the excitement to cool down before he married the woman.

“Later, the body floated up and was identified. Bahan knew that I had once had a fight with Zhao, and he urged the woman to press charges against me. It was after she was remarried that the woman learned about the murder. Since she was already his wife, she kept quiet. Magistrate Teng, having established the truth, punished the couple and set me free. I feel much obliged to my neighbors for having pooled money for this sacrificial ceremony. Sir, won’t you agree that there isn’t a worse case of injustice?”

The old man remarked, “Such a wise official is truly hard to come by! The people of this county are fortunate indeed!”

Having heard these words, Ni Shanshu returned home and repeated everything to his mother. “With such a good magistrate, what better time than this to take the portrait to him?”

The mother and son thus made up their minds, and, having learned the day on which the magistrate was to take up cases of complaint, Mei-shi rose before dawn that day and, carrying the scroll, took her fourteen-year-old son to the county yamen and cried out her grievances.

The magistrate was puzzled at the sight of a single small scroll instead of any formal written complaint. When asked, Mei-shi gave a full account of Ni Shanji’s behavior and the deceased prefect’s last words to her before he died. Magistrate Teng put away the scroll and told her to go home for the moment, for he would need to go back to his private quarters and examine it closely. Truly,

We will not follow Mei-shi and her son home but focus our attention on Magistrate Teng, who, after his business of the day was over, returned to his private quarters and spread out the scroll. He pondered for a considerable while over the portrait of Prefect Ni, who held an infant in one arm and pointed to the ground with the other hand. He thought to himself, “Needless to say, this infant is Ni Shanshu. By pointing to the ground, did he mean to tell whoever takes up the case to do their best out of regard for his soul in the underworld? Then again, since he had written a will with his own hand, the authorities can hardly judge otherwise. But if he said there was a riddle to the portrait, there must be something more to it than meets the eye. If I fail to come to the bottom of this, my long-standing reputation for brilliance will be put in jeopardy.” Every day, after he retired from the court, he took out the portrait and gave himself up to thought. Several days went by, but he was still nowhere nearer to an answer.

The mystery, however, was destined to be solved, and an opportunity did present itself one day after lunch, when Magistrate Teng was studying the scroll again. The maid came in to serve tea. As he reached out for the tea cup, he accidentally spilled some tea on the scroll. He put down the cup, went out to the terrace, and spread the scroll with both hands to dry it in the sun. In the sunlight he suddenly caught sight of traces of characters inside the scroll. Growing apprehensive, he peeled o the surface layer and saw that mounted underneath the portrait was another sheet of paper, on which was written in Prefect Ni’s handwriting,

As a matter of fact, this portrait had been done during the celebration of the baby’s first birthday, when Prefect Ni was eighty-one years old. This indeed bears out the old saying “None knows a son better than the father.”

Magistrate Teng was a most shrewd man. His greed was stirred by the mention of so much gold and silver. He knitted his brows and hit upon a plan. He sent quietly for Ni Shanji for a talk.

In the meantime, Ni Shanji, fully content with his possession of the entire family property, made merry at home every day. All of a sudden, a messenger from the prefectural yamen appeared with a summons in the magistrate’s handwriting. Unable to decline, since the messenger would not allow him a single moment of delay, Shanji had no choice but to follow him to the yamen.

The magistrate happened to be in the middle of a court session. At the messenger’s announcement that Ni Shanji was there, the magistrate called him forth and asked, “Are you Prefect Ni’s older son?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Your step-mother, Mei-shi, lodged a complaint against you, saying that you drove her and your younger brother out and seized all of the property and estate. Is this true?”

“My step-brother Shanshu grew up under my care. Recently, he and his mother declared their wish to move out. I did not drive them out. As regards the family property, everything was done in accordance with Father’s will written in his own hand. I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

“Where is your father’s handwritten will?”

“It is at home. Please allow me to get it and present it to you.”

“According to the complaint, the case involves an immense inheritance. This is hardly a trivial matter. The authenticity of the will remains to be established. Out of consideration for your gentry class background, I will not make things difficult for you for the moment, but tomorrow I will summon Mei-shi and her son to your house. I will personally come to your house to check the status of the family property. If the division of the inheritance is indeed unfair, justice will prevail over personal considerations.” With these words, he had runners escort Shanji out of the court before summoning Mei-shi and her son for the hearing the next day. The runners accepted some bribes from Shanji and let him return home by himself. They then headed for the East Farmstead for Mei-shi and her son.

Now, Shanji was much frightened by the harsh tone of the magistrate because it was true that the inheritance had not been divided at all. With nothing but his father’s will to vouch for him, he also needed the testimony of members of the clan to make his actions assume full force. That very night, he distributed silver among the Ni clan as well as relatives on his mother’s and wife’s sides of the family, asking them to assemble in his house the next morning and support him with one voice in the investigation into the will.

Since Prefect Ni died, none of those relatives had ever received any gift from Shanji, nor had the latter bothered to invite them for a drink on festive occasions. And now he was giving away large chunks of silver. Truly, “He burns no incense when everything goes well, but is quick to embrace the Buddha’s feet in a moment of need.” They laughed in their sleeves and readily accepted the silver for some extra indulgence in food. As for the hearing to be held the next day, they would see how things went before saying anything. A contemporary had this to say:

At the summons from the runners, Mei-shi knew that the magistrate had taken up her case. Early next morning, the mother and son went straight to the county yamen to see Magistrate Teng.

“I will naturally take the side of a widow and a fatherless child,” said the magistrate, “but as far as I know, Shanji acted in accordance with his deceased father’s will. What’s to be done about that?”

“There is indeed such a will,” conceded Mei-shi. “However, it was written not as an expression of my deceased husband’s true wishes but for the sake of protecting the child. Your Honor will understand if you examine the amounts specified in the family account book.”

Magistrate Teng replied, “As the saying goes, ‘Even the most unbiased judge finds it hard to settle a family dispute.’ I will try to let you and your son have enough to live on for the rest of your lives. Don’t get your hopes too high.” (Do not get the hopes too high, lest they be more easily dashed. Magistrate Teng is preparing her for his settlement.)

Mei-shi said gratefully, “I’ll be more than content to be free from hunger and cold. I wouldn’t presume to be as rich as Shanji.”

Magistrate Teng instructed Mei-shi and her son to go to Shanji’s house and wait for him there. Shanji had already cleaned the main hall, placed in it an armchair covered with a tiger’s skin, and lit some fine incense. At the same time, he urged the relatives to come early and await the arrival of the magistrate. At the sight of so many members of the clan, Mei-shi and Shanshu said their greetings and could hardly fail to ask the relatives to put in a good word for them. For all his pent-up fury, Shanji could not very well flare up on such an occasion. Each quietly prepared words to say to the magistrate.

Before long, there came into hearing from afar shouts to clear the way. Realizing that the county magistrate was approaching, Shanji adjusted his clothes and cap and went to welcome him. The older and wiser among the clan members also made ready to step forward and greet him, while the younger and more timid peeped out from behind the screen wall in front of the house to find out what was going on. Behold: Under the blue silk canopy behind the two rows of guards of honor was the wise Magistrate Teng himself.

Upon reaching the Ni residence, the guards dropped to their knees and gave a shout. Mei-shi and the Ni brothers also knelt down in a gesture of welcome. As a retainer shouted, “All rise!” a sedan-chair was set down and Magistrate Teng, all calm and composed, alighted from it. Just as he was about to enter the house, he suddenly made a succession of bows to the sky and said things as if in reply to the greetings of his host. All those present stood watching in amazement.

Magistrate Teng then bowed his way into the main hall, never failing to yield the right of way to the unseen host. While bowing, he kept up a stream of polite words of greeting. After saluting the south-facing tiger-skin chair as if he were being o ered that seat, he turned hastily, pulled up another chair, which he placed facing north as if for the host, and did not take his seat of honor until he bowed a few more times to the air. Awestruck by the sight of someone who appeared to have seen a god or a ghost, the gaping crowd stood on two sides, with no one daring to take a step forward.

From his seat, Magistrate Teng made another bow and said, “Your wife lodged a complaint with me about the inheritance. Could you tell me what it is all about?” Having said that, he assumed the posture of someone listening intently. After a considerable while, he stuck out his tongue and commented, shaking his head, “Your older son is not an honorable man.” After listening quietly for a few more moments, he asked, “What is the younger son to live on?” A little later, he spoke again, “What is there in the small house on the right?” Then he said, “I see, I see.” After another pause, he continued, “I will do as you say and give that to the younger son as well.” A moment later, he said with a bow, “How would I presume to accept such a great favor?” After much demurring, he said, “Since you are so insistent, I will accept it against my better judgment and give a receipt to your younger son.” (What audacity on the part of the magistrate! But at least he does this without risk of compromising his merit in the netherworld, for this is better than accepting filthy bribes.) With that, he rose and said with a few more bows, “I shall go there right now.” Everyone present was aghast.

Magistrate Teng stood up, looked around, and asked, “Where has Prefect Ni gone?”

The retainers replied, “We haven’t seen any Prefect Ni.”

“How extraordinary!” exclaimed the magistrate. He summoned Shanji and said to him, “Your father personally greeted me outside the door. Everyone must have heard what your father said to me all this time.”

“I did not hear what he said,” said Shanji.

“Was Prefect Ni a tall man with a thin face, high cheekbones, narrow eyes, long eyebrows, big ears, three strands of silvery beard, a gauze cap, black boots, a red robe, and a golden waistband?”

Breaking into a cold sweat, everyone knelt down in awe and said, “That’s exactly how he looked.”

“Why did he suddenly disappear?” said the magistrate. “He said that in addition to the two big houses, there is also a small house to the east. Is that indeed the case?”

Shanji dared not hide the truth, and admitted, “Yes, that is indeed true.”

“We shall now go to the small house on the east side,” said the magistrate. “I shall have something to say.”

Having witnessed the magistrate talking to himself and describing Prefect Ni’s looks with such accuracy, everyone believed that the prefect had indeed made an appearance. There was not a tongue that did not hang out, nor a heart that did not beat fast. Little did they know that Magistrate Teng was faking it all. His descriptions of the prefect were based on his memory of the portrait. Everything else he said was sheer fabrication. (How ingenious!) There is a poem that bears witness:

With Ni Shanji leading the way, the whole crowd went with the magistrate to the old house on the east side. Originally inhabited by Prefect Ni before he passed the examinations and built the big houses, it had later become a granary for rice and wheat. A servant and his family lived there. After walking all around the house, the magistrate took a seat in the main hall and said to Shanji, “Your father’s spirit, for that’s what it was, gave me a detailed account of the concerns of the family and instructed me to give this old house to Shanshu. What do you say to that?”

Shanji said with a bow, “I will go by any ruling of yours, Your Honor.”

The magistrate asked for the family account book, read it closely, and said time and again, “What a large family estate!” When he came to the will at the end of the account book, he burst into laughter. “So, the old gentleman wrote all this himself, and yet, a moment ago, he said to me many bitter words against Shanji. He wasn’t a man with a determined mind of his own, was he?” Thereupon the magistrate called forth Shanji and announced, “Since the will spelled out everything clearly, the lands and the accounts are therefore bequeathed to you alone. Shanshu is not to raise any contest.”

Lamenting to herself at such a turn of events, Mei-shi was about to step forward and make her pleas, when the magistrate resumed, “This old house is bequeathed to Shanshu. Nor is Shanji to lay any claim to anything found in the house.”

Shanji thought to himself, “The broken furniture in this house is not worth anything. Even though there is still some rice and wheat left, the amount is insignificant because I sold seventy to eighty percent of the stock a month ago. I’m getting a good deal.” Thereupon he said eagerly, “Your Honor, your ruling is most wise.”

The magistrate declared, “That’s settled then. Neither of you should go back on your word. Since all of you present are members of the family, I invite you to be witnesses. Mr. Ni Senior told me just now, face to face, ‘Buried under the left wall of this house are five jars of silver, five thousand taels in total, which I bequeath to my younger son.’”

In disbelief, Shanji said, “If this is true, my brother may have ten thousand taels of gold without a word of objection from me.”

The magistrate said, “I will not allow any objections from you.” So saying, he ordered his men to ask for hoes and shovels, and, with Mei-shi and her son leading the way, they went with some able-bodied locals to the east wall. When the ground under the wall was dug open, sure enough, there came into view five big jars, which, when lifted out, were revealed to be filled to the brim with silver. When one of the jars was weighed on the scale, it was found that the silver amounted to sixty-two and a half catties, the exact equivalent of a thousand taels. Everyone stood aghast. Shanji was now convinced that if his father’s spirit had not appeared and told the magistrate about the hidden silver, the latter would not have known something that even the family had no knowledge of.

Magistrate Teng had the five jars of silver laid out in a straight row in front of himself and turned to Mei-shi with these words: “There are another five jars under the wall on the right, which contain another five thousand taels. In addition, there is a jar of gold, which Mr. Ni Senior wishes to give to me as a reward. I did not think it proper to accept it, but he was so insistent that I had to comply.”

Mei-shi and Shanshu said while kowtowing, “The five thousand under the left wall is already more than we could ever hope for. If there is another five thousand under the right wall, we will certainly not fail to follow the orders of the deceased.”

“I learned about this through Prefect Ni himself,” said the magistrate. “I don’t think he would be making it up.” At his orders, the men started digging under the western wall, and, sure enough, there were six big jars, five with silver and one with gold.

His eyes bloodshot at the sight of so much gold and silver, how Shanji wished he could grab an ingot or two! However, he dared not utter a word, for he had given his promise. (To the indescribable joy of Shanshu, dismay of the jealous Shanji, amazement of the awestruck spectators, and gratification of the magistrate.)

Magistrate Teng drew up a document and gave it to Shanshu. The family that was taking care of the house was also given to Shanshu and his mother. Beside themselves with joy, Mei-shi and Shanshu kowtowed in gratitude. For all his mortification, Shanji felt obliged to make a couple of bows and force himself to say, “Thank you, Your Honor, for your judgment.”

With the jar of gold sealed up with paper strips, the magistrate had it carried in front of his sedan-chair to his yamen for his personal enjoyment.

Believing that Prefect Ni had indeed promised the magistrate the jar of gold as payment for his services, the onlookers thought it only right that the magistrate did what he did. No one presumed to raise a word of objection. This is indeed a case of “When the snipe and the clam grapple, it’s the fisherman who gets the benefit.” Had Ni Shanji been a kind man enjoying a harmonious relationship with his brother and willing to divide the inheritance equally, the thousand taels of gold would have been shared between the brothers, five hundred taels each. They never would have ended up in Magistrate Teng’s hands. With not the least gain to himself, Shanji brought wealth to another man. What he got in return was nothing but mortification and notoriety as an unfilial son and unloving brother. However calculating he was, he ended up a victim of his own schemes.

Let us not encumber our story with more of such idle comments but turn our attention to Mei-shi and her son, who paid Magistrate Teng a visit the following day to express their gratitude. The magistrate had already removed the will from the scroll and had the portrait remounted. It was not until he gave the portrait back to Mei-shi that she and her son came to realize that by pointing to the ground, the prefect in the portrait was pointing at the hidden treasure. With the ten jars of silver, they bought land and became rich. Later, Shanshu married and had three sons in succession, all of whom won fame through their assiduous studies. Of the Ni clan, Shanshu’s branch was the most prosperous. Shanji’s two sons, on the other hand, were given to loafing and frittered away their inheritance. After Shanji’s death, the two big houses were sold to Uncle Shanshu. None of those who were acquainted with the Ni family story did not take that as an example of heavenly retribution. As the poem says,