35

A Pauper Keeps Temporary Watch over Another Man’s Money

A Miser Resorts to Tricks When Buying His Nemesis’s Son

A poem goes,

All debts must be paid, as shown most clearly

In the record books of the netherworld.

Anything that is not meant to be yours

Will one day be returned to its rightful owner.

All material things have their rightful owners. Things that are not meant for you will be returned, not a penny short, to their rightful owners, whatever tricks you played in order to lay your hands on them. There is an endless supply of stories about the operations of karma in all their variations. I shall now pick one of the more curious stories to serve as a prologue to the story proper.

In Gucheng County [present-day Zhengding County, Hebei] of Jinzhou, there lived a man named Zhang Shanyou. He was a charitably disposed elderly man who spent much of his time chanting the sutras and praying to the Buddha. His wife, Li-shi, however, lacked good sense and liked gaining petty advantages. They were childless and lived in comfortable circumstances. In the same county, there lived a poor man called Zhao Tingyu. In ordinary times, he was free from moral transgressions, but when his mother died and he had no money for the burial of her remains, he took it into his head to steal from Zhang Shanyou, knowing that the latter had money to spare. (MC: A filial thief.) After spending days planning his move, he managed to dig a hole through the wall of Mr. Zhang’s house and stole about fifty to sixty taels of silver. After his mother’s burial, he thought, “I’m not a bad man by nature. It’s just because I’m too poor to afford my mother’s burial that I acted against my conscience and did harm to that family. If I can’t pay my debt to them in this life, I will in my next incarnation.” (MC: A thread of the story that will surely be picked up later.)

When he got up the next morning, Zhang Shanyou saw the hole in the wall and rightly surmised that there had been a thief in the house. He took stock of his possessions and realized that about fifty to sixty taels of silver had been taken from his trunks. Being a rich man, Zhang Shaoyou did not quite mind the loss. He put it down to his bad luck and, with a sigh, dismissed the matter from his thoughts. However, Li-shi was filled with resentment. She said, “A lot of things could have been done with that money, or it could have yielded a lot of interest. I can’t bear the thought of losing it to a thief !”

She was lost in these unhappy thoughts when, suddenly, a monk came to the door and asked for Mr. Zhang. Zhang Shanyou went out and asked, “What brought you here, Your Reverence?”

The monk replied, “This old monk is from the Wutai Mountain Monastery (MC: A scapegoat.), here, down the mountain, to ask for donations for the repair of our damaged monastery. I’ve been at it for quite a long time now, and I’ve collected about a hundred taels. I still need more. Some donors have made pledges but not yet honored them. So I still have to go to more places to collect donations, but I can’t carry all this silver with me because I might lose it. I need a place to deposit it, but I haven’t been able to find one. Along the way, I heard about your reputation as a generous donor to charitable causes, so I came expressly to deposit the money with you. After I collect enough donations elsewhere, I’ll return to reclaim the money, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Yours is a good cause. Please feel free to leave it with me. It will be perfectly safe here. You can come back to get it any time when you’re ready.” Then and there, Zhang Shanyou checked the amount of the silver ingot by ingot, and then he went inside and gave the money to his wife for safekeeping. When he reappeared and asked the monk to stay for a meal, the monk said, “I don’t want to put you to the trouble. I’d like to go back to my job collecting donations as soon as possible.”

“I’ve given your silver to my wife for safekeeping in the house. (MC: Shanyou should not have given the money to his wife. He is to suffer the consequences of this mistake.) In case I’m away when you come back for it, I’ll surely make arrangements to make certain that you get it.”

The monk took leave of him and went on his way to complete his mission.

Li-shi was ecstatic when she laid her hands on the monk’s silver, thinking, “I just lost fifty to sixty taels of silver, and now, here comes a monk offering one hundred taels, more than enough to make up for my loss!” With greed raising its ugly head, she was determined to keep the money.

One day, before going to East Mountain Temple to offer incense and pray for a son, Zhang Shanyou said to his wife, “I’m leaving. You have the money of that monk from Wutai Monastery for safekeeping. If he comes to get it, just give it to him whether I’m home or not. If he needs food, cook him a vegetarian meal. It will be to your credit.”

Li-shi said, “I know.”

After Zhang Shanyou departed on his trip, the monk came to claim his deposit, having completed his mission. Li-shi said, in a barefaced lie, “Zheng Shanyou isn’t at home, and I know nothing about any deposit of money. Your Reverence must have come to the wrong house.”

“I gave the money to Mr. Zhang. Then he went inside and put it in your care. How can you say such a thing?”

Li-shi declared, “If I ever saw your money, let blood come out of my eyes!”

“This means you’re cheating me out of my money.”

“If I cheat you, let me fall to the eighteenth and lowest level of hell!”

These overly vehement oaths convinced the monk that she was determined to keep the money, but he thought it unseemly to argue with a woman. At his wit’s end, he joined his palms and said, “Amitabha! (MC: This appeal to the Buddha is lethal.) What I deposited in your house is money that I collected from everywhere to repair the monastery. How can you cheat me like this? Now that you’ve cheated me out of my money in this life, you’ll surely return it to me in the next one!” And so he left, filled with grief and indignation.

When Zhang Shanyou returned some time later and asked about the monk’s silver, Li-shi said, again lying through her teeth, “That monk came right after you left. I gave the money back to him with both my hands.”

“Good! Good! That’s one weight off my mind.”

Two years later, Li-shi gave birth to a son. Thereafter, their family fortune grew like a leaping flame. After another five years, another son was born. The older of the two was nicknamed Qiseng and the younger one Fuseng. After they grew up, Qiseng turned out to be very frugal, helping to run the household and working from dawn to dusk, rising early and going to bed late. Stingy by nature, he pinched pennies, hating to part with them, and amassed an impressive family fortune. Strangely enough, the two blood brothers, nourished by the same mother’s milk, were a world apart in disposition. Fuseng, the younger one, spent his days drinking, gambling, womanizing, and patronizing the brothels, throwing money away with abandon. Qiseng, watching from the sidelines, was pained by such extravagance because he was the one who had earned the money with the sweat of his brow. Every day, creditors came to the door to demand repayment from Fuseng, who was in the habit of borrowing without the knowledge of his family members. Zhang Shanyou, concerned about his good reputation, would certainly not let anyone press his son for debt repayment. Resignedly, he paid back everything Fuseng owed, much to Qiseng’s frustration.

Zhang Shanyou’s heart went out to his older son, for he felt that the older one was being shortchanged, working his fingers to the bone while the younger one was spending money like water. So the father decided to divide the family fortune into three equal portions—two for the brothers and one for himself and his wife—so as to let the frugal son prosper and the spendthrift suffer consequences of his own making. Otherwise, the profligate would have brought the good son down with him. Fuseng, one who would never amount to anything, rejoiced at the freedom. The division of what bound the family together could not have suited him more. His portion of the family fortune went the way of

Snow when hot water is poured on it

And wisps of clouds blown by the wind.

Before a year was out, all his money was gone. Then he snatched away half his parents’ portion. In no time, it was gone, too. After that, he began to pester his brother, who could hardly decline. (MC: This was inevitable. Better not to have divided the family fortune in the first place.) Even his brother’s money also went down the drain. How could a frugal man like Qiseng take this? His resentment led to an illness, and he became bedridden. Medicine failed to work. As he lay in bed, looking more dead than alive, his father said, “The one who built the family fortune is ill, but the one who ruins the family enjoys good health. The order of the five phases is all wrong!”1 How he wished the younger one could take the place of the older one in the sickbed! Speech was beyond him in his grief. Qiseng’s illness failed to respond to medication and he died. Zhang Shanyou and his wife were so devastated that even their voices failed them. Qiseng’s death did not bother his brother in the slightest because what remained of the deceased one’s portion of the family fortune was now his to enjoy. His callousness added to Li-shi’s grief over the passing of her older son. She wept nonstop until her eyes bled and she died. (MC: Bearing out her own words.) Not at all saddened by the double bereavement, Fuseng spent his time pleasure seeking in the courtesans’ quarters even before the mourning period for his mother was over. His debauchery took a toll on his health. He came down with tuberculosis and began to lose his grip on life. Zhang Shanyou grew desperate, but there was nothing he could do. Whether the son would amount to anything no longer meant much to the father because even a prodigal son was better than having no heir. Truly,

What happens now is all predestined;

You can’t escape your fate when your number is up.

Fuseng’s breathing became weaker and weaker. When his time was up, his breathing stopped, like a lamp going out quietly when its oil burns up in the middle of the night.

Even though Zhang Shanyou had never favored Fuseng, the triple bereavement left him torn with gut-wrenching grief. He said to himself, “I wonder what wrong I did to deserve this retribution, leaving me heirless.” While feeling aggrieved, he thought, “Those two sons of mine came from my prayers at Mount Tai Temple. Now that King Yama has snatched them away, the God of Mount Tai must know it. I should go to the God of Mount Tai to air my grievances. Maybe the god will summon King Yama and return one of my sons to me, for all I know.” It was his agony and the lack of anything to occupy him that gave him such wild ideas. (MC: Wild indeed!)

And so he went to the temple and said tearfully, “This old man Zhang Shanyou has done a lifetime of good works. Even my two sons and my wife have done little wrong. (MC: The mother can hardly be vouched for.) But King Yama has taken them all, leaving me alone. Please summon King Yama and let him give me an explanation. If I deserve this retribution, I can die without regrets.” With that, he prostrated himself on the floor, sobbing. Then he passed out and slipped into a coma.

While he was in this state of torpor, he saw a demon messenger approaching him. “King Yama wants your presence,” said the demon.

Zhang Shanyou replied, “I was on the point of going to see King Yama and throw a few questions at him.” So he followed the messenger and was led right into King Yama’s presence.

“Zhang Shanyou,” said King Yama, “why did you complain about me to the East Mountain God?”

“Because my wife and my two sons never did much wrong, but you took them all. I was so grief-stricken that I pleaded to the god to do right by me.”

“Do you want to see your two sons?”

“Of course!”

Thereupon, King Yama ordered the demon messenger to bring the two sons to their father. Upon their arrival, Zhang Shanyou was overwhelmed with joy. To Qiseng he said, “My Number One, let me take you home.”

“I’m not your Number One,” said Qiseng. “I was Zhao Tingyu, who stole more than fifty taels of silver from you, as I should not have done. But having added hundreds of times more money to your family fortune, I’ve repaid my debt to you, and I’m no longer your flesh and blood.”

Having heard these words from his older son, Zhang Shanyou gave up and, turning to Fuseng, said, “In that case, let me take you home, Number Two.”

Fuseng said, “I’m no Number Two of yours. I was a monk at Wutai Mountain Monastery in an earlier incarnation. You owed me. Now that you’ve paid me back hundreds of times over, I’m no longer related to you.”

Much startled, Zhang Shanyou said, “Why did you say I owed that monk? I wish I could check that with my wife.”

Knowing his wish all too well, King Yama said, “Zhang Shanyou, seeing your wife is not a problem.” Turning to a demon lictor, he said, “Open the gate of the Underworld and bring Zhang Shanyou’s wife Li-shi here!”

The lictor acknowledged the order and went off. Soon, Li-shi was brought into the hall, wearing iron chains and a cangue.

“Mother!” said Zhang Shanyou. “Oh, how you suffer!”

Tearfully, she said, “I shouldn’t have cheated the monk from Wutai Mountain Monastery out of his one hundred taels of silver. After I died, I was made to go through the torments of all the eighteen layers of hell. (MC: Bearing out more of her own words.) Oh, the misery of it all!”

Zhang Shanyou said, “I thought you gave the silver back to him. I had no idea you played him false. You brought all this on yourself.”

“How are you going to save me?” asked Li-shi, tugging at Zhang Shanyou and bursting into tears.

In a rage, King Yama slapped his desk and gave a roar. At this point, Zhang Shanyou woke up with a start and found himself lying at the foot of the altar, but the dream still seemed so real to him that he realized everything had been the work of karma. He stopped crying and went to join the Buddhist order for a life of spiritual devotion.

’Tis true that no evil deed done in the dark

Escapes the lightning-like eyes of the gods.

With retribution so fair and just,

How can he complain about King Yama?

Why did I begin with this story about the operations of karma? Because it leads me to the next story, one about a poor man borrowing from a rich man and keeping good watch over the money for many years until he returned it to the owner, intact, unbeknownst to himself. This makes an even more remarkable story. Please give ear!

In the Song dynasty, there lived at the Zhou Family Farmstead of Caonan Village, Caozhou, of Bianliang [present-day Kaifeng, Henan], an untitled scholar by the name of Zhou Rongzu, courtesy name Bocheng. His wife was from a Zhang family. Mr. Zhou had inherited an immense family fortune. His grandfather Zhou Feng, a Buddhist, had built a temple on the estate and read sutras and prayed to the Buddha every day. His father, after taking over management of the estate, was so frugal that he dismantled the temple and used the parts to make repairs on the residence in order to save money on building materials such as wood, stone, brick, and tile. (MC: His miserliness is the cause of his falling into poverty.) By the time the repairs were finished, he had fallen ill and was laid up in bed. Everyone attributed his illness to retribution for his lack of belief in the Buddha.

After his father died, Rongzu became heir to the entire estate. A fine scholar, Rongzu wanted to go to the capital to sit for the civil service examinations. He and Zhang-shi had a baby son. Still in swaddling clothes, the boy was given the pet name Changshou. Because his wife was delicate and his son young, he could not bear to leave them behind. (MC: It wouldn’t have made any difference if he had.) So he consulted his wife and decided to take both of them along on his journey. He put the gold and silver ingots that he had inherited into a vat and buried the vat at the foot of the fence in his backyard, because he thought the ingots were too cumbersome to carry. He took along only loose pieces of silver and some other portable valuables. With a servant keeping watch over the estate, they set off on their journey.

Our story forks at this point. In Caozhou, there lived a poor man by the name of Jia Ren. With rags on his back and little in his belly, he never knew where his next meal was coming from. Nor did he have a regular line of work. He made a living by hiring himself out as a laborer, carrying earth, building walls, making mud bricks, and carrying water and firewood. At night, he slept in a dilapidated kiln. His hard life won him the sobriquet Pauper Jia. Of an eccentric and obstinate nature, he often said, “Why are some people so rich while I’m so poor? Aren’t we all human beings?” But he was a ruthless and vicious man. There is a quatrain that testifies to his circumstances:

With no house or land to his name,

He slept each night in a kiln at the city’s edge.

A human being like everyone else,

Why should he be mired in such poverty?

Full of bitterness, Jia Ren went every day to Mount Tai Temple when he had a moment to spare and tearfully said to the statues of the gods (MC: Strange behavior of a strange man.), “This humble man Jia Ren is here to say a prayer. The way I see it, I’m no less a human being than those rich men riding tall horses, wearing silk and brocade, eating the finest food, and using the finest utensils, and yet I’m in rags, I go hungry, and I have to make a fire to heat the ground I sleep on. Can I be any poorer? If I could be blessed with some modest wealth, I’d donate to monks, build temples and pagodas, repair bridges and roads, and help orphans, widows, the elderly, and the poor. Please have pity on me!” This went on day after day.

How true it is that intense earnestness never fails to touch the heart! The gods were indeed moved by his plaintive pleas. One day, when he was asleep on the veranda after saying his prayer, the Dispenser of Divine Favors called one of Jia Ren’s souls to him and asked it why Jia Ren was always filled with resentment against heaven and earth. Thereupon, Jia Ren repeated his usual prayer and kept begging for mercy as if he would never stop. Feeling somewhat sorry for him, the Dispenser of Divine Favors summoned the God of Fortune and told the god to check the amount of Jia Ren’s allotted material possessions. After consulting the books, the God of Fortune gave this report: “In his previous incarnation, the said individual had no respect for heaven and earth, nor was he a dutiful son. He vilified monks, maligned the Buddha, took lives, dumped holy water, and wasted food and is therefore destined to die from cold and hunger in this incarnation.” (MC: Mark this, everyone!)

Jia Ren took fright and began pleading again, this time even more plaintively than before, “O god! Please take pity on me! If I could be blessed with even a modest amount of food and clothing, I’d surely become a good man. When my parents were alive, I did try my best to provide for them. After they passed away, for some reason, I became poorer by the day. I do offer sacrificial paper money and libations of tea and wine at their grave, and my eyes are still wet with tears. I am a filial son.”

The Dispenser of Divine Favors said, “Upon an examination of his behavior, we found no record of any good deeds attributable to him, but we did establish the fact that he provided for his parents in spite of his poverty. His resentment toward Heaven and Earth warrants a death from cold and hunger. However, we shall make allowances for what little filial devotion he showed. (MC: Even a little filial devotion brings good fortune. Mark this!) As the saying goes, ‘Heaven does not give life to any undeserving human being; Earth does not let a nameless blade of grass grow.’ Considering the Lord on High’s compassion for life, let’s see if we can borrow some good fortune from one family or another on his behalf, without diminishing what is due to that family. We can give him an adopted son, so that he can be provided for until his death. This will be a reward for what little filial piety he had.”

The God of Fortune said, “I found that the Zhou family of the Zhao Family Farmstead in Caonan, Caozhou, has accumulated moral credit for three generations in succession, but the current head of the family dismantled a Buddhist temple on a whim and is therefore up for some punishment. His family’s fortune can be put on loan to Jia for twenty years, to be returned by him with proper respect to the Zhous by the due date. Won’t that be nice on both counts?”

“Good plan!” said the Dispenser of Divine Favors. He called Jia Ren to him, acquainted him with the plan, and told him to remember it well, adding, “By the time you become a rich man, your creditor will be waiting eagerly for repayment.”

Jia Ren kowtowed and thanked the gods for their benevolence while saying to himself, “I’m a rich man now!” After leaving the temple, he mounted a tall horse and gave it free rein. (MC: Already acting like a rich man.) At the sight of a horsewhip, the horse galloped off at the speed of the wind and threw him to the ground. With a loud cry, he woke up and found himself still lying on the veranda. It had all been but a dream. After a moment’s reflection, he said to himself, “The gods did say all too clearly that they were going to borrow the good fortune of a certain family and lend it to me for twenty years. So I should be a rich man now. But now that I’m awake, do I see any money? (MC: Does he also see his creditor?) Oh well, what you dream about is what you’re thinking about. How can I believe in a dream? Yesterday, a rich family told me to find some bricks for a new wall. Let me go and try to find some.”

And so he left through the temple gate. How true the saying “Good luck comes with good timing”! It just so happened that Scholar Zhou’s servant found himself cash-strapped during his master’s prolonged absence. To make things worse, a thief took everything from the house while he was fast asleep the night before, and he found nothing he could sell except the crumbling fence in the backyard. He thought, “It’s of no use. Why don’t I sell the bricks and try to get by with whatever money I get in return?” So he went out and ran smack into Jia Ren on the street. Knowing this was a man who made a living building walls, he asked Jia if he could find a buyer.

Jia Ren said, “My employer does need mud bricks for a fence. Let me ask him for a price first before I come to get them.”

Sure enough, he went to his employer and set a price for each load that he could carry. After leading Jia into the backyard, Scholar Zhou’s servant went off, leaving him alone to dig and carry the loads. Having brought his own iron spade, hoe, and baskets, Jia Ren set to work. He had just knocked down one section of the fence when he noticed that the soil sank quickly where a rock had been, as if there was a hole there. After moving the soil aside, he came upon a stone slab. He pried it up and saw a stone trough underneath filled with numerous brick-size ingots of gold and silver surrounded by a rim of small loose pieces. He gave a start, thinking, “So the gods are indeed responsive! My dream has come true. Good gracious! It’s my turn to be a rich man now!”

An idea came to him. He moved some of the ingots into his baskets, covered them with soil, and put his shoulder pole through the handles of the baskets to make one load. Then he covered the rest of the ingots with soil, to be transferred later. Carrying his load, he went straight to the tumble-down kiln that served as his sleeping quarters and hid the ingots there, unbeknownst to god or ghost. Transporting them took a couple of days.

Having suffered grinding poverty, he drew up good plans for using the fabulous amount of money that fortune had bestowed on him. First, he bought a house with the loose pieces of silver, gradually transported his treasure trove from the kiln to the house, and settled down. Then he started a small business to serve as a cover for his wealth. In a few years’ time, after the business had expanded, he built a mansion and opened a pawnshop, a noodle workshop, a flour mill, an oil mill, and a winery. His businesses grew like a rising tide. He came to own land, boats, and prodigious quantities of cash. Those who used to call him “Pauper Jia” now addressed him as “Squire.” He also took a wife (MC: Where was this wife borrowed from?) but remained without issue, male or female. The estates that stretched beyond a crow’s range of flight remained heirless. And there was another mystery: In spite of his enormous wealth, he remained a miser, so hard on himself that he begrudged the spending of even half a penny. To ask him for a string of cash was tantamount to pulling a tendon from his body. He was always ready to snatch money from other people’s hands, but his heart ached whenever he had to make a payment (MC: The way rich men are.), hence, his new nickname, Miser Jia.

He engaged an old scholar, Chen Defu by name, to serve him as an accountant, to be in charge of the ledgers of his pawnshop, and to oversee the accounts receivable and loans. Squire Jia often said to Chen Defu, “I have no one to inherit all my money. I have no children of my own, but could you find me a boy or a girl, either to buy or to adopt? My wife and I will at least have someone to delight our eyes.” (MC: This idea lays the groundwork for paying back his debt.)

After he repeated these words time and again, Chen Defu said to a wineshop clerk, “If there’s anyone suitable, let me know first.” We shall leave them in their search for an heir and come back to Scholar Zhou Rongzu.

After the scholar went to the capital for the examinations, with his wife and son Changshou in tow, fate was not kind to him. He failed the examinations, and this was not all. On returning home, he found his estate all gone, except for one house. When he went to the backyard to check on his buried inheritance, he saw that the wall had collapsed and the soil at its foot had been removed, leaving nothing but an empty stone trough. With nothing to live on, he sold the house in a drastic move, and all three of them went to Luoyang to stay with relatives. Luck simply ran against him. Truly,

When your time comes, good luck falls into your lap.2

When your time goes, ill luck follows on your heels.3

His relatives had long been away from home. He ended up with nothing but “bright moonlight on his empty boat heading home,” and he drained his travel money to the last penny. On reaching Caonan on his way back, he ran into a late-winter snowstorm that raged for days. With nothing but unlined garments on their backs, all three of them could hardly go on with the journey. There is in testimony a ci poem to the tune of “Zhenggong diao: Rolling a Colored Silk Ball”:4

Who ground jade into powder and sifts it to earth?

Who is cutting ice flowers to feast the eye?

The streets look as if they are carved in jade,

The towers and terraces as if whitewashed.

Han Yu would have frozen at the Languan Pass;5

Meng Haoran would have fallen off his donkey’s back;6

Wang Huizhi would not have reached Dai Kui’s door.7

All three of them would have succumbed to the cold.

While this family endures no end of torments,

Others offer them no help. The misery!

Zhang-shi said, “It’s impossible to press on in such a snowstorm. Let’s take shelter somewhere for now.”

Scholar Zhou agreed, saying, “All right. Let’s find a wineshop and stay out of the snow.”

And so, husband and wife stopped at the door of a wineshop with their son. The clerk greeted them and asked, “A cup of wine for you, sir?”

Scholar Zhou said, “Woe is me! I have no money for wine.”

“If you aren’t having wine, why are you here?”

“I’m a poor scholar. The three of us are on our way home from a visit to relatives and got caught in the snowstorm. Without enough clothes to ward off the cold or any food in our stomachs, we came in to find shelter from the snow.”

“That’s fine,” said the clerk. “No one can walk outside and have a roof over his head at the same time.”

“Thank you, brother,” said the scholar. Only then did he tell his wife and son to enter the shop with him. As they kept shivering with cold, the clerk said, “Scholar, how about a cup of wine to get rid of the cold?” (MC: The inn clerk is a good man.)

With a sigh, the scholar said, “Didn’t I say that I have no money with me?”

“Poor thing!” said the clerk. “Oh well, why don’t I earn some credit for my record in the next world? I’m going to serve you a cup of wine free of charge.” So saying, he took one of the three cups of wine set in front of the statuettes of the gods of wealth and offered it to the scholar. After downing the wine, the scholar felt much warmer. Having caught the aroma of the wine, his wife also wanted some to dispel the cold, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask for it. While she was talking with her husband, the clerk caught on. He thought, “Why don’t I do another favor and offer her a cup as well?” Holding out another cup of wine, he said, “This one is for the lady.”

The scholar thanked him, took the cup, and handed it to his wife. The boy Changshou, knowing nothing of proper etiquette, cried out that he wanted some, too. Tears fell from the scholar’s eyes as he said, “This gentleman offered drinks to me and your mother out of the goodness of his heart. You don’t get any.”

As the boy burst into wails, the clerk asked why and gave him a cup, too. Turning to the scholar, he said, “You seem to be having a hard time of it. Why don’t you put your little boy up for adoption?”

“I won’t be able to find anyone on the spur of the moment.”

“I’ve got someone for you,” said the clerk. (MC: Nicely picking up another thread of the story.) “But you may want to talk to your wife first.”

Turning to his wife, the scholar said, “Wife, did you hear that? This gentleman asked if we’d agree to put our boy up for adoption because we’re so poor. And he does have someone in mind.”

“To be adopted is better than to die of cold or hunger,” said his wife. (MC: How pitiable!) “As long as that family can keep him alive, give him to them!”

After the scholar relayed these words to the clerk, the latter said, “You’ll be pleased to know that there’s a very rich man here who’s childless, and he’s looking to adopt a young child. I’ll take you to him, but stay here for now. I need to bring someone over first.”

Covering three steps with every two, the clerk sprinted to the house across the street and told Chen Defu what had happened. Chen Defu unhurriedly went to the wineshop and asked the clerk, “Where are they?”

When the clerk introduced him to Scholar Zhou, Chen Defu caught sight of the little boy, Changshou. “There’s quite an auspicious air about this boy,” commented Chen Defu. Turning to Scholar Zhou, he continued, “Where are you from, sir? And what is your name? Why are you willing to sell your child?”

“I’m a native of this town. My name is Zhou Rongzu. With my family fortune all gone, I’m in such dire straits that I’m putting my own son up for adoption. Might you be interested, sir?”

“No, I’m not, but old Squire Jia is. For all his vast wealth, he has no son or daughter. If he takes your son, the boy will be the only heir to the entire family fortune.”

“In that case, please pull this off for me, sir!”

“Follow me,” said Chen Defu, whereupon Scholar Zhou told his wife to bring along their boy and join him in following Chen Defu to the Jia residence.

Chen Defu went in first to see Squire Jia. On seeing him, the squire asked, “Any news for me about what I asked you to do—finding a child for me to adopt?” (MC: He is obsessed with the idea because the gods and the spirits made him so.)

“Yes, good news, Squire! I’ve got one for you!”

“Where’s the child?”

“Right there at the gate.”

“What kind of family is the child from?”

“The father is a poor scholar.”

“A scholar? Good! Too bad he’s poor.”

“Surely you jest, sir! Do you ever see rich men selling their children?”

“Show them in!”

Chen Defu went out to the gate, spoke to Scholar Zhou, and led father and son into the house.

Scholar Zhou exchanged greetings with Squire Jia before telling his son to step up for the squire’s scrutiny. Taking a liking to the fresh-faced boy, Jia Ren exclaimed, “A fine boy!” After asking for the scholar’s name, he said to Chen Defu, “I’m taking his boy. Tell him to draw up a document.”

“What do you want the document to say?” asked Chen Defu.

“Just to say what these documents usually do: Mr. So-and-So, the undersigned, being short of food and clothing, offers his son for adoption by old Squire Jia, a rich man.”

Chen Defu said, “ ‘Squire’ is enough. Why add ‘a rich man’?”

“I’m not a poor man, am I?”

Knowing the ways of the rich, Chen Defu said, humoring him, “All right. Adding ‘a rich man’ is fine.”

“I’ve got another addition,” continued Squire Jia. “Add a phrase at the end, saying that neither party can breach this contract after it’s signed. The one who does will pay the party who does not renege a penalty of a thousand strings of cash.”

Chen Defu burst into a peal of laughter. “If so, how much will you be paying for the adoption?”

“Never you mind. Just write as I say. How much can he want? With my kind of wealth, what l could flick out with a fingernail of mine will be more than he could consume in a lifetime!”

After Chen Defu relayed these words to Scholar Zhou, the latter resignedly wrote as the squire had dictated, but he stopped at the words “a penalty of a thousand strings of cash” and asked, “If so, how much is he paying for the adoption?”

Chen Defu replied, “How would I know? That was my question, too. He said that with his kind of wealth, how much could you want? What he could flick out with a fingernail of his would be more than you could consume in a lifetime.”

“That’s true,” conceded Scholar Zhou. So he wrote as Jia had dictated and, amazingly enough, left the amount for the adoption blank. He and Chen Defu were both too bookish to be alert to such traps. They took Jia at his word and assumed that Zhou would not be shortchanged. Little did they know that the rich make a practice of ensnaring people and gaining petty advantages. You must never believe their sugared words.

And so Scholar Zhou drew up the document. Chen Defu picked it up and handed it to Squire Jia. The squire led the boy to his wife in the inner section of the house. His wife also took a liking to the boy. At seven years of age at this time, Changshou already understood something of the world. The squire told him, “In the future, if people ask for your surname, say ‘My surname is Jia.’ ”

“No,” said Changshou. “My surname is Zhou.”

Mrs. Jia put in, “My good son, I’ll make you nice clothes tomorrow. If anyone asks for your surname, just say it’s Jia.”

Changshou insisted, “I’m a Zhou, even if you make me a red gown.” (MC: An innocent child.)

The squire was displeased. He did not even bother to go out and dismiss the scholar. At Scholar Zhou’s urging, Chen Defu went to remind the squire that the scholar was still there. The squire said, “He can go now but leave the boy here.”

Chen Defu said, “How can he go before you pay him for having brought up the boy?”

The squire was determined to brazen it out. Feigning incomprehension, he said, “What payment? Oh, he can pay me any amount.”

“Now you’re being playful, Squire! He’s selling his son precisely because he’s dirt-poor. Surely you can’t be asking him to pay you!”

“He lets me adopt his son because he can’t feed the boy. From now on, I’ll be feeding the boy. I’m not demanding payment from him, am I? So how can he turn the tables on me and ask me for adoption money?” (MC: Is making such devious arguments a part of rich men’s nature?)

Chen Defu said, “He went through no end of hardships bringing up his son. By offering the boy to you, sir, he expects to be paid, so that he can afford his travel expenses. How can you play him false like this?”

“He signed the contract, didn’t he? He can’t go back on his word now! If he has second thoughts, he’ll be breaching the contract, which means he’ll owe me a thousand strings of cash as a penalty. Only then can he take his boy back.” (MC: Ingenious!)

“How can you play people like that? Please do the right thing and pay him his due.”

“All right, Chen Defu. In deference to you, I’ll give him one string of cash.”

“That’s much too little for such a nice boy.”

“One string is a lot of coins! Even for a rich man like me, spending one string can be as painful as cutting a tendon out of my body. How can a poor man like you talk about it as if it’s nothing? Give it to him! Being a scholar, he may not want any money when he sees that his son is in good hands now.” (MC: Ingenious!)

“What are you saying!” exclaimed Chen Defu. “No payment, no adoption!” But Chen Defu’s protests fell on deaf ears. In resignation, he took the one string of cash for Scholar Zhou.

In the meantime, the scholar was outside consoling his wife and saying, “It’s a good thing that this is a very wealthy family. I’ve already signed a contract. This deal will surely go through. Our little Changshou will be in good hands.”

His wife was about to ask him how much they were going to be paid when Chen Defu came out, holding one string of cash.

“Are you telling me that all the hardships I went through raising our boy are worth only one string?” said Mrs. Zhou. “It’s not even enough to buy a clay doll!”

Chen Defu went back inside and relayed these words to the squire. Jia Ren replied, “A clay doll doesn’t eat. (MC: Ingenious!) As they say, ‘Don’t spend your money on anything that needs to be fed.’ He wants to sell his son because he can’t afford feeding the boy. Isn’t it good enough that I’m willing to take the boy? Why should I pay anything? Since you insist, I’ll add one string. No more. If he won’t take it, tell him to give me a thousand strings and take back his son, in accordance with the contract.” (MC: The middleman is put on the spot with such a rich man.)

“If he had a thousand strings, he wouldn’t have been willing to sell his son,” said Chen Defu.

The squire erupted in fury. “If you have the money, you give it to him! I don’t have the money!” (MC: Another ingenious remark that only a rich man is capable of.)

With a sigh, Chen Defu said to himself, “I shouldn’t have brought him here in the first place. The squire refuses to give more, and the scholar won’t be content with only two strings. I’m in a difficult position as the middleman. I’ve been in his employ for so many years that I’m actually happy that he now has a son. Oh well, let me make a sacrifice and help pull off the deal for both families.” (MC: Chen Defu is a good man.) Aloud, he said to the squire, “You can deduct two strings from my salary and give the scholar four strings.”

“With two strings from you and two strings from me, to whom does the child belong?” asked the squire.

“To you, sir.”

Cracking a smile, Jia Ren said, “You’re paying half the price, and yet you let me have the child. You’re a good man!”

Thus, another two strings were added, and Chen Defu was told to make the entries, complete with annotations, in the account book. Then he went out with the four strings and said to Scholar Zhou, “Being as tightfisted as he is, Squire Jia refused to give more than two strings. So I had to add two strings, my salary for two months, for you. Now that your son is in good hands, please don’t dispute the amount.” (MC: Right.)

“This doesn’t stand to reason!” said the scholar. “You’re too kind!”

“I ask only that you remember me, Chen Defu, in the future,” said Chen Defu.

The scholar said, “With Squire Jia paying two strings, you, sir, made up half the total amount. You’re doing me such a favor. I’ll never forget your kindness. Please bring my son out. I’ll give him some instructions before we go.”

And so Chen Defu brought Changshou out, and the boy and his parents fell on one another’s shoulders and cried as if they would never stop. Then Scholar Zhou said, “We sold you because we have no other choice. You’ll be free from hunger and cold. They won’t shortchange you if you behave well. We’ll come and see you whenever we can.”

The child could not bear to part from his parents and hung on to them, weeping nonstop. Chen Defu went out and bought some sweets for the boy. Only then was Chen Defu able to mollify the boy and induce him to go into the house as Scholar Zhou and his wife took themselves off.

Having thus bought a son on the cheap by trickery, Squire Jia was greatly pleased with himself and changed the boy’s name to Jia Changshou. Knowing that the boy was not unaware of what was going on, Squire Jia forbade people to bring up the child’s past, nor did he allow Changshou to have any communication with his parents. In mysterious ways, he kept the boy’s past a watertight secret. (MC: All to no avail.) In fact, just as in horticultural grafting when one twig is attached to another, he was to unwittingly hand the family fortune back to its rightful owner in the future.

As he grew up, Changshou gradually forgot about his childhood and acknowledged none but Squire Jia as his father. Strangely enough, while his father hated to part with even half a penny, he was a spendthrift, treating silver like dirt, and so he came to be known to all and sundry as “Young Master Money.”

Then Mrs. Jia passed away, and Squire Jia was confined to his sickbed. Wishing to go to Mount Tai Temple to offer incense and pray for his father, Changshou asked for one string of cash from his father, but behind his father’s back, he and the page boy Xing’er opened the family vault, took out a liberal amount of gold and silver, and went to the temple. It being the twenty-seventh day of the third month, the eve of the birthday of the God of Mount Tai, the temple was filled with worshippers. As afternoon turned to evening, they picked a nice room on the temple grounds in which to stay the night but found the room already occupied by an elderly couple. Behold:

Both are sallow, gaunt, and thinly clad.

The man’s scholar’s cap is weighed down by dust;

The woman’s socks are caked with mud.

They must be travelers and away from home.

You may wonder who they were. In fact, they were none other than Scholar Zhou Rongzu and his wife, who had sold their son. After selling their son in their poverty and failing to get help from anywhere, they led a drifter’s existence for about ten years before they begged their way home, hoping to find out from the Jias about how their son was faring. As the birthday of the God of Mount Tai happened to be drawing near when they were passing Taizhou Prefecture, Scholar Zhou figured that his service might be needed by people wishing to write prayers. Bearing in mind the prospect of making a few pennies, he asked the custodian of the temple for help. The custodian found him useful and kept him in the temple for the night. Out of his regard for this impoverished scholar, the custodian assigned a nice, clean room to him. As it turned out, Jia Changshou also liked the room and told Xing’er to drive the old couple out. Flaunting his connection with Changshou like a fox walking in the company of a tiger, Xing’er thundered, “You penniless wretch! Give the room to us and be quick about it!”

“Who are you?” asked Scholar Zhou.

Xing’er said, giving the scholar a slap, “Don’t you know who ‘Young Master Money’ is? Imagine asking who he is!”

“I have the custodian’s permission to occupy this room. No ‘Young Master Money’ can dislodge me!”

Upset that the scholar refused to budge, Changshou ordered Xing’er to hit him. Xing’er was wrestling with the scholar when the latter’s loud cries caught the attention of the custodian, who hastened to the scene and shouted, “Who’s making trouble here?”

Xing’er said, “Young Master Money of the Jia family wants to take this room.”

The custodian said, “Every family has a head, and every temple has a custodian. I assigned this room to the scholar. How can you forcibly take it from him?”

“Young Master Money is flush with cash,” said Xing’er. “Here’s one string for you for a night in this shabby place.”

At the sight of the money, the custodian changed his tune. “All right, I’ll tell them to give the room to you.” (MC: Who in this world would not change his tune at the sight of money?)

As the custodian tried to talk them into changing rooms, Scholar Zhou, for all his resentment, saw nothing for it but to oblige.

The next day, everyone went home after offering incense at the temple. By the time Changshou got home, Squire Jia had died, so Squire Jia Junior inherited the vast wealth, but of this, no more need be said.

After going down Mount Tai, Scholar Zhou headed for the Jia residence in Caonan Village to make inquiries. Having been away for so many years, he felt like a stranger to the roads and alleys. While they were walking slowly, Mrs. Zhou suddenly complained of chest pain. As there happened to be a pharmacy within view, with a placard inscribed with the words “Free Medicine,” they rushed to it. Mrs. Zhou was given some medicine, and the pain passed after she took it. As husband and wife went to thank the shop owner, the latter said, “Don’t thank me. You need only spread the word about me.” Pointing to the placard, he continued, “Remember my name: Chen Defu.”

Scholar Zhou nodded and said the name twice. Turning to his wife, he said, “This name sounds familiar. I must have come across it before. Does it ring a bell with you?”

“When we sold our son, wasn’t the middleman’s name Chen Defu?”

“So it was! Let me ask him.” Turning back, he called out, “Mr. Chen Defu! Do you recognize me?”

Taking a good look at the scholar, Defu said, “You do look somewhat familiar.”

“You’ve aged, too, sir. I’m Scholar Zhou, the one who sold my son.”

“Do you still remember my two strings of cash?”

“Yes, your kindness has never been absent from my thoughts. I wonder if my son is all right.”

“You’ll be pleased to know that your son Jia Changshou is quite a fine young man now.”

“How is the old squire?”

“He passed away recently.”

“A miser he was, if ever there was one!” said Scholar Zhou.

“Now your son is the new squire, quite a far cry from the old one. He’s righteous and charitable. The free medicine in this shop was all bought with his money.”

“Mr. Chen, would it be possible for us to see him?”

“You two just sit here in my shop for a while. I’ll go bring him here.”

As soon as he found Jia Changzhou, Chen Defu told him what had happened. Although no one had ever said anything to him about his adoption, Jia Changshou cast his mind back to his childhood now that Chen Defu had brought it up, and a dim recollection of the past came back to him. He rushed to the pharmacy to see his parents. When Chen Defu took him into their presence so that he could make his obeisance to them, Changshou gave a start. “Isn’t this the man I had Xing’er beat up in Tai’an? (MC: Just as the proverb says, ‘Out of blows, friendship grows.’) What’s going on?”

Meanwhile, Scholar Zhou said, “Isn’t this the man who forcibly took our room in Tai’an?”

“Yes,” said his wife. “Young Master Money, or whatever he’s called.”

“He drove me mad at the time. Who would have imagined that he was my son!”

Changshou said, “I had no idea you were my parents. Please forgive me for my rudeness in the heat of the moment!”

The scholar and his wife were elated to see their son, but they looked a little reserved on making his acquaintance in such an abrupt manner. (MC: This is only to be expected.)

Feeling apologetic, Changshou said, “Are you still angry about what happened in Tai’an?” Right away, he told Xing’er to go home and bring a box of gold and silver to him. When the box was delivered, he said to Chen Defu, “I didn’t know they were my parents when we met in the temple, and I gave them offense. I’m offering them this box of gold and silver by way of an apology.” (MC: An apology to one’s parents can hardly be made with money, but, of course, it’s the only thing that the rich deem valuable.)

When Chen Defu related the message to the scholar, the latter said, “How can I take money from my own son when he wants to apologize?”

Changshou fell to his knees. “I’ll feel bad if Father and Mother refuse to take it. I ask for your indulgence and forgiveness.”

Moved by these words, Scholar Zhou felt obliged to take the box, but he froze on opening the lid because the silver ingots bore the inscription “Zhou Feng.”

“The silver belonged to my family,” said Scholar Zhou.

“How do you know that?” asked Chen Defu.

“ ‘Zhou Feng’ is my grandfather’s name. He had the inscription chiseled onto the ingots. You can see for yourself, sir.”

Chen Defu took the box, checked the ingots, and said, “Yes, this is true. But why did your property end up in the Jia residence?”

“Twenty years ago, I took my wife and son to the capital to sit for the examinations. Before we left, I buried my entire inheritance underground, but everything was gone by the time we came back. That’s why we became so poor that we had to sell our son.”

“Squire Jia used to be dirt-poor. He made a living as a laborer making mud bricks. Then, all of a sudden, he struck it rich. (MC: They are from the same district. Why does he know so much about Jia’s origins but not Zhou’s?) My guess is that he dug out what belonged to you. He had no children of his own, so your son, whom he adopted, has inherited the family fortune. Isn’t it Heaven’s will that the family fortune has now come back to its rightful owner? No wonder he hated to part with even one penny and never wasted anything. It’s all because those things were not his to begin with! He was in fact keeping watch over the property for you!” (MC: He does have a discerning eye.)

The scholar and his wife were overcome with emotion. Changshou was also thoroughly amazed.

Scholar Zhou retrieved two ingots of silver from the box and gave them to Chen Defu by way of thanking him for the two strings he had offered them a long time ago. When his repeated objections did not avail, Chen Defu gave up and took the silver. Recalling the kindness of the clerk in the wineshop, Scholar Zhou asked him over and rewarded him with one ingot of silver. The clerk had long since forgotten what he thought was just a trifling thing (MC: It’s only right to repay the kindness.), and he went away, filled with delight at this all-too-unexpected handsome reward.

Changshou took his parents home so that they could live together. Scholar Zhou returned what was left in the box to his son and told him to donate the silver to poor people who did not have a means of making a living, reminding him not to forget the hardships his parents had gone through for twenty years. He also instructed his son to build a Buddhist temple, as his grandfather had done, so that he and his wife could cultivate themselves in it. Jia Changshou changed his surname back to Zhou. It was for nothing that Jia Ren spent twenty years of his life as a rich man since he hated spending even one penny and the money was not meant for him to enjoy after all. (MC: If he had been a spendthrift, would that mean the money was rightfully his?) It can thus be seen that everything has its rightful owner. All plots and schemes are to no avail, as attested by this quatrain:

Anyone wishing to stand on his own feet

Must not try to deceive heaven and earth.

Rich or poor, it’s all a matter of fate;

How laughable the stupid schemes that lead nowhere.