23

Zhang Shunmei Finds a Fair Lady during the Lantern Festival

In Bianliang, the Eastern Capital, Lantern Festivals were celebrated in grand style under the aegis of Emperor Huizong [r. 1101–25] of the Song dynasty. As our story goes, there lived in the city a certain Zhang Sheng, son of an eminent official. At eighteen years of age, he was a most handsome and bright young man and not yet betrothed. When at Qianming Temple viewing lanterns during the Lantern Festival, he picked up in the hall a red silk handkerchief with a sachet tied to one corner. Upon a closer look, he found a poem inscribed on it:

The poem was followed by a line written in fine script: “ To him who picks up this handkerchief: Forget not to come and meet me at the next Lantern Festival on the fifteenth night of the first month of next year at the rear gate of Great State Councilor Monastery. Look for mandarin-duck lanterns at the front of my carriage.” Zhang Sheng read the poem several times, heaved many sighs in admiration, and then wrote a poem in reply:

Henceforth, Zhang Sheng lived his life counting the hours, the days, and the months, until the old year yielded to the new one. With the Lantern Festival drawing near, Zhang Sheng betook himself to the rear gate of Great State Councilor Monastery on the eve of the festival to keep the appointment. There did indeed come into view a well-guarded carriage with a pair of mandarin-duck lanterns. Zhang Sheng was beside himself with astonishment and joy. There being no other way to find out who was in the carriage, he composed a poem and, with hesitating steps, approached the carriage, intoning,

These lines having stirred her memory about a lost sachet, the woman in the carriage drew aside the curtain, and the sight of a handsome man with graceful bearing stirred up her desire. She ordered her maid, Golden Flower, to convey her feelings. Zhang Sheng understood the message. In a moment, the carriage drove away and disappeared into the distance.

The following night, Zhang Sheng waited at the same spot. An old carriage with a blue canopy and a pair of mandarin-duck lanterns in front drew near with no retinue of followers. Looking into the carriage, Zhang Sheng found a nun, not the young woman he had seen the night before. The carriage driver said repeatedly, “I am driving the nun back to the temple.” Before he could decide what to do, Zhang Sheng saw the nun beckon him with her hand. Quietly, he followed behind the carriage.

Upon arriving at Qianming Temple, an old nun came to the door to greet them, saying, “Why are you so late?”

Zhang Sheng followed the nun into a well-lit small room, where a table had been laid out for dinner. The nun took o her outfit, revealing brightly colored clothes and an elaborate coi ure. Zhang Sheng and the woman sat down together while the old nun remained at one side. The dinner over, the woman said, “I would like to see the things that made our date possible,” whereupon Zhang Sheng took out the sachet and the red silk handkerchief for her to see. With a laugh, she said, “Of the multitudes of people coming and going in the capital, you are the one who chanced upon it. Isn’t this a sign that heaven has granted a marriage bond between the two of us?”

“I wrote a poem in reply when I first came upon it.” So saying, he presented her with the poem.

The woman exclaimed happily, “You are indeed meant to be my husband.” Thereupon, the two of them went to bed and fulfilled their desire to the utmost. Shortly thereafter, at the first crows of roosters, she said to Zhang Sheng, “I am the eighth concubine of Squire Huo. Being old and sickly, he never comes into my room. Every night, I burn incense and wish to heaven that I can meet a good man and marry him. Luckily, you came along, bringing me enough happiness to last a lifetime. It is with a trick that I slipped out today. I cannot go back. Now that I belong to you, I will be more than willing to be with you, dead or alive. Otherwise, what will become of me?”

“I am not made of unfeeling wood or stone,” said Zhang Sheng. “How can I bear parting with you? But no good plan comes to mind. If we are caught, I would rather die with you at the end of a rope and become ghost lovers.” With these words, they threw themselves into each other’s arms and broke into bitter sobs.

Coming in from the outside, the old nun said, “If you want to be husband and wife, all that’s necessary is the will to do so. You don’t have to end up miserably like that!”

Zhang Sheng and the woman fell upon their knees and begged for advice. The old nun continued, “If you can go away to a far place a thousand li away, beyond rivers and lakes, and live under changed names, you’ll be able to enjoy each other to the end of your lives.”

With their heads bowed, the woman and Zhang Sheng accepted this advice. The old nun took out a packet of gold and silver and handed it to Zhang Sheng, saying, “This is the young lady’s savings. I now give it to you for your travel expenses.”

Zhang Sheng returned home and gathered up his valuables into a parcel. That very night, they took leave of the old nun and set out on their way. After spending the night at an inn by Tongjin Gate, they hired a boat the following morning and traveled across the Huai River all the way to Suzhou, where they settled down and lived to a venerable old age as loving to each other as ever. Truly,

Why did I bring up this story? It is because the fair lady of our main story also ran into a romantically inclined young scholar on a Lantern Festival night and the encounter led to a series of strange happenings. If you wish to know whether they also ended up as a married couple, please listen to my account in the next storytelling session. Truly,

Whom did the woman meet? It was Zhang Shunmei, a native of Yuezhou. At twenty years of age, he was a graceful young man and a fine scholar whose talent was yet unrecognized. He had come to Hangzhou to take the provincial examinations but stayed on after having failed them. He had been in the city for over half a year when the Lantern Festival came around. Shutting his door behind him, he went out for some amusement. Hangzhou was a city filled with hustle and bustle. How do we know that Hangzhou was such a good place? There is a lyric poem to the tune of “Watching the Sea Tide” by Liu Yong² that speaks particularly of the attractions of Hangzhou:

While viewing the sights of the city, Shunmei waxed poetic and indulged himself by verbally improvising a lyric poem to the tune of “As in a Dream: A Song”:

Intoning the poem as he went along, he noticed, far away in the shadow of lantern light, a maid carrying a colored phoenix lantern across her shoulders, followed by a young lady walking slowly in his direction. With cloudlike hair and eyebrows shaped like silkworms, she had a most seductive look. The sight shook Shunmei from his inebriated state. He adjusted his cap and started swaggering and strutting toward her. Why did he put on such an act? As a matter of fact, all those about to start a courtship do some such trick at the first encounter. For strangers meeting each other by chance, there are several ways to test the other party. Let me now quote a few lines from “The Code of Flirtation” for the benefit of our playboys:

The young woman was so aroused by Shunmei’s captivating ways that she found it hard to contain herself. Her vision blurred, her heart fluttered, her legs felt weak, her feet grew numb. For a good while, she stood stupefied, her eyes gazing into his, expressions of love written on both their faces. When she started to walk fast, Shunmei quickened his pace and followed right at her heels. When she slowed down, he did so too, but no word could be exchanged. Before they knew it, they found themselves on Zhong’an Bridge, where traffic was so congested with peddlers, buyers, and pedestrians that it was hard to elbow one’s way through. After crossing the bridge, Shunmei lost track of the woman. He could do nothing but return home, dejected. As he opened the door, he found the room dimly lit and chilly with drafts. How was he to sleep with such cold pillows and quilts? His mind was still on the woman. How nice it would be to spend some more time with her! Isn’t it absurd that a man can be so infatuated with a woman? Indeed,

When day broke at long last, he rose, washed, and dressed. After the three meals of the day, preparations started in the streets for another evening of lantern-viewing. Unable to restrain himself, Shunmei hastily closed his door and headed straight for the spot where he had met the woman the night before. He stood, paced to and fro, searched around, and leaned against various supports as he waited, but the woman failed to show up. To kill time, he composed a lyric poem to the tune of “As in a Dream: A Song”:

After intoning the poem, he waited a good while longer. He was about to turn back when he saw a maid carrying colored mandarin-duck lanterns emerge out of the crowd with the young lady. At the sight of Shunmei, the woman broke into a brilliant smile. Shunmei knew that about half of the battle was won. The woman headed for Salt Bridge, went into Vast Happiness Temple to o er incense, and then turned into the back hall, with Shunmei following right behind. As the woman suddenly turned around, a giggle escaped her. Shunmei responded with an awkward laugh. The two now began to rub against each other without any scruples. Bending down, the woman pulled out from her sleeves a symbol of love made of paper folded into the shape of two overlapping diamonds. When she threw it to the ground, Shunmei took the hint and picked it up. Unfolding it under the lantern light, he found it to be a sheet of flowered notepaper. All would have been well if he had not read it, but as it was, the scholar read it and su ered from such severe lovesickness for one to two years that he almost died. You may well ask, what on earth was written on the paper? It turned out to be another lyric poem to the tune of “As in a Dream: A Song”:

Following the poem were written these lines:

Shunmei read the passage over and over again, beside himself with joy. In the meantime, the woman took herself o . He walked back to his room and spent a wakeful night without a wink of sleep.

The following day was the fifteenth of the month. When night fell at last, Shunmei went to the house as directed but dared not go in of his own accord. Instead, he composed another poem to the tune of “As in a Dream: A Song” and intoned,

Having heard these lines, the woman lifted the curtain and stepped out. Indeed, it was the man dear to her heart whom she had met under the light of the lanterns. She led him into her room and, blowing out the silver lamp, undressed and lay down in bed. Both craving love, they were as eager as hungry tigers pouncing upon lambs or as flies swooping down upon drops of blood. In their hurry to have that business done, they had no time to spare for asking names and exchanging amenities. There is a lyric poem to the tune of “Song of the Southern Country” describing the scene of love:

After they had fulfilled their desire, Shunmei said, “I was but a stranger to you. Your great kindness to me made me feel as if I were being favored by a fairy. Being but a young student, I regret having nothing to repay you with.”

Stroking his back, Suxiang said, “I love you for your talent, not out of designs for money.”

While Shunmei was pouring out words of gratitude, Suxiang suddenly heaved a long sigh and said tearfully, “Now that this day is over, my parents will be home tomorrow, and it will be impossible for us to meet again. What’s to be done?”

Both fell silent. After some moments of thinking, a plan came up. Suxiang suggested, “The best course is for us to elope so as to spare ourselves the pain of separation. How does the idea strike you?”

Shunmei was greatly delighted. “I have a distant relative who keeps an inn on Wutiao Street in Zhenjiang. We can go to him for help.” Suxiang agreed.

That night, Suxiang put together a package of valuables and, dressed as a man, started on the journey, hand in hand with Shunmei. At the second watch of the night, they found themselves only at the north gate of the city. You may well ask, why did they cover only three or four li in so much time? It was because of Suxiang’s small feet, which were fit only for taking a few graceful steps under embroidered skirts on balconies and flowery paths. Accustomed to being carried in a sedan-chair from hall to hall in a magnificent mansion, she was now wearing a pair of large boots for a long journey to a distant place. How could she make it, as nervous as she was? Worse still, amid crowds pushing their way out of the city and crowds outside the city jostling their way in, the two of them let go of each other’s hand. Walking single file, they made their way through the outer gate, but, swept along by the crowd, they lost sight of each other.

After leaving the gate, the woman wandered o in the direction of Bantangheng. (Shunmei is to blame.) Shunmei thought that such a frail woman, being too weak to push her way out, might still be inside the city gate. He hurriedly turned back to ask the soldier guarding the gate. The soldier said, “Just now, there was a scholarly looking young man asking about his friend. At this moment, he shouldn’t be more than half a li away on his way back.” (Had there not been such trials and tribulations, life would have been too easy for them, and there would have been no story to tell.) Now, of the three roads that led respectively to Qiantang Gate, Shigu Bridge, and Chujiatang, Shunmei pondered which road to take. After much hesitation, he chose to turn back the way he had come. By the time he reached Shiguanzi Lane, where the woman’s home was, the gate of the house was closed and all was quiet. With all speed he rushed to the north gate, only to find it closed as well. He spent the whole night looking for her.

When daybreak came at last, he made his way out the gate. At New Wharf, he came upon a crowd of people gathered tightly around an embroidered shoe. (The plot thickens.) Recognizing it to be a woman’s shoe, Shunmei dared not utter a sound. Someone in the crowd was saying, “I wonder why a girl would leave her family and drown herself here, leaving a shoe behind?” At these words, Shunmei broke into a cold sweat. He returned to the city to make inquiries, only to hear rumors all over town that the daughter of the Liu family on Shiguanzi Lane had been kidnapped. In another version, she had drowned herself, and the constables had taken up the case. What with a restless night, an empty stomach, and grief over the woman’s untimely death, Shunmei fell ill upon returning to his inn. Confined to his bed, he ran a high fever, with rushes of heat alternating with shivers of cold. His condition grew so grave that he found himself on the verge of death. (Shunmei could have died this time.) Truly,

Let us leave Shunmei in his sickbed for now and return to Liu Suxiang, who, having lost sight of Shunmei at the north gate, walked from the second watch until the fifth watch before she reached New Wharf. She thought to herself, “Since Shunmei was unable to find me, he must have gone before me to Zhenjiang.” So thinking, she quietly took o one embroidered shoe and threw it on the ground. Why did she do this? She was afraid that her family would track her down, and the shoe would convince her parents of the futility of further search. (Unwise though this move may have been, Suxiang is shown to have plenty of brains. With her talent and good sense, she is far superior to Shunmei in getting things done.) Under cover of predawn darkness, Suxiang rented a boat and went down the river. For the next several days, she was so cautious every time she relieved herself that the boatman had no inkling that she was a woman. Upon arrival in Zhenjiang, she paid the boatman and went ashore. As she pressed ahead, she made inquiries all along the way about Zhang Shunmei’s relative, but, as she had forgotten his name and address, her inquiries were all to no avail. By sunset, she still had no place to stay.

When she found herself passing by a pavilion on the riverbank, she went in for a rest. It being the twenty-second day of the first month, the moon was late in rising. In the darkness not much relieved by fishermen’s dim lights, she could not see beyond one foot ahead. She pondered her fate. Now that she had abandoned her parents and brothers for Zhang Shunmei’s sake and he was nowhere to be seen, her best course would be to drown herself in the river. After she had cried for a considerable time over regrets that the man would not even know where she died, night set in before she knew it, and the moon shed its light into the pavilion. She moved along the balustrade and gazed into the vast expanse of water. Truly,

While Suxiang was sobbing and talking sadly to herself, a nun emerged from a dark corner of the pavilion and asked her, “Are you a human or a ghost? How did you land yourself in such misery?”

Suxiang replied, “Since you are good enough to ask me, I will not keep anything from you. I am a native of Zhejiang. I was on my way with my husband to Xinfeng, where he was to assume a post, when, all too unexpectedly, disaster struck. My husband’s money and my looks stirred the evil mind of the boatman, who killed my husband and our maids, sparing only my life. He tried to force himself upon me, but I would rather have died than submit myself to him. The following day, when the boatman was drunk, I put on my husband’s clothes and escaped. And that’s how I ended up here.” Suxiang could not very well tell the nun about her elopement, and so came up with this story instead.

The nun said with deep emotion, “I was at the home of a benefactor, and so I was late in crossing the river on my way back. Heaven sent me here to this pavilion to meet you. There is indeed a predestined bond between us. Will you be willing to follow me?”

Suxiang said, “I was looking in the direction of my hometown, but it lies beyond a thousand mountains and rivers. Your help will give me a new life.”

“Mercy being a guiding principle for us nuns, I do only what I should. Don’t mention it.”

Suxiang kowtowed in gratitude.

At the break of day, Suxiang followed the nun to Great Compassion Convent. Taking o her worldly clothes, she tied up her hair with pins into a circlet and stayed in a room of her own. After just one reading, she could recite any scripture or incantation. From morning to night, she attended services to worship the Buddhas, prayed to the bodhisattva Guanyin, and pleaded for more readings of the Buddhist scriptures. Seeing such devotion, the nun congratulated herself on having come upon the right person. Of this, we shall speak no further.

In the meantime, Shunmei gradually regained his health under medical care at the inn. Unwilling to return to his native town, he stayed on at the inn, reviewing the classics and histories. Time sped by, and the Lantern Festival rolled around again. With memories of last year’s events, Shunmei betook himself to Shiguanzi Lane and saw that everything remained as before except, alas, that she was missing. With a heavy heart, he returned to his room and recited the lyric poem to the tune of “Mountain Hawthorns” by Scholar Qin Guan of the Song dynasty:

In a dejected mood, Shunmei returned, shedding copious tears. Lamenting the vicissitudes of human fate in an otherwise unchanging world, he lost all hope and, to prove himself worthy of Suxiang’s love, vowed never to marry. (A creditable e ort he makes.)

Three years of life in Hangzhou soon elapsed. In the new round of imperial examinations, Shunmei ranked first at the provincial level. After the banquet for the successful candidates, he immediately wrote a letter to his parents. Relatives and friends filled their house to o er congratulations. Several days later, he took his zither, sword, and cases of books and started o on a journey to the capital for the national examination. Braving the wind, he pressed ahead and slept in the open air all along the way. At the mouth of the Zhenjiang River, his boat was about to cross when a fierce wind sprang up. The boat moved close to the bank to wait out the storm. As the wind blew relentlessly for days on end, there was nothing he could do but stay on the anchored boat.

In the meantime, Liu Suxiang, who had lived in Great Compassion Convent for three years, saw in a dream that night the bodhisattva Guanyin, who said to her, “Your husband is coming tomorrow.” (The bodhisattva acts kindly.) She woke up with a start and found herself covered with sweat. She thought to herself, “I’ve never had such a dream before. How strange!” She kept the dream a secret.

Shunmei waited for days on end. Feeling down in spirits, he took a walk by himself along the river, looking around idly as he went. His steps took him to a grove of pine trees and bamboo, in the midst of which stood a small but elegant-looking convent bearing a board with the inscription “Great Compassion Convent.” As he went inside, the abbess walked out to greet him and invited him into the main hall for some tea. The will of heaven made Liu Suxiang throw a casual glance through a window into the hall. Her eyes opened wide and she stood agape with astonishment, as if she had just woken from a wine-induced dream.

As the abbess stepped out for some fresh tea, Suxiang told her about all that had happened. Returning to the hall, the abbess asked, “Might you be Scholar Zhang of Yuezhou?”

Shunmei was shocked. “I have never seen you before. How did you know?”

The abbess pursued further, “Are you married?”

With tears coursing down his cheeks, Shunmei said, “My wife Liu Suxiang disappeared from sight when we were watching lanterns during the Lantern Festival three years ago. I still don’t know where she is. Unworthy as I am, I came out first in the provincial examinations. I vow never to marry again, even if I get the degree of jinshi in the examination in the capital.”

At that moment, the abbess called Suxiang to come forth. The couple fell upon each other’s shoulders and wept bitterly. After a considerable time, they held back their tears and said, “I never thought I would see you again in this life!” With mixed feelings of grief and joy, they bowed to the abbess in gratitude. Then they bathed and changed clothes and, with o erings of incense to the bodhisattva, bowed a hundred times. With gifts of a hundred taels of silver and two bolts of silk to the abbess for her birthday, they took leave of her and embarked on a boat. It was indeed an occasion for great joy, reunited as they were like a moon waxing full again or a broken string rejoined on a musical instrument.

They made their way to the capital, where Shunmei later achieved honors in successive examinations, became a jinshi, and was appointed county magistrate of Putian, in Xinghua Prefecture, Fujian. After o ering thanks for the appointment, he returned to his native place. Passing by Great Compassion Convent in Zhenjiang, the couple went in and presented the abbess with a gift of fifty taels of silver. Back in Hangzhou, they headed straight for Shiguanzi Lane and presented a name card with a request to see Suxiang’s parents. At the words “Your humble son-in-law Zhang Shunmei” on the red name card, Mr. Liu thought the horse carriage was at the wrong door and was about to turn the visitors away when the young couple, dressed as an official and his wife, started making obeisances in the hall. The sight greatly astonished Suxiang’s parents, brother, and sister-in-law. Their grief and joy intermingled. The mother said, “After we lost our daughter on the Lantern Festival, we almost died when we heard that she had drowned herself. We never thought that we would see her again. And it is the good fortune of the Liu family to have gained such a good son-in-law.”

A grand banquet was laid out, and the celebration lasted several days. Xiaoying the maidservant was assigned to follow the couple. The two took leave of Suxiang’s parents and went to Shunmei’s parents’ home.

With an explanation from Shunmei, Suxiang stepped forward and kowtowed to her parents-in-law. Their joy exceeding their expectations, Zhang Shunmei’s parents laid out a banquet to celebrate. A few days later, Shunmei and his wife took leave of his parents and went on their way to assume Shunmei’s new post. Later in his life, he rose to be vice-minister of personnel. His descendants enjoyed prosperity and high status. There is a poem that bears witness: