27

Jin Yunu Beats the Heartless Man

The above quatrain, titled “The Abandoned Wife,” was written by a poet of olden times. It compares married women to flowers on branches. Branches bereft of flowers will blossom again in the spring, but once o the branches, the flowers will never be able to make their way back. Every woman is thereby admonished to serve her husband as best she can, share with him all the joys and sorrows of life, and remain faithful to him and him alone, to the end of her life. Never should a woman covet the wealth of other men and despise her own husband’s poverty, for such lack of devotion will cause her regret later in life.

I shall now tell of a famous minister at the court of the Han dynasty. His wife, who failed to recognize in him the makings of a great man, left him before his rise in the world, an act that she regretted, to no avail, in later years. Now you might well ask, where was that man from and what was his name? He was Zhu Maichen, courtesy name Wengzi, a native of the region of Kuaiji.¹ Before his time came, he and his wife lived in poverty in a humble hut. Every day he went into the mountains and chopped firewood to sell in the marketplace to eke out a living. Much given to scholarly pursuits, he was never seen without a book in his hand. Carrying a load of firewood across his shoulders, he would hold a book and chant the lines as he walked. At the familiar sound of his chanting, the local residents would know that Maichen was here with his firewood and, out of pity for this scholar-peddler, they would all buy from him. Maichen, on his part, never haggled over price, but just let the customers pay whatever they thought fit. Therefore, he disposed of his firewood more quickly than did other peddlers. But there were also the usual lot of children and frivolous young men who often gathered in threes and fives to make fun of this firewood peddler with scholarly interests. Maichen, however, did not mind their taunts in the least.

One day, his wife went out to draw water and saw a group of children following Maichen about, clapping their hands and laughing. Deeply humiliated, she o ered this advice to Maichen upon his return: “If you want to study, give up selling firewood. If you want to sell firewood, give up your studies. You should be old enough and sensible enough not to do things that make children laugh at you. Don’t you see how humiliating it is?”

“I sell firewood to save us from poverty, and I study to try to attain wealth and rank. The two things are not mutually exclusive. Let them laugh at me, for all I care.”

His wife sneered, “If you’re really after wealth and rank, you shouldn’t be selling firewood. Who ever heard of a firewood peddler turning into an official? What nonsense!”

“Wealth and rank or poverty and lowliness are all destined to occur in one’s life at the appointed time. A fortune-teller told me that I will surely rise in the world by the age of fifty. As the saying goes, ‘The ocean cannot be measured with a scoop.’ Don’t take me for a hopeless case yet.”

“The fortune-teller was kidding you because you looked like a lunatic. He can’t be taken seriously. By the time you’re fifty, the firewood load will be too heavy for you (Not a bad guess), and what follows is death from starvation, not an official post—unless Yama, king of hell, needs you to fill up a vacancy as a judge there!”

Maichen retorted, “Jiang Taigong² at age eighty was still fishing by the Wei River when King Wen [11th century B.C.E.] of the Zhou dynasty invited him into his chariot and honored him as adviser. The incumbent prime minister Gongsun Hong was still herding swine by the Eastern Sea at age fifty-nine. He was sixty when he was finally presented to the emperor and was granted titles. If I start to rise at fifty, I’ll be behind Gan Luo³ but ahead of those two. You’ll just have to wait patiently.”

“Don’t go over all of history with me,” snapped his wife. “The angler and the swineherd were truly learned scholars, but you, with what little useless knowledge you have, will never amount to anything even if you go on studying until you’re a hundred! I really lost out when I married you! With children making fun of you, you’re bringing shame on me, too. If you don’t do as I say and throw away your books, I will leave you. We can go our separate ways and not ruin each other’s chances.”

“I’m now forty-three. I’ll be fifty in seven years. The better part of the waiting is now behind us. You’ll just have to be patient for a little while longer. If you’re so heartless as to leave me, you’ll surely regret it later!”

“Are there so few woodcutters in the world that I shall ever have regrets? If I stay with you for another seven hungry years, I don’t know where my dead bones will end up. Please do me a favor and let me go. You’ll be saving my life, you know.”

Maichen saw that his wife was not to be shaken in her determination to go. With a sigh, he said, “All right, all right. I hope your next husband will be better than Zhu Maichen.”

“No matter what, he’ll be better than you if only by the least bit.” So saying, she took two bows and merrily went out the door without so much as a look back. Overcome with emotion, Maichen wrote four lines on the wall:

When Maichen reached fifty, Emperor Wudi [r. 140–87 B.C.E.] of the Han dynasty issued a decree to recruit worthy men to assume office. Maichen betook himself to the Western Capital,⁴ where he submitted his proposals to the court and stayed on to wait for news. A fellow townsman named Yan Zhu⁵ recommended Maicheng’s abilities to the emperor. Maichen being a native of Kuaiji (Luckily the wise ruler sets great store by talent. That’s why scholars’ words carry weight.) with full knowledge of the local way of life, the emperor appointed him prefect of Kuaiji, and o he rode on horseback to assume his post.

Having heard that the new prefect would soon arrive, the magistrate of Kuaiji hired a great many laborers to repair the roads. Among them was the second husband of Maichen’s wife. Her hair disheveled and her feet bare, she was serving her husband a meal when she caught sight of the prefect and his entourage approaching. Looking on from the roadside, she recognized the prefect to be her former husband, Zhu Maichen. From his seat in the carriage, Maichen also recognized her at the first glance and had her put in a carriage at the rear of the procession.

Upon arrival at the prefect’s residence, the woman was so overcome with shame that she wished she could find a place to hide herself. She kowtowed and pleaded for forgiveness. Maichen summoned her second husband. Shortly thereafter, the man arrived and prostrated himself on the floor without daring to raise his eyes. Laughing heartily, Maichen said to his former wife, “I fail to see how a man like this is better than Zhu Maichen.”

The woman went on kowtowing and apologizing. In bitter remorse over her lack of faith in Maichen, she o ered to be reduced to the status of a maidservant or concubine so as to serve him for the rest of her life. Maichen ordered a bucketful of water poured down the steps. “If this spilt water can be put back into the bucket,” he said to her, “you can come back to me. Out of consideration for our marriage tie committed at an early age, I give you the vacant land in my backyard for you and your husband to cultivate and support yourselves with.”

As the woman followed her new husband out of the prefect’s residence, passersby pointed at her and said, “That’s the new prefect’s wife.” The humiliation so overwhelmed her that when she reached the backyard, she threw herself into the river and drowned. There is a poem in evidence:

There is another poem that says snobbery is all too common and is by no means limited just to Maichen’s wife:

The above story is about a wife deserting her husband. I shall now tell of a husband abandoning his wife out of the same ungratefulness, love of riches, and contempt for poverty. But all that he gained in the end was notoriety as a heartless man in a much-told story.

The story took place in Lin’an during the Shaoxing reign period [1131–62] of the Song dynasty. Though it was the capital of the empire and a prosperous city, there was still no lack of beggars. The beggars had a chief to look after them. Known as Beggar Chief, he demanded a daily tribute out of whatever alms they received. On days of rain and snow when they could hardly go out to beg, the chief would cook some thin gruel to feed them. Whatever tattered clothes they had were also in his care. Therefore the beggars were as submissive to him as slaves were to their master, always careful not to give him any o ense.

With his pretty regular income, the beggar chief would lend out money among the beggars and charge them interest. If he was not given to gambling and whoring, he could easily build up for himself a sizable enterprise. With such a means of livelihood, he would have no wish to change professions. The only drawback was the title Beggar Chief. He might have acquired acres upon acres of land and inherited wealth from several generations back, but he would still be a beggar chief with a status lower than that of decent ordinary folks. As he could command no respect from outside his family, he had to content himself with being the master of his own house behind closed doors.

Be that as it may, when it comes to the distinction between the decent and the lowly, the four kinds of people belonging to the latter category are prostitutes, entertainers, yamen runners, and soldiers. Beggars are not among them. Hence it appears that beggars are considered to be poor but not base. As a case in point, Wu Zixu, a minister of the Spring and Autumn period, had, as a fugitive, begged for food by playing a vertical flute in the marketplace in the state of Wu. Zheng Yuanhe of the Tang dynasty had sung “The Lotus Petals Fall,” a beggar’s song, as a hired mourner. When they gained fame and fortune later in their lives, they were able to cover up their humble past with a “brocade quilt.” These are examples of successful men who had been beggars. Thus it can be seen that however looked down upon, beggars are above prostitutes, entertainers, runners, and soldiers in social status.

Let us get on with our story. In the city of Hangzhou, there lived a beggar chief called Jin Laoda. Being a seventh-generation beggar chief, he was in possession of a considerable family business, with fine houses and fertile lands, nice clothes and good food. His barns were filled with surplus grain and his pockets well lined with extra money. He gave out loans and kept maid servants. Though not the richest of the rich, his was a household that easily came to mind when one counted o the wealthy. Being a man who rose above mundane concerns, Jin Laoda yielded his position as beggar chief to a kinsman called Scabby Jin so that he himself could fully enjoy what he had without having to deal with the beggars. Even so, the neighbors still called him Beggar Chief out of sheer habit. His wife having died without giving him a son, Jin Laoda, now in his fifties, had only a daughter called Yunu, a most beautiful girl. How do we know this? There is a poem that testifies to her beauty:

Jin Laoda cherished his daughter as a jewel and taught her from an early age to read and write. By fifteen or sixteen, she was already accomplished in prose as well as verse and wrote with the greatest ease. She was equally skilled at needlework and playing the zither and flute. Indeed, she excelled in everything she did. Considering her talent and her beauty, Jin Laoda was determined to find her a scholar for a husband. In fact, such a girl would be difficult to find even among old families of distinction, but, being the daughter of a beggar chief, she received no proposals of marriage. On the other hand, Jin Laoda had no wish to give her away to some petty trader without a future. Thus, unable to claim kinship with those of higher social status but refusing to go lower, Jin Laoda let the years go by, and the girl was now eighteen but still unbetrothed.

One day, an old man of the neighborhood came and addressed him as follows: “At the foot of Peace Bridge there lives a student named Mo Ji. He is a handsome and well-learned young man of twenty years of age, unmarried because his parents died, leaving him no money. Recently, he passed the examination qualifying him to be a student at the National University. He’s willing to be a live-in son-in-law. Your daughter would be just right for him. Why don’t you take him in as son-in-law?”

“In that case,” said Jin Laoda, “would you be kind enough to act as the matchmaker?”

And so the old man went straight to Peace Bridge, sought out Scholar Mo, and said to him, “In all honesty, I must tell you that the girl comes from a family of generations of beggar chiefs, but that profession was given up long ago. And what a fine girl she is! The family is well o , too. If you are not disdainful of the match, I’ll be happy to bring it o for you.”

Without saying anything aloud, Mo Ji thought to himself, “Being short of food and clothing, I am in no position to a ord the expenses of taking a wife. Why not stoop a little and marry into that family? Wouldn’t I be killing two birds with one stone? I can’t a ord to concern myself with what people will say in ridicule.” He then announced to the old man, “Uncle, that is indeed a nice o er, but I am too poor to buy the wedding gifts. What’s to be done?”

“As long as you give your consent, you won’t have to pay for even a sheet of paper. Just leave everything to me.”

After he reported back to Jin Laoda, an auspicious day was chosen for the wedding ceremony, and the Jin family presented Mo with a new outfit. And so Scholar Mo entered the Jin family as a son-in-law. Yunu’s talents and beauty threw Mo Ji into raptures over his unexpected good fortune. Having thus been blessed with a lovely wife at no cost to himself, not to speak of ample food and clothing, he was content in every possible way. Well aware of Mo Ji’s straitened circumstances, his friends all understood his decision and no one laughed at him.

When they had been married for a month, Jin Laoda prepared a banquet to celebrate the occasion and had Mo Ji invite his schoolmates so as to bring honor to the house. The wining and dining lasted six to seven days. It turned out, in a way no one would have expected, that Scabby Jin, Jin Laoda’s kinsman, took o ense, and his anger was not unjustified. “You may well be a chief, but I am one, too,” he thought. “Granted that your family has been in this line of business for generations and is loaded with money, we are in fact descendants of the same clan. By rights, I should have been invited to my niece’s wedding banquet, and now, to celebrate the first month, a banquet has been going on for a week without my having received even a one-by-three-inch invitation card. Your son-in-law may well be a scholar, but even if he were a head of a ministry or a prime minister, wouldn’t I still be an uncle worthy of a seat at the table? How arrogant can you be! Let me give them some trouble and spoil the fun!” He gathered together fifty to sixty beggars and took them to Jin Laoda’s residence. Behold:

As the noise reached his ears, Jin Laoda opened the gate to take a look, and in swarmed the beggars, with Scabby Jin leading the way. All hell broke loose. Scabby ran straight up to the banquet tables and stu ed himself with the best food and wine. “Tell the newly wedded couple, my niece and her husband, to come and make bows to their uncle!” he demanded.

The scholars present were so frightened that they took to their heels, with Mo Ji following them. Jin Laoda could do nothing but repeatedly plead with Scabby, “My son-in-law is the host today. I have nothing to do with it. I’ll invite you as a special guest another day to apologize.” He distributed a good deal of cash among the beggars and took out two jars of fine wine and some live chickens and geese for them to carry over to Scabby’s house as compensation. The noisy crowd did not depart until late at night, leaving a mortified Yunu shedding tears in her room.

That night Mo Ji stayed with a friend and did not return until the following morning. The sight of his son-in-law sharply reminded Jin Laoda of the disgrace, and his face burned with shame. Mo Ji could not help experiencing some rancor, but none of them brought their feelings into the open. Truly,

Now let us come back to Jin Yunu. Regretting her lowly family connections, she urged her husband to apply himself assiduously to his studies so as to attain a higher status. She would go to any expense to buy books, classical as well as contemporary, for her husband to read. She engaged tutors for discussions and lectures, never begrudging the cost. She also provided money for him to make his name better known by enlarging his circle of acquaintances. (Of first importance.) As a result, Mo Ji made steady progress in his studies and began to build a name for himself.

At the age of twenty-three, he passed a series of examinations all the way up to the highest level. That day, after the celebration banquet in honor of the successful candidates, he rode on horseback to his father-in-law’s home, wearing a black hat and an official’s robe. Before he had gained the door of the house, some neighboring children rushed over for a look. Pointing at him, they cried out, “Beggar Chief Jin’s son-in-law is now an official!” (It may be shameful for an official’s son-in-law to be a beggar chief, but how can it be shameful for a beggar-chief’s son-in-law to be an official? )

On horseback, Mo Ji heard these words, but, as he could not very well make a scene, all he could do was put up with it. Though he was not remiss in observing proper etiquette on greeting his father-in-law, he was boiling with rage inside. He thought to himself, “Had I known earlier that I would be this successful, I could well have waited for some noble family to take me in as a son-in-law. Instead I’ve got a beggar chief for a father-in-law. Isn’t this a lifelong disgrace? My children will be laughed at as a beggar chief’s grandchildren. But since things have come to this and my wife is a virtuous woman who has not committed any of the seven o enses,¹⁰ I cannot very well break with her. Truly, as the saying goes, ‘Acting before you think thrice is to invite regrets in a trice.’”

He sank into despondency. To Yunu’s repeated questions about his low spirits, he remained silent, much to her bewilderment. How ludicrous it is that while reveling in his newly gained eminence, Mo Ji forgot his humble, poverty-stricken past and what his wife had done to help him achieve fame. Indeed, his heart was not in the right place.

Shortly thereafter, Mo Ji was appointed comptroller of revenue of Wuwei County.¹¹ His father-in-law laid out a farewell feast. This time the beggars, as one would expect, dared not barge in to stir up trouble again.

Luckily, Wuwei County could be easily reached from Lin’an by water. Mo Ji took along his wife and embarked on a boat to make the journey to his new post. A few days later, they arrived at Caishi Cli and moored o the north bank. That night, the moonlight was as bright as day. Unable to sleep, Mo Ji rose, put on his clothes, and sat down at the prow to enjoy the moon. He looked around without seeing anyone about. The thought of being connected with a beggar chief again plunged him into melancholy. All of a sudden, an evil idea came to his mind: “The only way to rid myself of this otherwise lifelong shame is for this woman to die, so that I can marry another.”

He quickly devised a plan. He entered the cabin and tried to coax Yunu into rising from the bed to watch the moon in its splendor. She was asleep, but he insisted that she get up, and she did not want to resist her husband’s wishes. She threw on some clothes and walked to the cabin door. As she unsuspectingly craned her neck to look at the moon, Mo Ji dragged her out onto the prow and pushed her into the river. Quietly, he woke up the boatmen and told them to get under way immediately, for which they would get a handsome reward. Without knowing why they were to do so, the boatmen made haste and punted and rowed their way ahead.

It was not until the boat had covered a good ten li that Mo Ji said, after they had moored again, “The mistress fell into the water while looking at the moon. It was too late to save her.” So saying, he handed out three taels of silver to the boatmen for them to buy wine with. The boatmen now knew what was afoot, but who dared say anything? The stupid maidservants on board believed his story about the mistress having accidentally fallen into the river and cried bitterly before they gave it up, but of them, no more. There is a poem in evidence:

As coincidence would have it, no sooner had Mo Ji’s boat moved away than a certain Xu Dehou, on his way to his new post as commissioner of transportation in Huaixi, moored his boat o the north bank of Caishi Cli at the very spot where Mo Ji had pushed his wife into the water. Xu Dehou and his wife, not yet retired for the night, were looking at the moon through the open window over a cup of wine. All of a sudden, they heard from the bank a woman’s bitter sobs, heartrending to hear. Anxiously, they asked the boatmen to look around, and, indeed, there was a woman sitting all by herself on the shore. They invited her aboard and asked her who she was. It turned out that she was none other than Jin Yunu, wife of the comptroller of revenue of Wuwei County.

When she first fell into the water, she was frightened out of her wits and gave herself up for dead. Suddenly she felt something in the water supporting her feet, enabling her to float on the water until she came to the bank. When she struggled ashore and took a look around, all that met her eyes was a vast expanse of water. The comptroller’s boat was nowhere in sight. It was not until that moment that she realized that her husband, having achieved higher status, had turned his back on his humble past and determined to drown her in order to get himself another wife. Though she had now escaped death, she had nowhere to go for support and was therefore reduced to bitter tears.

Mr. Xu’s questions prompted her to give a detailed account of everything that had happened. As she finished, she broke down in another torrent of weeping. The Xu couple were also moved to tears. They said in an attempt to placate her, “Don’t grieve so. If you would agree to become our adopted daughter, we’ll think of what to do next.”

Yunu bowed in thanks. Mr. Xu told his wife to get some dry clothes for Yunu to change into and gave the latter the exclusive use of the back cabin. The servants, male and female, were told to call her the Young Mistress. The boatmen were instructed not to say anything about what had happened.

In a couple of days, Mr. Xu arrived at his post. Wuwei County being under Mr. Xu’s jurisdiction, Comptroller Mo naturally joined the other officials to pay his respects to Mr. Xu, his superior. At the sight of Mo Ji, Mr. Xu thought to himself, “What a shame that such a fine-looking young man is capable of such treachery!” (Mr. Xu is a marvelous man.)

Several months later, Mr. Xu announced to his subordinates, “I have a beautiful and talented daughter, now of marriageable age. I would like to select a son-in-law to live in our household. Can you think of anyone?”

Having heard before that young Comptroller Mo had lost his wife, the officials, in unison, recommended Mo to Mr. Xu, saying that with his outstanding attributes, he would qualify as a good candidate.

“I have had my mind set on that young man also for quite some time,” said Mr. Xu. “However, having achieved success so young, he must have higher aspirations than to marry into our household.”

His subordinates objected, “Being of humble origin, he should be only too grateful for your help in advancing his status, for he will be like a creeper that attaches itself to a jade tree. Far be it from him to object to living with his wife’s family.”

Mr. Xu said, “Since you believe this can be done, would you convey the message to him? To find out what he thinks, just say that you’re approaching him on your own initiative. Don’t mention my name, for he might be embarrassed.”

Thus instructed, the officials told Mo Ji about this and o ered to serve as matchmakers. Eager as he was to seek connections in high places, Mo Ji was only too happy to form a marriage alliance with his superior. Joyfully, he said, “I am in your hands. I will surely repay you for your kindness in making the match.”

“Just leave everything to us,” said the officials, who then reported back to Mr. Xu.

“Though the comptroller of revenue was kind enough to accept the proposal,” said Mr. Xu, “my wife and I have always so doted on our daughter that I’m afraid she is quite spoiled. That is why we wish that she remain with us after she marries. But the comptroller, being the young man he is, might not be as obliging, and the slightest trouble in the marriage would be painful to my wife and me. I will agree to take him into the family only if he is prepared to be forbearing in every way.”

The officials again conveyed the words to Mo Ji, who readily agreed to everything. Having come a long way from his humble days as a poor scholar, he o ered gold flowers and fine silk as wedding gifts and selected an auspicious date for the wedding ceremony. Eagerly, he made the preparations for the event, his bones itching and his pores oozing with the desire to be the transportation commissioner’s son-in-law.

In the meantime, Mr. Xu told his wife to say to Jin Yunu, “My old man hates to see you live like a widow and wishes to get you another young man with a jinshi degree for a husband. You must not object.”

“I may be from a humble family,” replied Yunu, “but I know very well what constitutes proper decorum. I married Mo Ji, and so I should stay married to him till I die. For all his snobbery and ill will, I shall still do my best to fulfill my obligations. How can I remarry at the expense of womanly virtue?” With these words, she broke down in a flood of tears. (A woman hard to come by.)

Convinced of her sincerity, Mrs. Xu told her the truth: “The young jinshi is none other than Mo Ji. My old man is angry at Mo’s heartlessness but is determined to save the marriage. He spread the word that he would like to take in a son-in-law for his daughter. At his instruction, his subordinates made the proposal to Mo Ji, who readily agreed and will be joining our household tonight. The moment he steps into the bridal chamber, this is what you must do to avenge yourself . . . ”

Only then did Yunu stop weeping. She redid her toilette, changed into new clothes, and started busying herself with preparations for the wedding.

When evening came, the immaculately dressed Comptroller Mo, wearing a red brocade cape and a hat with a gold flower, rode on a fine horse with a decorated saddle to the Xu residence, led by two drum bands. All of Mr. Xu’s subordinates came to join the wedding procession, which drew enthusiastic applause all along the way. (What a moment of joy!) Truly,

That night, the transportation commissioner had carpets spread out and colorful festoons hung up. A band struck up joyous music in anticipation of the bridegroom. When Comptroller Mo arrived and dismounted from his horse, the formally dressed Mr. Xu went out to receive him. After the officials in the entourage took their leave, Mo Ji headed straight for the private quarters. The bride, her face covered with a red kerchief, emerged from inside, supported by two waiting women. With the master of ceremonies shouting instructions from beyond the balustrade, the bride and the bridegroom bowed to heaven and earth, to the bride’s parents, and to each other. They were then escorted into the nuptial chamber for the wedding feast. Mo Ji was on cloud nine with joy that defied description. His chin way up, he jauntily entered the chamber.

Hardly had he crossed the threshold than seven or eight maidservants, old and young, emerged from both sides of the door. Armed with thin bamboo sta s, they pounced upon him, knocking o his black gauze hat. As the blows landed on his shoulders and his back like rain, the terrified comptroller of revenue yelled unceasingly, not knowing what to do. (It wouldn’t be as interesting just to have the couple reunite. The beating is what a ords gratification.) He crouched on the floor and cried out in desperation, “Father-in-law! Mother-in-law! Help!”

At this juncture, a sweet voice from inside the chamber was heard saying, “Don’t beat that heartless man to death. Bring him to me.”

The blows stopped. The maidservants pulled him by his ears and arms in the same way that the six senses had tormented Amita Buddha,¹² and carried him to the bride, his feet barely touching the floor. “What did I do wrong to deserve this?” demanded Mo Ji. (Vivid description.) When he opened his eyes, whom did he see by the light of the many candles but his deceased wife, seated solemnly in bridal attire. Frightened out of his wits, he screamed, “A ghost! A ghost!”

The maidservants giggled with amusement. At this moment, Mr. Xu stepped into the chamber, exclaiming, “My good son-in-law, have no fear. This is no ghost but my daughter, whom I adopted at Caishi Cli .”

It was only at these words that Mo Ji’s heartbeat returned to normal. Getting down on his knees with alacrity, he said with both hands folded in front of him, “I now realize what wrong I did. I beg your forgiveness.”

“This has nothing to do with me,” said Mr. Xu. “If my daughter has nothing to say about it, well and good.”

Spitting in Mo Ji’s face, Yunu lashed out, “You heartless scoundrel! Don’t you remember Song Hong’s lines ‘Forget not friends you made in poverty; / Abandon not the wife who shared your hard lot’?¹³ After you married empty-handed into my family, it was all thanks to our money that you were able to further your studies, build a name for yourself, and rise as high as you have. I was hoping for the honor that a successful husband brings to his wife. I never expected that you would be so ungrateful and so unmindful of our bond as husband and wife that you would repay kindness with evil and push me into the river. Fortunately, heaven took pity on me and had me rescued by Mr. Xu, who then adopted me as his daughter. If I had died in the belly of some fish and you had taken a new wife, how could you live with your conscience? How can I so abase myself as to be reunited with you!” With these words, she burst into wails of grief, calling him a heartless ingrate amid an unceasing stream of curses. With shame written all over his face, Mo Ji uttered not a word but busily kowtowed and begged for forgiveness.

Believing that Mo Ji had been scolded enough, Mr. Xu raised him to his feet and said to Yunu, “My child, please restrain your anger. Since my good son-in-law has repented, I trust that he will not hurt you again. Though you were husband and wife in the past, you are now a newly wedded couple in this house of mine. For my sake, let bygones be bygones.” He turned to Mo Ji and said, “My good son-in-law, it was all your own fault. Do not blame it on anyone else. Tonight, all you need to do is to exercise patience. I will have your mother-in-law come to intercede.” So saying, he left the bridal chamber.

In a short while, his wife arrived. It was only after many more mediation e orts that reconciliation was brought about between the two.

The following day, Mr. Xu laid out a banquet in honor of the new son-in-law. In the course of the banquet, he returned the wedding gifts to Mo Ji, saying, “One bride is not to receive wedding gifts twice. You already o ered wedding gifts to the Jin family. Therefore, I will not presume to accept any this time.”

As Mo Ji remained silent with his head lowered, Mr. Xu continued, “You despised your father-in-law so much for his lowly status that you ceased to love your wife and nearly brought an end to her life. Now what do you think of my rank? I hope it’s not so low as to cause you discontent?”

Mo Ji’s face went crimson. He left his seat and begged once more for forgiveness. There is a poem in evidence:

Henceforth, Mo Ji and Yunu lived twice as amicably as ever before. Mr. Xu and his wife treated Yunu as their own daughter and Mo Ji as their own son-in-law. Yunu, on her part, also honored them as she would her own parents. Even Mo Ji was moved. He invited Jin Laoda the beggar chief into their house and supported him to the end of his days. Later, when Mr. Xu and his wife died, Jin Yunu mourned them as a daughter out of gratitude for their kindness. For generations thereafter, the descendants of the Mo clan and the Xu clan claimed kinship and saw a great deal of each other’s company. As the poem says,