7

Yang Jiao’ai Lays Down His Life for the Sake of Friendship

In olden times, there lived in the state of Qi two men, Guan Zhong, courtesy name Yiwu, and Bao Shu, courtesy name Xuanzi, who fostered a friendship from an early age, when both were in straitened and humble circumstances. Later in their lives, Bao Shu preceded Guan Zhong in rising to prominence in the service of Duke Huan of Qi. As a trusted subordinate of the duke, he recommended that Guan Zhong be prime minister, a position higher than his own. The two men assisted their sovereign in governing the state with one heart and mind from beginning to end. Guan Zhong had said, “Three times I joined in battles and each time was put to flight, but Bao Shu did not take me as a coward, for he knew that I had my aged mother to look after. Three times I took office and each time was expelled, but Bao Shu did not take me as a worthless man, for he knew that my time had not yet come. I have given him counsel that made matters worse, but he did not take me to be an ignorant man, for he knew that there were moments less lucky than others. I have engaged in business dealings with him and taken the larger share of the profits, but he did not take me to be a greedy man, for he knew I was poor. It was my parents who gave me my life, but it is Bao Shu who truly understands me.” Henceforth, all deeply devoted friendships have invariably been referred to as Guan-Bao relationships. I shall now tell of two friends who pledged brotherhood upon a chance encounter and laid down their lives for each other. Their names will be passed on through the ages.

During the Spring and Autumn period, King Yuan [unknown] of Chu had the highest regard for scholars and Confucian moral principles and sought worthy men to enter into his service. As the word spread, numerous men throughout the empire converged to o er their allegiance.

In the Piled Rock Mountain region of Western Qiang¹ there lived a worthy man by the name of Zuo Botao, whose parents had died when he was still at a tender age. He applied himself to his studies with assiduity and acquired learning sufficient to enable him to bring prosperity to the land and peace to the populace. In his late thirties he still had not yet attained any office, for, at a time when the feudal lords were constantly warring upon one another, ruthless despots far outnumbered benevolent sovereigns. As word came to him that King Yuan of Chu, out of admiration for virtue and honor, was seeking worthy men from all quarters, he took leave of his neighbors and friends and, bringing along a sack of books, set out on a journey to the kingdom of Chu. It was then the depth of winter. In the region of Yong he was caught in a raging rainstorm. There is a lyric poem to the tune of “The Moon over the West River” that describes a rainy winter scene:

Braving the wind and the rain, Zuo Botao traveled on the road the whole day. At dusk, his clothes all wet, he came to a village, where he looked for a place to stay for the night. At some distance ahead of him, lamplight shone through a broken window in the midst of a bamboo grove. Upon drawing nearer, he saw that it was a thatched hut surrounded by a low latticed fence. He pushed open the gate and knocked gently on the crude-looking door. A man opened the door and stepped out. Standing under the eaves, Zuo Botao eagerly saluted the man and said, “I am Zuo Botao, native of Western Qiang. I was on my way to Chu when I was caught in the rain. There being no inns in the neighborhood, may I have your permission to stay here for the night and leave early tomorrow morning?”

The man hastily returned the salutation and invited him into the hut, which, as Botao saw when he entered, contained no furniture except a couch, on which was nothing but a pile of books. Since his host was evidently a scholar, Botao was about to drop to his knees for an obeisance when his host said, “This is no time for ceremony. Let me make a fire to dry your clothes before we talk.”

After lighting some bamboo sticks to make a fire for Botao to dry his clothes, the man cordially set out wine and food to o er to Botao. When asked his name, the man said, “I am Yang Jiao’ai. My parents having died when I was small, I live here by myself. I am so devoted to learning that my farm has gone to waste. I am honored that a gentleman has come here from afar, but, there being nothing in this humble home of mine to o er to you, I beg your forgiveness.”

“To o er me a shelter in this dismal rain is already an act of kindness, not to mention serving wine and food. How could I ever forget such hospitality!”

That night, the two of them slept in the same bed, head to foot and foot to head, and talked all through the night about subjects of scholarly concern.

When the day broke, it was still drizzling. Jiao’ai kept Botao in his hut and treated his guest to everything he had. They swore brotherhood, with Botao, five years the senior of Jiao’ai, honored as the elder brother. It was not until three days later that the rain finally stopped and the road dried out.

“My brother,” said Botao, “you have the ability and aspirations to assist the sovereign in governing the land. It is a sheer waste of talent for you to live out your life in contentment among the woods and streams without making any attempt to seek lasting fame.”

Jiao’ai rejoined, “It is not that I have no wish to seek office, but no opportunity has ever come my way.”

Botao suggested, “The King of Chu is sincerely seeking men of talent. If such is your intention, why don’t you go with me?”

“I will do as my brother says.”

Thereupon, they put together some money for travel expenses and some provisions, left the hut, and set out on their southbound journey.

Two days had not quite gone by before a dismal rain started again. Forced to put themselves up at a roadside inn, they found that their travel funds were quickly exhausted. Left with nothing more than a bag of food, they sallied out into the rain, carrying the bag by turns. Before the rain had subsided, a strong wind sprang up, bringing on a blinding snowstorm. How bad was the storm? Behold:

Having passed Qiyang, the two men found themselves in the Liang Mountains.² To their inquiries, woodchoppers all advised them not to advance farther, for stretching ahead was about one hundred li of wilderness infested with tigers and wolves, with no human habitation. Botao asked Jiao’ai, “What does my good brother think?”

Jiao’ai said, “As the ancients say, ‘Life or death is all a matter of fate.’ Since we’ve come this far, why don’t we go on? Let’s not think of quitting.” So, on they went for another day and stayed for the night in an ancient tomb. Their thin clothes provided poor protection against the bone-chilling winds.

The following day, the snow came down thicker, and soon the mountain was covered by a foot-thick blanket of snow.

Unable to hold out any longer against the cold, Botao said, “This is what I think: There is not a single house for the next hundred li, and we don’t have enough food or clothes. If one of us goes alone, he will be able to make it to the kingdom of Chu. If both of us try together, we will surely die of hunger on the way, if not of cold. What good is there in rotting away with the grass and trees? I am going to take o my clothes and put them on you so that you can take along all the food and struggle your way ahead. I have no more strength left in me to walk another step. I would rather die in this spot. I’m sure you’ll be given a high position once you meet the king of Chu. It won’t be too late to come back to bury me then.” (The words of a hero and also the best way out in a desperate situation.)

Jiao’ai objected, “What nonsense is this! Though we were not born of the same parents, we are closer to each other than brothers of flesh and blood. How can I bear the thought of going alone to seek advancement for myself?” He would not hear of Botao’s suggestion but, instead, supported Botao and moved farther down the road. Less than ten li later, Botao said, “The snowstorm is getting worse. We can’t go any farther. Let us find a place to rest by the roadside.” They saw a withered mulberry tree that could provide quite a shelter from the snow. As the tree could accommodate only one man, Jiao’ai placed Botao at its foot. Botao told Jiao’ai to strike rocks to ignite a fire and to gather some dry branches to feed the fire for protection against the cold. By the time Jiao’ai came back with some firewood, Botao had already taken o all his clothes and put them in a pile on the ground. (He sent Jiao’ai away so that he could take his clothes o . There was no other way to make Jiao’ai give up all hope.) Jiao’ai was aghast. “Why did my brother do this?”

Botao replied, “I couldn’t think of a better way out. My good brother, please don’t ruin your own chance. Quickly put on these clothes, take the parcel of food, and be on your way. I will stay here until I die.”

Putting his arms around Botao, Jiao’ai burst into loud sobs. “You and I will be with each other, dead or alive,” he declared. “How can I leave you?”

“Should both of us die of hunger, who is to bury our bones?”

Jiao’ai rejoined, “In that case, I would be most happy to have you put on my clothes, take the food, and go. Let me die here.”

Botao protested, “I am of weak constitution, whereas you are so much younger and stronger. What is more, you are also a better scholar. If you can get to see the king of Chu, you will certainly rise to prominence. My death is of no consequence. Do not linger here too long. Go, quickly!”

Jiao’ai was adamant: “If you starve to death under this mulberry tree while I rise to fame and fortune, I would be committing an act of betrayal, and that’s something I will never do.”

“After I left the Piled Rock Mountain, I met you for the first time and yet felt that I had known you as an old friend. Impressed by your remarkable talent, I urged you to seek office. It is my misfortune that the elements are against me, which means that my allotted life span is coming to an end. It will be my fault should you also perish here.” With these words, Botao tried to get up and throw himself into the ravine in front of them, but Jiao’ai pulled him back. Weeping bitterly, Jiao’ai wrapped him up in the clothes and brought him back to the mulberry tree, but Botao cast o the clothes again. Jiao’ai was about to bend forward and try once more to talk him over, when he noticed a change in Botao’s complexion. His limbs getting cold, Botao waved his hand for Jiao’ai to go, without being able to utter a word. (According to Guang Yu Ji³ Zuo Botao died in Heyang County, Xi’an Prefecture, Shaanxi, but the Liang mountains lie by the Qi Mountains in Qianzhou.) Jiao’ai thought to himself, “If I stay longer, I, too, will die from the cold, and who will bury my brother?” Thereupon, he bowed to Botao in the snow and said between sobs, “Your unworthy younger brother will now leave you, counting on your help from the netherworld. As soon as I make a name, however modest, for myself, I will certainly come back and give you a proper burial.” Botao nodded feebly by way of reply. Jiao’ai took the clothes and the food and left in tears. Botao died under the mulberry tree. A later poet had this to say in praise:

Cold and famished, Jiao’ai arrived in the kingdom of Chu and found lodging at an inn. The following day, he headed toward the capital city and asked where to go to answer the king’s call for worthy men. He was told that by the side of the palace gate was a guesthouse where Pei Zhong, the senior grand master, was receiving all applicants. It so happened that just as Jiao’ai was approaching the guesthouse, Pei Zhong alighted from his carriage. Jiao’ai stepped forward and made a bow.

Seeing such a distinguished-looking man in rags, Pei Zhong promptly returned the salute and asked, “Where are you from, my good man?”

Jiao’ai answered, “My name is Yang Jiao’ai. I am a native of Yongzhou, here to answer the king’s call for worthy men to enter into his service.”

Pei Zhong invited him into the guesthouse, served him wine and food, and lodged him in the house.

The following day Pei Zhong betook himself to the guesthouse and, by way of testing Jiao’ai’s knowledge, asked him questions that had been puzzling his mind. To each and every question, Jiao’ai had an immediate reply. So eloquent was he that a delighted Pei Zhong reported the matter to the king, who immediately summoned him and sought his opinions on ways to increase the wealth of the kingdom and to build up its military power. Jiao’ai submitted ten proposals, which were, one and all, applicable to matters that needed the most urgent attention. Immensely pleased, the king treated him to a royal banquet, honored him as ordinary grand master,⁴ and bestowed on him one hundred taels of gold and one hundred bolts of colored silk. As he bowed again and again, Jiao’ai burst into tears. The king asked in alarm, “Why are you in tears?” Whereupon Jiao’ai gave a detailed account of how Zuo Botao had taken o his clothes and o ered his food. The king was moved by the story and so were all the ministers present.

“What are you planning to do?” asked the king.

“I wish to ask for leave so that I can go give Botao a proper burial before I come back to serve Your Majesty.” The king then conferred upon the deceased Botao the posthumous title of ordinary grand master, granted a generous amount of money for his funeral, and sent a carriage and a retinue of men to escort Jiao’ai to the mountains.

After taking leave of the king, Jiao’ai set out straight for the Liang Mountains. As he approached the mulberry tree, he saw, just as he expected, Botao’s body still lying there, his complexion the same as before he died. Jiao’ai bowed and wept. He had his followers summon some elderly men in the area and, by divination, chose a burial lot on the plains of Putang. With a large stream in front, a high cli at the back, and a range of mountains on its left and right, the burial spot thus chosen was a blessed place with the best geomantic features. Botao’s body was bathed in perfumed water and, complete with a ministerial robe and cap, was encoffined and buried in a grave. All around the grave, a wall was erected and trees were planted. About thirty steps from the grave was built an altar hall with an image of Botao in it. In front of the altar stood ornamental columns, on which were hung an inscribed board. By the side of the wall a tile-roofed hut was built for the caretaker. After the work was done, a tearful sacrificial ceremony was held in the altar hall. Every single one of the local attendees and Jiao’ai’s followers shed tears. The ceremony over, all dispersed and went their separate ways.

That night, Jiao’ai sat by a brightly lit lamp, sighing with emotion in memory of his friend. All of a sudden, a chilly wind sprang up, extinguishing the candle. When the candle flickered back into flame again, Jiao’ai saw that there was, in the candlelight, a man who kept stepping back and forth, sobbing gently as he did so. Jiao’ai cried out, “Who goes there? How dare you barge in at this time of the night?” No answer came from the man. Jiao’ai rose and saw that it was Botao. In astonishment, Jiao’ai said, “Your soul being nearby, there must be a reason for your visit.”

Botao explained in these words: “I am grateful to you, my good brother, for having remembered to seek the king’s approval for burying me as soon as you gained office. A royal title, a coffin, and fine burial clothes are all that could ever be asked for. However, my grave happens to be near the grave of Jing Ke,⁵ the one who was killed for a failed attempt on the First Emperor’s life and was buried in this place by Gao Jianli. A most arrogant man, he comes every night with his sword to curse at me, saying, ‘You died but an insignificant death from cold and hunger. How dare you build a grave in a position above mine to take away my geomantic advantage? If you don’t move elsewhere, I will break open your grave and throw your body into the wilderness!’ Now my good brother, I have come to you at this moment of crisis in the hope of being moved somewhere else so that such a horrible thing won’t happen.”

Before Jiao’ai could ask him anything, Botao disappeared suddenly in a pu of wind. With a start, Jiao’ai woke from his dream, still remembering all that had occurred in it.

At the break of day, he called the village elders together once more and asked if there were other graves in the neighborhood. He was told that in the shade of the pine trees lay Jing Ke’s grave, with a temple in front.

“That man,” said Jiao’ai, “was killed for a failed assassination attempt against the First Emperor of Qin. Why is his grave here?”

The village elders replied, “A native of these parts called Gao Jianli heard that Jing Ke’s body was abandoned in the wilderness, and so he stole the corpse and buried it here. Many a time has the deceased manifested his supernatural power. The local residents built a temple here and o ered seasonal sacrifices to ask for his blessing.”

These words convinced Jiao’ai of the truth of the dream. He led some followers, rushed to the temple of Jing Ke, and lashed out at the latter’s image: “You were but a worthless man from the state of Yan supported by the Prince of Yan, who showered upon you treasures and beauties, but, instead of devising a good plan worthy of the trust placed in you, you ventured into the state of Qin for the assassination attempt that not only ended your life but also jeopardized the well-being of your country. And now, here you are, intimidating the local people and demanding sacrificial o erings! ([ Illegible] Jing Ke [illegible].) How dare you bully my brother Zuo Botao, a reputed scholar of our age and a paragon of virtue! If you don’t change your ways, I will smash your temple, dig up your grave, and destroy, once and for all, the root of your existence!” Then he went to Botao’s grave and said, “Should Jing Ke come to harass you again tonight, pray do not fail to let me know.”

He returned to the altar hall and sat by candlelight, waiting. Just as he expected, Botao appeared to him and said between sobs, “I am grateful to you for having done what you did. However, Jing Ke has a large following of retainers o ered up to him by the local residents. What you can do is to make some straw effigies, put colored clothing on them, attach weapons to their hands, and then burn them in front of my grave. If I have them to help me, Jing Ke can do me no harm.” With these words he disappeared from view. Before the night was out, Jiao’ai did as he was told. A few scores of straw effigies, complete with colored clothing, swords, spears, and other weapons, were planted by the side of the grave and burned. Jiao’ai prayed, “If this works, please also let me know.”

During the course of the night, he heard a storm that resembled the sounds of a battle. Stepping out the door to take a look, he saw Botao running toward him, saying, “The men you burned are not of much use, whereas Jing Ke has the support of Gao Jianli. My body will be cast out in no time. (A complication in the plot.) Please move me quickly to some other place of burial before the terrible thing happens.”

Jiao’ai was indignant. “How dare that man bully my brother like this! I will certainly help you fight it out.”

“You are a mortal being, whereas we are ghosts in the netherworld. However valiant, a living man cannot cross into the netherworld and fight ghosts. The straw men can do nothing more than utter battle cries. Driving away such a powerful presence is beyond them.”

“You may go now,” said Jiao’ai. “I will find a way tomorrow.”

The following day, Jiao’ai went again into Jing Ke’s temple and, with a stream of curses, smashed Jing Ke’s image. He was about to set the temple on fire when there came to him several village elders pleading over and over, “This is the only temple in the area. Should any harm come to it, the local residents’ lives might be jeopardized.” In a trice, a crowd of natives gathered to plead with Jiao’ai. Failing to win the argument, Jiao’ai had to give up.

After returning to the altar hall, he wrote a memorial to the king of Chu to acknowledge his gratitude, saying, “It was thanks to Botao, who gave me his food, that I lived on to meet Your Majesty. Receiving a noble title from you leaves me with no more desires for the rest of my life. Please allow me to repay your kindness with all my heart in my next life.” The words were filled with emotion. He gave the memorial to a valet for delivery and went to Botao’s grave, where he burst into wails of grief. Turning to his followers, he said, “I cannot bear the thought that my brother is to be displaced by Jing Ke’s insolent spirit. I would have burnt the temple and destroyed Jing Ke’s grave if not for fear of o ending the local inhabitants. It is better for me, therefore, to be a ghost under the Nine Springs, so as to help my brother fight that bully. You may bury my corpse to the right of this grave, so that I shall be with my brother in death, as I was with him in life, to repay him his kindness in o ering me his ration. When you report the matter to the king of Chu, be sure to plead with him to follow my advice to make his state last forever.” With these words, he pulled out the sword that hung at his waist and plunged it into himself. His followers hastened to try to save his life, but were too late. Promptly, they prepared his burial clothes and a coffin and buried him next to Botao’s grave.

At the second watch of the night, there came on a furious storm with driving rain amid peals of thunder and flashes of lightning. Battle cries could be heard tens of li away. By early dawn, there, for all to see, were heaps of white bones scattered all over Jing Ke’s grave, which had burst open as if by some explosion. The pines and cypresses around the grave had been uprooted. A fire blazed up in the temple and burned it to the ground. Greatly alarmed, the village elders hurried to the graves of Yang and Zuo and paid homage to them with o erings of incense.

When Yang’s followers returned to Chu and reported the matter to the king, the latter, moved by Yang’s loyalty, sent officials to build a temple in front of his grave. Yang Jiao’ai was also posthumously granted the title of senior grand master, and on the temple was hung a horizontal board bearing the inscription “Temple of Loyalty and Honor.” With a stone tablet erected to commemorate the event, the temple has never been short of worshippers making o erings of incense. Henceforth, Jing Ke’s spirit ceased to manifest itself. (According to The Biography, after reaching Chu and becoming senior grand master, Jiao’ai buried Botao with rituals befitting a minister and then killed himself to be with Botao. No mention is made of his fight against Jing Ke. Moreover, Jiao’ai died before Jing Ke and Gao Jianli. The author is using Jiao’ai to humiliate Jing Ke out of indignation at the latter for letting Prince Dan down.) The prayers of the local people in their seasonal sacrificial ceremonies were readily answered. There is an ancient poem that says,