35

The Monk with a Note Cleverly Tricks Huangfu’s Wife

Forty-five li to the north of the capital at Chang’an was a certain Xianyang County, in which lived a man with the two-character surname Yuwen and the given name Shou. He left Xianyang for the imperial examinations in Chang’an but failed time and again. Upon his return bearing no news of success, his wife, Wang-shi, wrote a lyric poem to the tune of “Gazing at the South,” using two-character [two-syllable] surnames³ to mock him:

Feeling she had not yet said everything on her mind, Wang-shi looked at her husband and made up another four lines:

Yuwen was shamed into making a firm resolve: “Should I fail again, I will never come back.” The following year he achieved instant fame but chose to stay on in Chang’an instead of returning home.

Knowing full well why her husband chose not to return, Wang-shi said to herself, “I wrote a poem to mock him. That’s why he’s not coming back.” Thereupon, she wrote a letter and summoned Wang Ji the servant, saying, “Deliver this letter for me to my husband forty-five li away.” The letter started with some usual words of greeting, which were followed by a lyric poem to the tune of “A Southern Song”:

After the lyric poem, she added a quatrain:

Yuwen spread out the letter and read the lyric poem as well as the quatrain. “You once wrote to tell me not to return unless under the cover of night,” said he. “Now that I have made it, you want me back!” In his lodgings, he took out the four treasures of the scholar’s studio and composed a lyric to the tune of “Treading on Grass”:

Having finished the poem, he took a piece of paper with a floral pattern and folded it letter-size so as to copy the poem onto it to be delivered to his wife. As he was grinding the ink, his hand clumsily knocked over the ink slab and wetted the paper. He took another piece of paper, folded it, wrote on it, and gave it to Wang Ji the servant, saying, “Tell my wife that I have passed the examinations and will return under the cover of night. Go quickly and tell her not to expect me until after night falls.” Wang Ji took the letter and, with a salute, returned home over a distance of forty-five li.

Now, having sent the letter and finding nothing to occupy himself with in the inn that evening, Yuwen Shou went to bed. He had hardly drifted o to sleep than he dreamed that he had returned to his home in Xianyang County and saw Wang Ji take o his straw sandals and wash his feet by one side of the door. Yuwen Shou asked, “So you’ve been back for quite some time, Wang Ji?” No answer came to his repeated queries. Just when his patience was running out, Yuwen Shou raised his eyes and caught sight of his wife, Wang-shi, entering her chamber with a lit candle in her hands. He ran up to her and announced in a loud voice, “Wife, I am back!” But she took no notice of him. He said it again, but still got no response. Without realizing that he was in a dream, he followed his wife into the chamber and watched her put the candle on the table and take out the letter he had sent. She then took down her gold hairpin, with which she broke the seal of the envelope, only to find that it contained a blank piece of paper. With a smile, his wife wrote four lines by candlelight on the paper:

Having finished writing, she took another envelope and sealed it. As she used the hairpin to scrape away the candle drippings, Yuwen Shou felt a prick on his face and woke up with a start, only to find himself abed in an inn. By the remaining light of the candle, he saw that he had indeed sent home by mistake the blank sheet of paper. He took another sheet and wrote down that quatrain. After breakfast the following morning, Wang Ji brought back his wife’s reply, which, when opened, turned out to contain four lines identical to the ones he had dreamed about. Then and there, he put his things together and set out for home.

This story, then, is called “The Wrongly Sealed Letter.” Next, I shall tell you “The Wrongly Delivered Letter.” A husband and wife were sitting peacefully in their home when a man delivered a letter to the wife, a letter that led to a most strange story. Truly,

There is a lyric poem to the tune of “Partridge Sky” that describes a beautiful woman:

In Zaoshuo Lane in Kaifeng, the Eastern Capital, there lived a man with the two-character surname of Huangfu and the given name of Song. A guard at the imperial court, he was twenty-six years of age, and his wife, Yang-shi, was twenty-four. They had no relatives but lived in a household of three with a thirteen-year-old maidservant called Ying’er. Huangfu was sent to deliver winter clothes for the garrison stationed at the frontier and did not return until New Year’s Day came around.

There was, at the mouth of the lane, a small teahouse, the owner of which was known as Wang the Second. On the day of which I speak, a man stepped into the teahouse at noontime, when the tea hours had come to an end. He had

He entered the teahouse and sat down. Teapot in hand, Wang the Second the shopkeeper stepped forward with some words of greeting and served tea. After drinking his tea, the patron said, looking at Wang the Second, “Please allow me to stay here for a while. I am expecting someone.”

“Certainly,” said Wang the Second.

A considerable while later, a boy called Seng’er appeared with a tray in his hand, peddling dumplings with quail filling. Beckoning the boy over with his hand, the man called out, “Give me some!” Thereupon Seng’er came into the teahouse and put his tray down on the table. He used a bamboo stick to skewer some dumplings and laid them, along with a pinch of salt, in front of the man, saying, “Enjoy the dumplings, sir.”

“Yes, I will,” said the man, “but first do me a favor.”

“What is it?”

Pointing at the fourth house in Zaoshuo Lane, the man asked, “Do you know that family?”

“Yes, it’s the home of Mr. Huangfu, who has just come back from delivering clothes up to the frontier.”

“How many people are there in the household?”

“There’s just Mr. Huangfu himself, his young wife, and a maid.”

“Do you know his wife?”

“His wife,” said Seng’er, “rarely shows her face outside of the portiere. She sometimes calls me in to buy some dumplings. That’s how I got to know her. Why do you ask?”

The man took a gold-threaded bag from his waist and, to Seng’er’s great delight, spilled down from it onto the boy’s tray about fifty in cash. With much reverence, he asked, “How may I be of service to you, sir?”

“Do this for me,” said the man, while he produced from his sleeve a white paper packet containing a pair of clustered rings, two short gold hairpins, and a letter. “Deliver these three things to the wife,” he continued. “Don’t give them to her husband. When you see the wife, just say that a man insisted that she accept these three things. Go now. I’ll wait here for you to report back.”

Seng’er took the packet, left his tray on the counter of the teahouse, and headed for Zaoshuo Lane. As he came to Huangfu’s door, he lifted the green bamboo portiere and stuck his head in for a quick look. It so happened that Huangfu was seated in an armchair right by the door. At the sight of the young dumpling peddler lifting the portiere and then trying to slip away after taking a surreptitious peek, Huangfu gave a thunderous shout that truly made him resemble

With that shout, he asked, “What are you doing here?” Without a look back, the boy took to his heels, but Huangfu caught up with him in two strides and brought him back. “What is the meaning of this?” he said. “Why did you slip away after one look at me?”

“A gentleman told me to deliver these three things to your wife, not to you.”

“What things?”

“Don’t ask,” said the boy. “I’m not giving them to you.”

With his tightly clenched fist, Huangfu hit the boy on the head and said, “Show them to me!”

Reeling from the blow to his head, the boy had to produce the paper package from his chest. “I was told to deliver them to your wife,” he mumbled, “not to you. What did you hit me for?”

With one swift movement of the hand, Huangfu snatched away the paper package and opened it to find a pair of rings, two short gold hairpins, and a letter. Huangfu opened the letter and read,

The poem was as follows:

After he read the letter, Huangfu’s eyes blazed with anger. Gnashing his teeth, he turned to Seng’er: “Who gave you these things?”

Seng’er replied, pointing at Wang the Second’s teahouse at the mouth of the lane, “It was a gentleman with thick eyebrows, big eyes, a snub nose, and a large mouth who told me to give them to your wife but not to you.”

Grabbing Seng’er by the hair with one hand, Huangfu left the lane and headed straight for Wang the Second’s teahouse. Pointing at the teahouse, Seng’er said, “The gentleman who was just now sitting on the makeshift bed there told me to give the packet to your wife, not you, and yet you beat me up!”

Finding no one in the teahouse, Huangfu cursed, “What a liar!” Before Wang the Second could say anything in protest, he dragged Seng’er out of the teahouse and back to his home.

Upon arriving at home, he bolted the door, sending shudders of fear down Seng’er’s spine. He called forth from the interior of the house his wife who, at twenty-four years of age, was as pretty as a flower. “Look at these!” he snapped.

Unaware of what had happened, the young woman sat down in an armchair. Huangfu showed her the letter and the jewelry. She read the letter in bewilderment. (There is no lack of people of honor and loyalty who are wrongly accused, just as Yang-shi is. Pitiable.) Huangfu demanded, “In the three months while I was away at the frontier, whom did you drink with here at home?”

“I was betrothed to you early in childhood,” rejoined his wife. “How could I have been drinking with any man in your absence?”

“If not,” shot back Huangfu, “where did these things come from?”

“How should I know?”

His left hand pointing at her, he gave her a slap on the face with his right. Uttering a cry, the woman covered up her face and weepingly went back into the inner quarters of the house. Huangfu then called the thirteen-year-old maid Ying’er. He took down a bamboo stick from the wall, laid it on the ground, and demanded that she step forward. Ying’er was a girl with

Huangfu Song then took down a rope from a clothing shelf, tied up the girl’s hands with one end, and tossed the other end over a rafter. With a downward pull at the rope, the girl rose in mid-air. A bamboo stick in hand, he demanded, “In the three months that I was away, who’s been drinking here with my wife?”

“No one,” said the girl, whereupon Huangfu hit her legs with the stick until she screamed like a pig in a slaughterhouse. Unable to withstand any more of the questioning and the beating, the girl allowed herself to say, “While you were away those three months, the mistress slept with someone every night.”

“Now you’re talking!” said Huangfu. He let the girl down, untied her, and pressed further: “And whom did she sleep with?”

Wiping away her tears, the girl said, “I won’t hide anything from you. While you were away, the mistress slept with none other than me!”

“Don’t you try to get smart with me!” With that, he dismissed her, took a lock, stormed out the gate, and locked it. He then went to the mouth of the lane and called four men. They were local constables, known today as “connect-hands” or “watch troops.” Zhang Qian, Li Wan, Dong Chao, and Xue Ba duly went to his house, unlocked the door with a key, and pushed the door open. Huangfu dragged out Seng’er the dumpling peddler and said, “Please be kind enough to take this boy into custody.”

“At your service, sir,” said the men.

“Don’t go yet,” continued Huangfu. “There’s more.” Calling forth the thirteen-year-old Ying’er and his pretty twenty-four-year-old wife, Huangfu said, “Take them along as well.”

The four men protested, “How dare we take away your wife?”

Huangfu flew into a rage. “You dare not take her?” said he. “Don’t you know that someone’s life is at stake?”

These words frightened the four men into leading Huangfu’s wife, Ying’er, and Seng’er the dumpling peddler all the way to Magistrate Qian’s⁵ yamen in Kaifeng.

At the foot of the steps in the main hall, Huangfu saluted the magistrate and handed in the letter. After reading it, Magistrate Qian ordered that the accused be taken away. He then summoned Officer Shan Ding, who took on the case and called forth Seng’er for interrogation. To Officer Shan’s questions, Seng’er answered, “It was a man with thick eyebrows, big eyes, a snub nose, and a large mouth who gave me this letter in the teahouse for me to deliver to the lady. This is all I know, even if you beat me to death.”

When the officer turned to Ying’er, her answer was “No one came to drink with the mistress, nor do I have any idea who sent the letter. This is all I know, even if you beat me to death.”

Before he could turn to the young woman, Huangfu’s wife said, “Ever since we were betrothed in childhood, we haven’t even had any contact with relatives. There’s been only the two of us, husband and wife. I don’t know who could have sent this letter.”

Looking at the young woman’s thin frame, Officer Shan Ding wondered how she was to withstand torture and the rigors of interrogation. From the interior of the yamen he summoned a prisoner, who was escorted by two prison wardens. This is how the prisoner looked:

The prisoner, nicknamed the Lord of Mount Jing, was a ringleader of outlaws. At the sight of such a man, the young woman covered her face with both hands without daring to open her eyes. Officer Shan turned to the wardens with a sharp order: “Work on him!”

Pulling the cangue so that the prisoner’s head was forced down, the wardens picked up a thorny sta and beat him until he screamed like a pig in a slaughterhouse.

“Have you killed?” asked Officer Shan.

“Yes, I have!” the Lord of Mount Jing readily conceded.

“Have you committed arson?”

“Yes, I have!” Thereupon the wardens were ordered to take him back into his cell.

Turning now to the young woman, Shan said, “You just witnessed how a few strokes made the Lord of Mount Jing confess to crimes of killing and arson. If you are guilty, you would do well to confess, because the beating will be too much for you.”

Tears gushed out of her eyes as she replied, “Since nothing is to be kept from you, please give me paper and a brush-pen so I can write my confession.”

Her confession ran as follows:

However many times she was pressed to confess, her answer remained the same.

Three days passed by in like fashion. Officer Shan was standing in front of the yamen, undecided as to what to do, when he raised his head abruptly, and whom did he see in front of him but Huangfu, bowing and asking, “Why has the case been under consideration for three days without a verdict? Could it be that some bribery from the sender of the letter made you hold up the case?”

At this accusation, Shan asked, “What is it you want, sir?”

“I want a divorce.”

That very day, Officer Shan betook himself to the prefectural yamen and presented the case to Magistrate Qian during the evening session of the court. The magistrate summoned Huangfu into the hall and said, “ To convict a thief, you need to find the stolen goods. To convict adulterers, you need to catch the two in the act. In this case, how are you going to establish guilt without any evidence?”

Huangfu Song rejoined, “I would rather divorce my wife than have to return home with her.”

The magistrate’s judgment was for the husband to do as he wished. Huangfu set o on his journey home, whereas Seng’er and Ying’er were ordered out of the yamen and went their separate ways. The abandoned woman wept her way out, muttering to herself, “My husband doesn’t want me, and I have no relatives to turn to. Where can I go? I’d be better o dead.” (Pitiable.)

Upon coming to Tianhanzhou Bridge, she stared at the Bian River, with its shiny waters and silvery bank. She was about to throw herself in when someone grabbed her clothing from behind. Turning around, she found that it was an old woman (A frightening trap), who had

“My child,” said the old woman, “why are you trying to kill yourself? Do you know me?”

“No, Granny,” said the young woman.

“I am your aunt. After you married, I lost touch with you because my family is too humble to be associated with you. The other day I heard that there is a lawsuit between you and your husband. Since then, I have been waiting here for you. Today I heard that a divorce has come through, but why did you try to jump into the water?”

“With not a tile over my head or enough land to stick an awl into, abandoned by my husband, and left with no relatives to turn to for help, I’d be better o dead, and now is as good a time as any!”

“Why don’t you follow me to my home,” said her aunt, “and we’ll see what to do next.”

The young woman thought to herself, “I have no way of knowing if she is indeed any aunt of mine, but having no place to go, why don’t I just follow her and see what will happen?” So she followed the old woman home. The woman was in possession of a nice though sparsely furnished house with light blue curtains, armchairs, tables, and benches.

A couple of days later, they had just finished their meal when a man was heard shouting at the top of his voice outside the door, “Hey, old woman! You sold my things, but how come I still don’t see the money?” At this, the old woman rushed out, all flustered, to greet the man. When he was invited in for a seat, the young woman saw that the man had

The young woman said to herself, “How he fits Seng’er’s description of the man who sent the letter!”

The man stepped in, took a seat, and addressed the old woman with exaggerated severity: “You sold goods belonging to me worth three hundred strings of cash, but it’s been more than a month now, and I have yet to receive the money.”

The old woman explained, “I have found a patron, but the money hasn’t been paid yet. As soon as I get it, I’ll bring it to you.”

“It shouldn’t take so many days for money and merchandise to exchange hands. Be sure to bring me the money as soon as you get it.” With that, he walked o .

The old woman came back into the house and, with tears coursing down her cheeks, said to the young woman, “What am I to do now?”

“What is it?”

“That gentleman named Hong used to be the controller general of Caizhou, but now he no longer holds any official post and is in the jewelry business. The other day, he gave me an item to sell, but I came o badly in the deal and have no money to pay him. I don’t blame him for being impatient. A couple of days ago, he gave me another job and I failed again.”

“What was it that he asked you to do?”

“He wanted me to find him a beautiful concubine. He would surely be pleased to get someone with your looks. Now, your husband having abandoned you, you are not going to live like this for the rest of your life, are you? Wouldn’t it be best if you marry this man, with me as the matchmaker, so that your future is not compromised and I can also have someone to fall back on? What do you say?” (The saying “Abhor the evil ones, for they confuse what is right and what is wrong” is of much relevance here.)

The young woman mused a long while before she finally consented, for lack of a better way out. The old woman duly apprised the man of the news. A couple of days later, the man brought the young woman to his home as his wife.

Another year went by quickly. It was now New Year’s Day again. Since divorcing his wife, Huangfu had been living a miserable life. Truly,

He thought to himself, “Each New Year’s Day, my wife and I used to go together to the prefectural Great State Councilor Monastery to make o erings of incense, but this year, I am all alone. I wonder where she might be?” Tears fell from his eyes as he sank into silent melancholy. With an e ort, he put on a purple silk gown and, a silver incense box in hand, went to the monastery to make o erings of incense.

Having made his o erings, he was about to step out of the monastery when his eyes fell upon a man and a woman. The man had thick eyebrows, big eyes, a snub nose, and a large mouth, and the woman following him was none other than Huangfu’s wife. The woman returned his gaze. The four eyes met, but neither he nor she ventured to speak. The man then took her into the monastery.

Huangfu Song was in the middle of his thoughts at the monastery gate when he noticed an acolyte collecting alms. At the sight of the couple stepping into the monastery, the acolyte said, “So, he’s here, that man who ruined me!” With great strides, he stormed into the monastery.

While the acolyte was trying to catch up with them, Huangfu stopped him in his tracks. “Are you trying to catch up with those two?”

“So I am,” replied the acolyte. “It’s all because of that man that I’m in such a fix today. I can’t even hold up my head!”

“Do you know the woman?” asked Huangfu.

“No.”

“She was my wife,” said Huangfu.

“Why is she with him?”

Whereupon Huangfu gave him a full account of the divorce and the incident of the letter that had led to it.

“So that’s what happened!” said the acolyte who then asked Huangfu, “Do you know that man?”

“No.”

“Well, that man was a monk in Potai Monastery in the eastern section of the capital. I was an acolyte in the same monastery. My master the abbot, who had over a hundred in cash, took that man on as an assistant. About a year ago, that scoundrel fled with some of the master’s silverware worth about two hundred taels of silver. I was blamed for the theft. I was beaten up hard and driven out of the monastery, with no place to turn to for a living. Luckily the head monk of Great State Councilor Monastery let me stay here to collect alms. Now that he’s here, I will certainly not let him get away!” He had hardly finished speaking before the monk and Huangfu’s wife came out from the corridor. Pulling up his robe, the acolyte was about to charge forward to seize the man when Huangfu stopped him and pulled him aside to hide behind the monastery gate. “Don’t confront him yet,” he said. “Let’s follow this bastard and see where he lives before we bring any charges against him.” (Meticulous.) So they followed him.

To pick up another thread of our story, let us turn our attention to the woman, who had burst into tears at the sight of her ex-husband. On their way back after having burned incense at the monastery, the man asked her, “Why did you cry when you saw your former husband? I went to much trouble to get you. When I first passed your door before all this happened and saw you standing by the portiere, I was struck by your beauty and had my heart set on having you. It was by no means easy to get you as my wife.” (Volunteering a confession. It’s the rock god of Yellow Stone Cli speaking out, manifesting the will of heaven.)

While conversing, they arrived at home. Once inside the house, the woman asked, “Who sent the letter, anyway?”

“If you want to know, it was I who made Seng’er the dumpling peddler deliver the letter to you. Your husband fell into my trap and did indeed divorce you.”

At this revelation, she grabbed him and screamed in grief. Her cries so alarmed him that he seized her by the throat to choke her to death. Outside, Huangfu and the acolyte had followed them to the door and watched them enter. As the commotion inside reached their ears, they rushed in and found the man strangling Huangfu’s wife to within an inch of her life. Huangfu and the acolyte overpowered him and sent him to the court of Magistrate Qian in Kaifeng. And who was this Magistrate Qian?

When the magistrate called his court to order and brought up this case, Huangfu and his wife gave him a full account of everything that had happened. In a towering rage, the magistrate ordered the monk put in a big cangue. After a hundred thrashings on the legs right there in the courtroom, the man was brought under guard to the Court of Judicial Review for a thorough investigation.

After all the facts had been established, Huangfu Song was told to take his wife back. The acolyte was given a reward. The monk admitted to all wrongdoings, including his scheme of deception and, later, his murder attempt. In accordance with the Criminal Code, he was sentenced to be beaten to death. The old woman, for posing as the victim’s aunt and failing to inform the authorities against the man, was banished to a neighboring prefecture. That day, when the monk was taken to the execution ground, a writer of popular stories witnessed the scene and composed this impromptu poem to the tune of “Song of the Southern Country”: