Part 2 (2/2)

The Priest of Hardwork Mountains.

Young w.a.n.g, seventh son of an established family, lived in town among town comforts. Since childhood he had been fascinated with the occult, and hearing that many immortals could be found on Hardwork Mountains, he traveled there with his book bag on his shoulder.

He made his way to a hilltop where a Taoist temple was secluded. Seated on a mat was a meditating priest. White hair hung down his neck, but he looked brisk and agile in body and mind. w.a.n.g paid his respects and spoke with the priest, whose explanation of the powers of the universe seemed wonderfully mysterious. w.a.n.g asked to study under him. ”I am afraid,” the priest replied, ”that one who has been so indulged as you may not be able to withstand the hards.h.i.+ps.” ”I'm sure I can,” said w.a.n.g.

The priest's many disciples gathered as dusk approached. w.a.n.g paid his respects to all and remained in the temple. At the crack of dawn the priest summoned w.a.n.g, gave him an axe, and told him to join the disciples in searching for firewood. w.a.n.g followed his instructions earnestly.

More than a month went by. w.a.n.g's hands and feet grew thick with calluses. And as the priest had predicted, he felt that he could not bear the hards.h.i.+ps and inwardly resolved to go home.

Returning to the temple one evening, he saw two men having dinner with the master. The sun had already set, but the lamps had not been lit. The master cut a piece of paper into the shape of a round mirror and pasted it on the wall. Presently the moon's light filled the room, and the tiniest thing could be seen.

The disciples scurried to and fro attending to the master's wishes. One guest said, ”The pleasure of this wonderful night should be shared by one and all.” From the table he took a jar of wine, poured it into the disciples' bowls, and bade them drink their fill. ”How can this one jar of wine serve the seven or eight of us?” w.a.n.g wondered. But the disciples surged forward again and again to fill their bowls, yet the wine did not diminish.

Soon one of the guest said, ”We are honored by this gift of moonlight, but what a shame to drink alone! We should call Ch'ang O, fairy of the moon, to join us.” So saying, he tossed a chopstick neatly into the moon, and a beautiful woman materialized out of the moonbeams. Hardly a foot high when she first appeared, she attained human size upon reaching the ground. Her waist was slender, her neck ample. With ethereal grace she performed the Dance of the Rainbow Robe. Then she sang, ”Must the Lady of the Moon return to the solitary confinement of her Cold Palace?” Her voice was ringing and resonant, distinct as the flute's tone. When she ended her song she rose in a circling motion and came to rest on the table. Before their startled eyes she turned back into a chopstick.

The three men laughed. One said, ”I have never pa.s.sed a more entertaining evening. But the wine is becoming too much for me. I wonder, could we have our last round in the moon palace itself?” Gradually the three, still seated at the table, entered the moon. The throng of disciples saw them sitting and drinking inside the glowing ball. Even the hairs of their beards and eyebrows could be seen, like reflections in the mirror. In a little while the moon began to dim. When the disciples brought lighted candles, they found the priest seated alone; the guests had vanished. Delicacies remained on the table. The moon on the wall was nothing but a round piece of paper.

”Was there enough to drink?” the priest asked the a.s.sembly. ”Enough,” came the reply. ”Then quickly to bed, for you must not miss the morning's firewood gathering,” the priest said. Nodding, the disciples retired. w.a.n.g was so fascinated by the evening's events that all thoughts of returning home vanished.

After another month, however, he again found the hards.h.i.+ps more than he could bear. And the master had not told him how to do a single magic trick! Overcome by impatience, w.a.n.g went to the priest and said, ”Your humble disciple came hundreds of leagues to receive the teaching of an immortal master. Even if I could not have the secret of eternal life, is there not perhaps some minor teaching you might grant me as a consolation? During the several months I have spent here, I have done nothing but rise early, gather firewood, and return late. At home I never went through such an ordeal.”

”I said you couldn't endure it.” The priest smiled. ”Now I am proved right. Tomorrow evening you shall be sent home.”

”Your disciple has labored many days,” w.a.n.g persisted. ”Master, could you not spare me one small trick so that my visit shall not go altogether unrewarded?”

”What technique do you wish to learn?” asked the priest. ”I have often observed,” said w.a.n.g, ”that wherever you walk, walls pose no obstacle. I would be happy to learn this one technique.”

The master granted the request with a smile. He told w.a.n.g the secret and ordered him to recite the spell himself. ”Now pa.s.s through!” the priest cried. w.a.n.g faced the wall but was afraid to enter. ”Try to pa.s.s through,” the priest insisted.

w.a.n.g attempted to walk nonchalantly through the wall, but it remained solid and he was blocked. ”Lower your head and rush in,” said the priest. ”Stop s.h.i.+lly-shallying!” w.a.n.g stood a step away from the wall. Then he rushed at it headlong-and found it immaterial, as if nothing were there at all. When he turned to look back, he was already past it. Overjoyed, he reentered and thanked the priest.

”Keep yourself pure after you leave; otherwise the technique will not work,” the priest warned him. Then he provided w.a.n.g with traveling expenses and sent him home.

Once back in town w.a.n.g postured like a peac.o.c.k, preening himself on having hobn.o.bbed with an immortal and boasting that hard walls posed no obstacle to him. His wife would not believe him, however, and w.a.n.g decided to amaze her with his trick. He stood a few feet from the wall and then rushed forward-but he bashed his head against the hard surface and fell down. His wife helped him to his feet and jeered when she saw a giant egg swelling on his forehead. Humiliated and indignant, w.a.n.g cursed the old priest for having no conscience.

-P'u Sung-ling.

White Lotus Magic.

This is a story about a man who belonged to the secret Buddhist sect known as the White Lotus. The sect was often at odds with the royal court, and its members were frequently hunted down. The man came from Shansi province, though his name is now forgotten. Probably he was a follower of the rebel leader Hsu Hung-ju, for both men practiced what the court described as ”black arts to delude the common folk.” Many people became fascinated with his magic and served him as disciples.

One day this magician left the house after placing in his room a basin covered with another basin. He instructed a disciple to keep watch over the basins but not under any circ.u.mstances to look inside. The moment his master departed, however, the follower lifted the top basin. He found that the lower one contained water and a tiny reed boat, complete with sail and mast, that floated on the surface. Intrigued, he nudged the boat with his finger, causing it to list. He hastily righted it and put the cover back on.

Presently the master returned. ”Why did you disobey me?” he demanded angrily. The follower protested that nothing had happened, but the master said, ”My boat has just capsized on the waves. Don't think you can fool me!”

Another evening the master lit a giant candle in his room. Telling his follower to guard the flame carefully and keep the wind from blowing it out, he left and was gone for hours. It was the second watch by the waterclock, and still the master had not returned. Fatigued from guarding the flame, the disciple went to bed for a brief nap. But when he awoke, the candle had gone out. He rushed to relight it.

The master returned shortly and again took the follower to task. ”I never fell asleep,” the disciple protested. ”I don't know how the candle could have gone out.” ”You made me walk ten leagues in the dark,” said the magician angrily.

Some time later the master's favorite concubine fell in love with one of the followers. The master found out but kept it to himself. Then one day he sent that disciple to feed the pigs, and as the young man entered the pen, he turned into a pig on the spot. The master immediately called for a butcher, had the animal slaughtered, and sold the carca.s.s. No one knew anything about it.

The victim's father came to ask after his son, who had not been home in some time. He was told that the disciple must have left, because he had not been seen for a long while. The lad's kinfolk made a wide search but they found nothing at all.

Then another disciple discovered the truth and told the dead man's father. The father reported it to the local magistrate, who decided that a thousand armed men would be needed to make the arrest so that the master could not get away by some trick of magic. The troops surrounded the master's home. With no trouble they took him and his family into custody, placed them in a pen, and began marching with it to the capital.

On the way, when they were crossing the T'aihang Mountains, a giant appeared. He was tall as a tree, with eyes like pots, mouth like a basin, teeth a foot long. The soldiers stood aghast, not daring to proceed. The magician, however, said, ”This is a demon that my wife should be able to drive away.” The soldiers willingly freed the woman. She shouldered a spear and went up to the giant who swallowed her with one gulp. The soldiers were greatly astonished.

”Since the demon has taken my wife,” said the master, ”my son will have to do the job.” The troops immediately let the son out of the pen, but the demon swallowed him alive as he had the mother. The soldiers gaped at one another; no one knew what to do.

Gnas.h.i.+ng his teeth, the master said, ”The demon has killed my wife and now my son. It is more than I can bear. I shall have to go myself to take care of it.”

Now the soldiers freed the master himself, gave him a weapon, and sent him forth. Full of ire, the giant met him and they tangled. The demon grabbed the master and put him in his mouth, extended his neck, and swallowed the magician down. Perfectly calm and content, the giant then went his way-just like that.

-P'u Sung-ling.

The Peach Thief.

Once when I was young, I went to the regional capital during the official examinations. It happened to be the time for the festival to celebrate the beginning of spring. The day before the festival, according to custom, all the merchants and tradesmen paraded to the governor's mansion in a grand show complete with drummers, pipers, and decorated floats.

I went with a friend to watch the parade, which is known as the Presentation of Spring. The ma.s.ses of tourists and onlookers seemed to form a great wall. Four officials who sat in a hall were dressed in red, the color of celebration, and faced one another east to west. (I was too young then to recognize their ranks.) The hubbub of the crowd and the musicians' din rang in my ears.

From nowhere a man who carried a load on his shoulders approached the hall leading a boy with unbound hair. The man was talking to couriers from the officials. In the clamor of myriad voices I could not hear what he said, though I could make out sounds of laughter from the hall. Soon an attendant dressed in black appeared and loudly ordered a performance. The man climbed the steps of the hall and asked what he should perform. The dignitaries conferred briefly among themselves and spoke to an attendant, who turned to the man and asked what his specialty was.

”We can produce anything out of season!” came the reply. The attendant went to inform the officials, and in a short while came down again to say that the pair should produce a peach.

The man consented, removed his outer clothes, and placed them atop a bamboo box. Then, pretending to talk to the boy who was with him, he said loudly, ”Their excellencies don't quite comprehend. How can we procure peaches before the thaw has arrived? But I fear their wrath if we fail. What can we do?”

”Father,” the boy replied equally loudly, ”you have given your word. There is no way to get out of it.”

The performer pondered his problem with an air of dejection. Then he said, ”Here's what I think. It is early spring, and the snow is thick. In the world of men there are no peaches to be found. But in the gardens of the Western Queen Mother, the land of perpetual bloom, where the peaches ripen once every three thousand years, nothing fades or falls. So we may find peaches there. We shall have to steal them from the very heavens!”

”How can we climb to heaven?” cried the boy.

”The technique exists,” said the father, opening his bamboo box. He took out a coil of rope several hundred feet long, freed one end, and threw it up in the air, where it remained suspended as if hanging from something in the sky. The further he threw it, the further it rose, until it vanished among the clouds. When the rope was fully played out, the man called to his son, ”Come here. I'm old and tired-too heavy and clumsy to go. You'll have to make the climb.” Handing the rope to his son, the man said, ”If you hold onto this, you can manage it.”

The son looked reluctant and complained, ”My dear father, this is absurd. Do you expect such a slender line to support me thousands of feet in the air? What will keep my bones together if it should break midway?”

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