A Journey into Illusion Points the Way to the Twelve Beauties; Immortal Nectar Is Drunk, and the Dream of Red Mansions Is Performed

We left off with the Xue family settled in the Rongguo Mansion; now let us turn elsewhere.

Since Lin Daiyu had come to live in the Rongguo Mansion, the Dowager had doted on her with every care—her meals, her lodging, her daily life were all on a par with Baoyu’s, even putting the three granddaughters, Yingchun, Tanchun, and Xichun, in the shade. And between Baoyu and Daiyu themselves there grew a closeness and affection quite unlike that with anyone else: by day they sat together and walked together, by night they rested and rose together—so perfectly in accord in speech and feeling that there was not the least shadow between them. But now, unexpectedly, Xue Baochai had arrived. Though only a little older than Daiyu, she was dignified and composed, with a full, lovely countenance, and most people felt Daiyu could not compare with her. Moreover, Baochai was open-minded and easy-going, accepting things as they came, unlike Daiyu, who was aloof and proud, looking down on others—so Baochai won more favour with the servants. Even the younger maids mostly preferred to play with her. This caused Daiyu some secret vexation and resentment, though Baochai was wholly unaware of it. Baoyu was still in his boyish years and, by nature, had a certain simple-minded stubbornness; he treated all his cousins and siblings equally, without distinction. Only because he and Daiyu both lived under the Dowager’s roof did he grow more familiar with her than with the others. Familiarity bred intimacy, and intimacy sometimes led to over-exacting demands and unexpected little quarrels. One day, for some reason, a few cross words passed between them, and Daiyu retreated to her room in tears. Baoyu regretted his own rashness, went at once to coax her, and only then did she gradually relent.

Now, in the garden of the Ningguo Mansion to the east, the plum trees were in full bloom. You Shi, wife of Jia Zhen, prepared a banquet and invited the Dowager, Lady Xing, Lady Wang, and the others to come and enjoy the flowers. Early that morning, You Shi came in person with her daughter-in-law, Qin Keqing, to extend the invitation. After breakfast, the ladies went over and strolled in Huifang Garden, first taking tea, then sitting down to wine—it was merely a family gathering of the womenfolk of the two mansions, with nothing particularly novel to record.

Presently Baoyu grew tired and wished to take a nap. The Dowager ordered that he be well looked after and allowed to rest awhile before rejoining them. Qin Keqing promptly smiled and said, “We have a room all prepared for Uncle Bao here. Rest assured, Ancestress, just leave him to me.” She then said to Baoyu’s nannies and maids, “Nannies and sisters, please bring Uncle Bao this way.” The Dowager had always known Qin Keqing to be a thoroughly reliable person—slender and graceful in form, gentle and even-tempered in manner, the most favoured of all the great-granddaughters-in-law—so she felt quite at ease leaving Baoyu in her charge.

Qin Keqing led the party into the main apartment’s inner chamber. Baoyu looked up and saw a painting on the wall—though the figures were well done, the subject was the story of The Torch of Reeds, and he felt a twinge of displeasure, not even bothering to see who had painted it. Then his eyes fell on a couplet:

To understand the ways of the world is true learning;
To be skilled in human affairs is genuine literature.

At these words, despite the elegant furnishings and splendid décor, he refused to stay a moment longer, crying, “Let us go out! Let us go out!” Qin Keqing laughed and said, “If this place is not good enough, then where shall we go? Very well, come to my room.” Baoyu nodded and smiled. One of the nannies objected, “Surely it is improper for an uncle to sleep in his nephew’s wife’s chamber?” Qin Keqing laughed, “Oh, la! Don’t be offended by what I say—he is still so young, why make such a fuss over propriety? Did you not see my younger brother last month? Though he is the same age as Uncle Bao, if they stood together, I daresay my brother would be the taller.” Baoyu said, “How is it I have never met him? Bring him here for me to see.” Everyone laughed, “He lives twenty or thirty li away—how can we bring him? There will be plenty of days to meet.”

With that they entered Qin Keqing’s room. At the door, a faint, sweet fragrance greeted them, making Baoyu feel drowsy and limp. He exclaimed, “What a lovely scent!” Inside, on the wall hung Tang Bohu’s painting Spring Sleep Under the Crabapple, flanked by a couplet written by the Song scholar Qin Taixu:

A chill of early spring locks dreams in the cold;
A fragrance of wine wraps the sleeper in its warmth.

On the table stood a precious mirror said to have been used by Empress Wu in her mirror-chamber; beside it lay a golden plate on which Zhao Feiyi had once danced, and in the plate a quince—the very one An Lushan had thrown, bruising Yang Guifei’s breast. Above was the couch where Princess Shouchang had reclined beneath Hanzhang Hall, hung with the beaded curtain made by Princess Tongchang. Baoyu smiled with delight and said, “This is the place!” Qin Keqing laughed, “I should think even an immortal might live in this room.” She herself spread the gauze quilt said to have been washed by Xi Shi, and moved the mandarin-duck pillow once embraced by Hongniang. The nannies then settled Baoyu to lie down and gradually withdrew, leaving only four maids—Xiren, Meiren, Qingwen, and Sheyue—to attend him. They sat nearby, watching the cats and dogs frolicking under the eaves.

Baoyu had barely closed his eyes when he drifted into a drowsy sleep, and in a haze he seemed to see Qin Keqing before him. He followed her floatingly until they came to a place of crimson balustrades and white stone steps, green trees and clear streams—truly a spot untrodden by men and free from dust. In his dream Baoyu rejoiced and thought, “This is a delightful place; I could stay here for a lifetime, even if I lost my home—far better than being scolded every day by my parents and tutors.” As he was musing, he heard a voice from behind the hill singing:

Spring dreams dissolve with the clouds,
Falling blossoms drift with the stream.
I bid you, young lovers all,
Why seek such idle sorrow?

Baoyu knew it was a woman’s voice. Before the song ended, a figure emerged from behind the hill—lithe and graceful, truly unlike any mortal. As witness, there is this rhapsody:

Just leaving the willow grove,
Newly come from the flower bower—
Where she passes, birds startle in the garden trees;
As she approaches, her shadow glides through the winding corridor.
Her immortal sleeves flutter, and the scent of musk and orchid wafts;
Her lotus garments stir, and the tinkle of jade pendants is heard.
Her dimpled cheeks smile like spring peach-blossom; her piled cloud of hair gleams with green.
Her lips part like cherry buds, and her pomegranate teeth hold fragrance.
Her slender waist, so delicate, moves like snow in a whirling wind;
Her pearls and jades glitter, and her brow is touched with yellow.
Wandering among flowers, she is lovely in anger or in joy;
Pacing by the pond, she seems to float or to fly.
Her moth-eyebrows knit or smile—she seems to speak, yet does not;
Her lotus steps move, then pause, as if to stay, yet go.
I admire her pure substance—clear as ice, smooth as jade;
I admire her splendid raiment, flashing with brocade.
I love her countenance—fragrant as incense, carved of fine stone;
I delight in her bearing—like a phoenix soaring, a dragon ascending.
Her whiteness—what is it like? Spring plum blossom in snow;
Her purity—what is it like? Autumn chrysanthemum touched with frost;
Her stillness—what is it like? A pine in an empty valley;
Her brilliance—what is it like? Rosy clouds on a clear pool;
Her grace—what is it like? A dragon swimming in a winding stream;
Her spirit—what is it like? Moonlight on a cold river.
She would put Xi Shi to shame, and indeed make Wang Qiang blush.
How wondrous! From what land is she born? From what place does she come?
Truly, she has no equal in the Jade Pool, nor in the Purple Palace.
Who can she be? So beautiful as this!

Seeing that she was an immortal maiden, Baoyu joyfully bowed and asked, “Immortal sister, whence do you come and whither do you go? And what is this place? I beg you to take me with you.” The fairy smiled and said, “I dwell above the Sphere of Parting Sorrows and amid the Sea of Grief. I am the Goddess of Disenchantment, mistress of the Illusory Realm of Great Void, in the Cave of Scattered Fragrance on the Mountain of Released Spring. I rule over the sentimental debts of the mortal world—the passions of men and the sorrows of women. Because lately the entanglements of amorous fate are thick here, I have come to investigate and sow the seeds of longing. Meeting you today is no accident. My abode is not far from here. There I have nothing to offer but a cup of immortal tea I have picked myself, a jar of wine I have brewed, a few dancing girls trained in the Magic Dance, and twelve newly composed fairy songs called Dream of Red Mansions. Will you come with me?” Baoyu, hearing this, forgot all about Qin Keqing and followed the goddess until they came to a stone archway on which was inscribed the four words “Illusory Realm of Great Void,” flanked by a couplet:

When false is taken for true, then true becomes false;
When nothing is taken for something, then something becomes nothing.

Passing through the arch, they reached a palace gate, above which hung a tablet: “Sea of Sins, Heaven of Love.” And another couplet:

Vast earth and lofty sky—alas, the love of all ages is endless;
Foolish men and wronged women—pitiful, the debts of passion are hard to repay.

Baoyu read this and thought to himself, “So that is it. But what is ‘love of all ages’ and ‘debts of passion’? From now on I shall try to understand.” No sooner had this thought crossed his mind than it summoned some evil spirits deep into his bones. He followed the fairy through the second gate and into the side halls, each with its own plaque and couplet. He could not take them all in at once, but he noticed several inscribed: “Court of Infatuation,” “Court of Resentment,” “Court of Morning Tears,” “Court of Night Grievances,” “Court of Spring Sentiment,” “Court of Autumn Sorrow.” He asked the goddess, “May I beg you to lead me into those courts for a look?” She replied, “These courts contain the ledgers of all women under heaven—their past and future fates. In your mortal body and vulgar sight, it is not fitting for you to know them in advance.” Baoyu would not take no for an answer and pleaded earnestly. At last the goddess relented: “Very well, you may glance briefly at this one.” Overjoyed, Baoyu looked up and saw the plaque of this court bore the words “Court of Ill-Fated Maidens,” with a couplet:

Sorrows of spring and griefs of autumn are all self-inflicted;
For whom do such flower-like faces and moon-like beauties adorn themselves?

Baoyu sighed at this. Entering, he saw a dozen large cabinets, all sealed. On the seals were the names of various provinces. Baoyu, intent only on his own native place, paid no attention to the others. He noticed a cabinet with the words “The Twelve Beauties of Jinling—Main Register.” He asked, “What is the ‘Main Register of the Twelve Beauties of Jinling’?” The fairy replied, “It is the register of the twelve most outstanding women of your province—hence the ‘Main Register.’” Baoyu said, “I have often heard that Jinling is vast; how can there be only twelve women? In my own household alone there are several hundred girls, high and low.” The fairy said with a cold smile, “Though there are many women in your province, only the most essential are recorded here. The two cabinets below are for the next ranks. The rest—common and mediocre—have no place in the registers.” Baoyu looked and indeed saw two more cabinets labeled “Secondary Register of the Twelve Beauties of Jinling” and “Supplementary Register of the Twelve Beauties of Jinling.” He reached out and opened the supplementary cabinet first, taking out a volume. On the first page he saw a painting: not of figures nor of landscape, but only ink-wash clouds and turbid mists filling the paper. Below were a few lines of verse:

Clear moon is hard to meet,
Bright clouds are soon dispersed.
Her heart was higher than the sky,
Her station low and base.
Her charm and wit provoked men’s envy,
Her early death came from slander.
In vain the passionate young lord pines for her.

Turning the page, he saw a cluster of flowers and a tattered mat, with another lyric:

In vain she was gentle and submissive,
Though likened to orchid and cassia.
How enviable the player who won her!
But who knew the young lord had no fate with her?

Baoyu did not understand. He set this aside and opened the secondary cabinet, took out another volume, and saw a painting of an osmanthus tree beside a pond where the water had dried and the lotuses had withered. Below was written:

Her root is one with the lotus, sharing its fragrance;
Her life’s fortunes are truly sad to tell.
Since the single tree of wood rose from the earth,
Her fragrant soul has returned to her native home.

Again he did not comprehend. He put it down and took up the main register. On the first page was a painting of two withered trees, with a jade belt suspended from them, and a pile of snow under which a gold hairpin lay buried. There were four lines:

Alas for her virtuous counsel,
Pity her poetic talent!
The jade belt hangs in the grove;
The gold pin is buried in the snow.

Still he could not understand. He wanted to ask but knew the fairy would not reveal anything; he wanted to put it down but could not bear to. So he turned further. Next was a painting of a bow with a citron hanging from it, and another lyric:

For twenty years she discerned right and wrong,
Where pomegranate blossoms shone in palace halls.
The three springs could not match the early spring’s glory—
When tiger and rhinoceros meet, the great dream ends.

Then followed two people flying kites, a vast sea, a great ship, and a woman covering her face and weeping. Four more lines:

Talented and proud in spirit,
Born too late, her fortune wanes.
At Qingming, tears are shed as she gazes to the river;
A thousand li of east wind, a distant dream.

Next came drifting clouds and flowing waters:

What avails her wealth and rank?
In swaddling clothes she lost her parents.
Soon she gazes at the setting sun—
The Xiang River flows, the Chu clouds fly.

Then a fine piece of jade fallen into mud:

She sought purity, yet was not pure;
She spoke of emptiness, yet was not empty.
Pity this gold and jade nature—
In the end it sinks in mire.

Suddenly there appeared a fierce wolf pursuing a beautiful maiden, about to devour her:

You are a wolf of Zhongshan,
Who runs wild when fortune smiles.
A flower and willow form in a golden bower—
In one year she goes to the Yellow Springs.

Then an ancient temple, with a beauty sitting alone reading scriptures:

She sees through the three springs’ brief glory,
And dons the black robe, changing her former dress.
Pity this daughter of a noble house—
Alone by the green lamp beside the ancient Buddha.

Then a mountain of ice, and on it a female phoenix:

A common bird born in the last days,
All admire her brilliance.
First came obedience, then command, then separation—
Weeping toward Jinling, her grief is deeper still.

Then a desolate village inn, with a beauty spinning:

When power falls, speak no more of rank;
When family is ruined, speak no more of kin.
By chance she helped Aunt Liu,
And met her rescuer in a lucky hour.

Then a flourishing orchid in a pot, beside which stood a beauty in phoenix crown and rainbow robes:

When peach and plum bloom in spring breeze, her fruit is born;
In the end who can match this orchid?
Ice and water, pure and fair, but envy in vain—
She becomes mere gossip for others’ amusement.

Then a lofty mansion, and a beauty hanging herself:

In a sea of love, in a sky of love, her body is love itself;
When lovers meet, it must lead to dalliance.
Do not say all the unworthy come from Rong—
The breach of order began in Ning.

Baoyu was about to read further, but the fairy, knowing his keen intelligence, feared the heavenly secrets would be divulged, so she closed the volume and said with a smile, “Come with me to see some wonderful sights; why bother with this riddle?”

In a daze, Baoyu put down the book and followed the goddess to the rear. There he saw pearl curtains, embroidered hangings, painted beams and carved rafters—a radiance of crimson gates and golden paving, white snow reflecting on jade windows, a palace of jade masonry. Immortal flowers bloomed, strange herbs gave forth fragrance—truly a splendid abode. The fairy called out, “Come out quickly and welcome our honoured guest!” No sooner had she spoken than several maidens emerged, clad in lotus robes and feathered garments, fluttering like spring blossoms and lovely as autumn moons. When they saw Baoyu, they reproached the fairy: “We hurried out, not knowing what ‘honoured guest’ you meant! You told us that at this hour the soul of our younger sister Jiangzhu would come to visit, and we have been waiting long. Why have you brought this vulgar creature to defile this pure realm of maidens?”

Baoyu was so startled that he wanted to withdraw but could not; indeed, he felt himself utterly base and filthy. The fairy took his hand and said to her sisters, “You do not know the whole story. Today I went to the Rongguo Mansion to fetch Jiangzhu, and on my way I passed by the Ningguo Mansion, where I chanced to meet the spirits of the Duke of Ning and the Duke of Rong. They entrusted me with this charge: ‘Our house has enjoyed rank and wealth for a century since the founding of the dynasty, but now our fortunes are exhausted and cannot be retrieved. Though we have many descendants, not one can carry on the family line. Only our true grandson, Baoyu, is of strange and wayward disposition, yet clever and intelligent enough to be moulded; but our family’s term of prosperity is ending, and we fear no one will guide him onto the right path. Since you, goddess, have come here by chance, we beg you to first warn his foolish obstinacy with the snares of love, beauty, and pleasure—perhaps he may then escape the maze of delusion and turn to the true way. That would be our good fortune.’ So I took pity and brought him here. I first showed him the registers of the high, middle, and low ranks of women in his family, but he was not awakened. Now I bring him here to experience further the illusions of feasting, beauty, and music, in hopes that he may one day come to his senses.”

So saying, she led Baoyu into the chamber. A faint, subtle fragrance filled the air—he could not tell what incense was burning. He asked. The fairy smiled coldly: “This incense does not exist in the mortal world—how could you know it? It is made from the essence of rare flowers gathered from famous mountains and scenic spots, blended with the oils of precious trees and pearls. It is called ‘Essence of All Fragrances.’” Baoyu could only admire. They took their seats, and little maids brought tea. Baoyu found its pure fragrance and exquisite taste quite extraordinary, and asked its name. The fairy said, “This tea is produced in the Cave of Scattered Fragrance on the Mountain of Released Spring, brewed with the dew gathered from immortal flowers and spirit leaves. It is called ‘A Cave of a Thousand Reds.’” Baoyu nodded in praise. In the room there were zithers, bronze tripods, ancient paintings, new poems—everything one could wish; and what was most pleasing, beneath the window lay remnants of embroiderers’ thread, and the dressing-case bore traces of powder. On the wall hung a couplet:

A place of subtle and ethereal beauty,
Yet under a sky of helpless fate.

Baoyu admired all. He asked the names of the fairy maidens: one was called Dream-of-Love Fairy, another Great-Sympathy Bodhisattva, another Gold-Maid Who Leads to Sorrow, another Bodhisattva Who Dispels Grief—each with a different title. Soon little maids set out tables and chairs and laid a feast. Truly: Nectar filled the crystal goblets; jade wine brimmed in amber cups. Not to mention the lavish dishes. Baoyu found the wine fragrant and mellow, quite unlike any mortal brew, and asked its name. The fairy said, “This wine is made from the stamens of a hundred flowers, the sap of ten thousand trees, combined with unicorn marrow and phoenix milk—it is called ‘A Cup of Ten Thousand Beauties.’” Baoyu praised it without end.

During the drinking, twelve dancing girls came forward and asked what song to perform. The fairy said, “Play the newly composed twelve pieces of Dream of Red Mansions.” The girls responded, lightly tapped the sandalwood clappers, and slowly plucked the silver zither, singing:

When chaos first was cleft…

But after just one line, the fairy interrupted: “This music is not like the worldly operatic tunes, with their fixed roles and nine modes. These pieces either sing of one person or lament one event, each composed as the occasion arose, and can be set to music. Unless you are one of those persons, you cannot know their subtlety. I fear you will not fully appreciate the melody. If you do not first read the lyrics, listening alone will be like chewing wax.” She turned and ordered a maid to bring the original manuscript of Dream of Red Mansions and handed it to Baoyu. He took it, reading the verses with his eyes while following the music with his ears:

Prologue: The Dream of Red Mansions
When chaos first was cleft, who were the lovers?
All for the passion of wind and moon.
On this helpless day, this grieving hour, this lonely time,
I try to speak my foolish heart.
Thus I bring you this Dream of Red Mansions,
Lamenting gold and mourning jade.

The Mistake of a Lifetime
All praise the golden match of gold and jade,
But I hold fast to the bond of stone and wood.
In vain I face the lofty, snowy, crystal-bright one—
I never forget the ethereal, lonely forest maid.
Alas! I now believe that in this world
Perfection is always marred.
Though we raise our brows in mutual respect,
In the end my heart cannot be at peace.

Vain Longing
One is a fairy flower in the fairy realm,
The other a flawless piece of jade.
If there were no predestined bond,
Why should they meet in this life?
If there were a predestined bond,
Why should their wishes all come to naught?
One sighs in vain,
The other frets without cause.
One is the moon in the water,
The other the flower in the mirror.
How many tears can there be in her eyes?
How can they flow from autumn through winter,
Through spring and into summer!

Baoyu found these songs diffuse and vague, seeing no particular merit in them, yet their melodies were so plaintive and moving that they quite enthralled him. So he did not probe too deeply into their meaning, but let them amuse him for the moment. He continued reading:

Regret for the Impermanent
She rejoiced in her glory,
But hated that impermanence came.
With staring eyes, she casts aside all worldly things;
Her frail soul floats away.
She looks to her homeland—the road is long, the mountains high.
So in a dream she tells her parents:
‘Your child has gone to the Yellow Springs—
Dear ones, retreat while you may!’

Parting from Flesh and Bone
Through wind and rain, three thousand li of road,
She leaves her flesh-and-blood home behind.
Fearing to grieve her aged parents,
She bids them not to worry for her.
From of old, poverty and success are fated;
Parting and meeting are not without cause.
Now we are separated, each in a different place,
Let each guard his own peace.
She is gone—do not be troubled.

Joy Amid Sorrow
In swaddling clothes, her parents died.
Even amid silk and finery, who knew her delicate nurture?
But she was born with a heroic, magnanimous heart,
Never letting love-sorrow weigh upon her mind—
Bright as moonlight, clear as wind, shining in the jade hall.
She finds a gifted, handsome match,
And wins a love that seems eternal,
To compensate for her orphaned youth.
But in the end, clouds disperse over Gaotang,
And the Xiang River runs dry.
Such is the cycle of fortune in the world—
Why vainly grieve?

Hard to Accept in the World
Her spirit is pure as orchid, her talent rare as an immortal’s.
By nature solitary, she is admired by few.
You say she scorns the reek of meat and finds silk vulgar—
But you do not know that too lofty provokes envy,
And too pure is shunned by all.
Pity! By the green lamp in the ancient temple she will grow old,
Belying the spring glory of her rosy chamber.
In the end she sinks into the mire of the dusty world,
Frustrating all her wishes—
Like flawless white jade fallen into mud.
Why should noble lords sigh over their lack of fate with her?

The Wrong Match
The Zhongshan wolf, that heartless beast,
Forgets all former bonds.
He gives himself to pride, luxury, and lechery.
He sees the noble beauty as but a common willow,
And treats the duke’s daughter like the lowest drab.
Alas! Her fair soul and lovely form
In one year wander off and are gone.

The Illusion of Vanity
She sees through the three springs,
What matter peach-blossom red and willow green?
She quells the splendour of youth
To seek the quiet harmony of heaven.
You speak of heavenly peach trees in bloom,
Cloud-like apricot blossoms—
But in the end, who can survive the autumn?
Look only: in the village of white poplars, men weep;
Beneath the green maples, ghosts chant.
Beyond, withered grass covers the graves.
This is the toil of those who rise or fall in a day,
The torment of flowers that bloom and fade.
Who can escape the gate of life and death?
I have heard that in the west there is a sacred tree
That bears the fruit of long life.

The Trap of Cleverness
Too clever by half, she outwits herself,
And her own life is the price.
Her heart was broken before she died,
And after death her spirit is but empty.
Her household was rich, her family safe—
In the end, ruin and scattering.
She wasted half a lifetime’s anxious care;
It is like a midnight dream.
Suddenly the great house collapses,
The lamp flickers and goes out.
Ah! One moment joy, the next grief.
How unpredictable is the world of men!

Leftover Blessings
Leftover blessings, leftover blessings—
Suddenly she meets her rescuer.
Thanks to her mother, thanks to her mother,
Who stored up hidden virtue.
Let us all help the needy and succour the poor,
Not be like her wicked uncle and treacherous cousin,
Who loved silver more than flesh and blood.
For heaven keeps the final reckoning.

Late Glory
Love is but a mirror’s gleam,
And fame a dream!
How swiftly youth departs!
Speak no more of embroidered curtains and mandarin quilts.
Though she wears the phoenix crown and cape,
They cannot save her from impermanence.
Though one should not suffer poverty in old age,
One must also build blessings for one’s children.
Proudly she wears her official hat,
Brightly gleams the golden seal on her breast,
Mighty and high her rank—
Yet dark and dim the road to the Yellow Springs.
Where are the generals and ministers of old?
Only empty names for later generations to admire.

The End of Good Fortune
Spring ends on the painted beam; fragrant dust falls.
Her love of beauty and her moon-like face
Are the root of the family’s ruin.
The decline of the house began with Jing;
The fault for its fall rests first with Ning.
All past sins are born of love.

Finale: All Birds Fly into the Wood
Those who were officials—their estates are desolate;
Those who were wealthy—their gold and silver are spent;
Those who showed kindness—escape from death;
Those who were heartless—meet their just reward.
Those who owed lives—their lives are paid;
Those who owed tears—their tears are drained.
The cycle of vengeance is no light matter;
Parting and meeting are all foreordained.
If you would know the short-lived, ask their former lives;
Old age and riches are but chance.
Those who see through all—enter the void;
Those who are infatuated—throw away their lives.
Like birds who fly to the wood when the feast is done,
Leaving a vast, white, empty land—truly bare!

When the singing ended, they were about to perform the supplementary songs. But the fairy, seeing Baoyu’s utter indifference, sighed, “You silly child, still not awakened!” Baoyu quickly stopped the singers, feeling drowsy and confused, and begged for wine and sleep. The fairy ordered the remnants of the feast cleared away and conducted Baoyu to a fragrant boudoir, whose splendid furnishings were beyond anything he had ever seen. More astonishing still, there was already a maiden inside—bright and alluring like Baochai, yet delicate and graceful like Daiyu. Before he could fathom its meaning, the fairy said:

“In the wealthy households of the world, those green-windowed nights of love and the mists of embroidered chambers have all been defiled by profligate scions and wanton women. Worse still, from ancient times, many a shallow rake has masked himself with the claim of being ‘lustful but not lewd,’ or used the excuse of ‘love without lust’—all empty pretences. To delight in beauty is to be lewd; to know love is to be even more lewd. The joys of cloud and rain arise from delight in both beauty and love. What I admire in you is that you are the greatest lecher of all ages.”

Baoyu was terrified and hurriedly protested, “Fairy, you are mistaken. I am often scolded by my parents for being lazy at my books—how dare I presume to the word ‘lewd’? Besides, I am still young and do not even know what ‘lewdness’ means.” The fairy said, “That is not the point. Though lewdness is of one principle, its forms differ. The common lecher is merely infatuated with fair faces, delighted by singing and dancing, given to endless dalliance and untimely lovemaking, wishing he might have all beauties under heaven for his instant pleasure—that is the gross lust of the flesh, the conduct of a brute. But your nature holds a peculiar kind of infatuation, which we call ‘love-lust’—a term that can be felt in the heart but not uttered, understood in spirit but not spoken. You alone possess this quality; among women, you may be a good companion, but in the common world you will be thought eccentric and strange, courted by a hundred tongues of scorn and a thousand eyes of resentment. Now, having met your forebears, the Dukes of Ning and Rong, with their deep entrustment, I cannot bear to see you cast aside by the world while merely adding lustre to the boudoir. So I have brought you here, drunk you with immortal wine, steeped you in fairy tea, startled you with wondrous songs, and now I give you my younger sister—whose pet name is Jianmei, and courtesy name Keqing—as your bride. Tonight is the auspicious hour; you shall be wed. Let this serve to show you that even the pleasures of the immortal realm are thus—how much more the world of dust! From now on, I hope you will cast aside your former fancies, turn your mind to the teachings of Confucius and Mencius, and devote yourself to the path of statecraft.”

With that, she whispered to him the arts of love, pushed him into the chamber, and closed the door behind her.

Baoyu, in a daze, followed the fairy’s instructions, and there passed between them the usual joys of marriage—needless to describe in full. The next day they were tenderly entwined, speaking soft words, inseparable. As they wandered hand in hand, they suddenly came upon a place overgrown with brambles, full of wolves and tigers, and before them a dark stream barred their way with no bridge to cross. While they hesitated, the fairy rushed up from behind and cried, “Do not go forward! Turn back at once!” Baoyu stopped and asked, “What place is this?” The fairy said, “This is the Ford of Confusion. It is ten thousand fathoms deep and stretches a thousand li; there is no boat, only a wooden raft steered by the Wooden Recluse and poled by the Ash Ferryman, who take no silver or gold but only ferry those predestined. You have come here by chance; if you fall in, you will betray all my warnings.” Before she finished, the water in the Ford roared like thunder, and many demons and sea-monsters dragged Baoyu down. He broke out in a cold sweat and cried aloud, “Keqing, save me!”

Startled, Xiren and the other maids rushed to hold him, calling, “Baoyu, don’t be afraid—we are here!”

Meanwhile, Qin Keqing, who was outside giving instructions to the little maids to watch the cats and dogs fighting, heard Baoyu cry out her pet name in his dream and wondered to herself: “No one here knows my childhood name—how could he know it and call it out in a dream?” And so it is said:

With whom does this dreamer share his dream?
Only I, the ancient lover, am truly infatuated.