The Lady Jia Passes Away in Yangzhou City Leng Zixing Expounds on the Rongguo Mansion

In the poem it is said:
The game of chess is hard to call—truth or deceit;
The incense burned, the tea grown cold, yet still one lingers on.
If you would know the signs of rise and fall before your eyes,
Ask the cold-eyed onlooker who stands aside.

Now, that man Feng Su, hearing the officials’ summons, hurried out with a smiling face to inquire. The runners only shouted, “Quick, invite Master Zhen out!” Feng Su forced a smile and said, “My humble surname is Feng, not Zhen. My son-in-law is indeed named Zhen, but he left home to become a monk a year or two ago. I wonder if you seek him?” The runners replied, “We know nothing of ‘true’ or ‘false’—we are merely sent by the prefect. Since he is your son-in-law, you must come with us to answer the prefect in person, and save us running about.” With that, they gave Feng Su no chance to speak, but shoved and hustled him away. Panic seized the Feng household—none could tell if this boded good or ill.

By about the second watch, Feng Su returned beaming with joy. The family crowded round to ask what had happened. He said, “It turns out the new prefect of this prefecture is named Jia Hua, a native of Huzhou, and an old acquaintance of my son-in-law. Passing our gate just now, he spotted the maid Jiaoxing buying thread, and supposed my son-in-law had moved here. I told him the whole story, and the prefect was deeply grieved and sighed much; then he asked after my granddaughter, and I told him she was lost during the lantern festival. He said, ‘Never mind—I shall send officers to search for her without fail.’ After some talk, he gave me two taels of silver as he left.” At this, the Lady Zhen could not but feel sorrow in her heart. The night passed without further talk.

Early next morning, Yucun sent two packets of silver, four bolts of silk brocade, as thanks to the Lady Zhen, and a private letter to Feng Su, entrusting him to convey to his daughter that he wished to take Jiaoxing as his secondary wife. Feng Su was beside himself with glee, more than eager to curry favour, and urged the matter upon his daughter with all his might. The bargain was soon struck. That night, by a small sedan chair, Jiaoxing was sent over. Yucun’s joy need not be told; he further gave Feng Su a hundred taels of silver and sent many gifts to the Lady Zhen, bidding her live comfortably while he awaited news of her lost daughter. Feng Su returned home, and all was quiet.

Now this maid Jiaoxing was the very one who had once turned her head to look at Yucun. By that single chance glance, she had brought about this strange fate—quite beyond her own expectation. Who could have foreseen that fortune would favour her? Within a year of coming to Yucun, she bore a son; half a year later, Yucun’s first wife suddenly fell ill and died, whereupon he raised Jiaoxing to the position of chief wife. Truly:

A slip by chance, and she mounts above the crowd.

Yucun, you see, had set out for the capital on the sixteenth of that month, after receiving the silver from Zhen Shiyin. At the great examination, he succeeded brilliantly, passing as a jinshi and being selected for the outer ranks, and had now risen to the prefecture of this very city. Though his talents were outstanding, he was not without a certain greed and harshness; moreover, relying on his gifts, he slighted his superiors, who cast askance looks at him. In less than a year, his superiors found a pretext and impeached him, charging that he was “crafty by nature, arbitrarily altering rites, seeking empty fame, secretly consorting with evil factions, causing local disorder and the people’s misery.” The emperor was enraged and promptly dismissed him from office. When the decree arrived, all the officials of the prefecture rejoiced. Yucun, though deeply mortified and resentful, showed no sign of anger on his face, but remained cheerful and composed as ever. After settling his accounts and sending his family and accumulated wealth back to his native place, he set off alone, light of heart, to wander through the famous sights of the realm.

One day, by chance, he came again to the district of Weiyang, where he learned that the Salt Commissioner that year was one Lin Ruhai. This Lin Ruhai—courtesy name Ruhai—had been a tanhua (third-place scholar) in a previous examination and had risen to the post of Censor of the Lantai Court. A native of Gusu, he had now been appointed by imperial decree as Inspector of Salt Revenue, and had taken office little more than a month before. Now, the Lin family had held hereditary marquisates for five generations down to Ruhai. Originally the title was to last only three generations, but by the extraordinary bounty of the present emperor—far surpassing former reigns—an additional generation had been granted to Ruhai’s father; and in Ruhai’s own generation, he took the civil-service route. Thus, though a house of bells and cauldrons, it was also a family of letters and learning. Yet the Lin clan was not prolific; its branches were few, and though there were some collateral kin, they were distant relations, with no close lineage. Ruhai, now forty, had once had a three-year-old son, but the boy had died the previous year. Though he had several concubines, fate had denied him male heirs—there was no help for it. He had only a daughter by his principal wife, Lady Jia, whose milk-name was Daiyu, now five years old. Having no son, the couple cherished her as a precious jewel; and seeing her clever and refined, they let her learn to read and write, raising her almost as if she were a son, to ease the emptiness of a childless hearth.

Just then Yucun caught a chill and fell ill at his inn; he rested for a month before gradually recovering. Tired in body and short of funds, he sought a suitable place to lodge. Fortunately, two old friends were also staying in the town, and they told him that the Salt Commissioner was looking for a tutor. Yucun asked their help and obtained the post, as a temporary means of support. The best part was that his pupil was but a single girl, with two maids as companions; the girl was young and frail, so her lessons were not demanding, and the work proved very easy.

A year passed, when suddenly the girl’s mother, Lady Jia, fell ill and died. The young lady attended her mother’s sickbed and mourned with deep grief, whereupon Yucun planned to resign and seek another place. But Lin Ruhai wished his daughter to continue her studies during the mourning period, and so kept Yucun on. Lately, however, the young lady had been so overcome by sorrow—already of delicate health—that her old malady recurred, and she missed several days of school. Yucun, at leisure and bored, would often take a stroll after meals on fine days.

One day, he chanced to walk beyond the city walls to enjoy the rustic scenery. Wandering at will, he came upon a place encircled by hills and water, thick with bamboo and trees, where a temple stood half-hidden. Its gate and lane were dilapidated, its walls crumbling; above the gate hung a plaque bearing the words “Temple of Wisdom and Enlightenment.” Beside the door, an old broken couplet read:

When there is still surplus behind, one forgets to draw back;
Only when the road ahead is blocked does one think of turning.

Yucun read this and thought, “Though the words are plain, the meaning is deep. I have visited many famous temples, but never seen such an inscription. Surely some one who has passed through great trials lives here.” So thinking, he entered, and saw an aged, decrepit monk boiling gruel. Yucun paid him little heed; but when he asked a few questions, the old monk proved both deaf and dim-witted, with broken teeth and a slurred tongue, answering at random.

Yucun, impatient, withdrew and made for a village tavern to drink a cup or two and add to the rustic pleasure. He walked slowly on. As soon as he entered the tavern, a drinker at a table rose laughing and came out to greet him, crying, “What a chance meeting!” Yucun looked—it was Leng Zixing, an antique dealer from the capital, whom he had known in former days in Beijing. Yucun had always admired Zixing as a man of action and ability, while Zixing valued Yucun’s scholarly repute, so the two had always got on well.

Yucun smiled and asked, “When did you come here, brother? I had no idea. Meeting you today is truly a happy coincidence.” Zixing said, “I went home at the end of last year, and am now on my way to the capital. I stopped by to visit a friend here, who was kind enough to keep me a few extra days. I am in no hurry; I shall stay until the middle of the month and then set out. Today my friend was busy, so I strolled out for a rest, and who would have thought to meet you!” So saying, he invited Yucun to share his table and ordered fresh wine and dishes. They drank slowly, chatting about what had passed since their last meeting.

Yucun then asked, “Are there any news from the capital lately?” Zixing replied, “Nothing much, except a little strange affair in your honourable clan.” Yucun laughed, “I have no clanfolk living in the capital—what can you mean?” Zixing laughed, “You share the same surname—are you not of one clan?” Yucun asked which family he meant. Zixing said, “The Jia family of the Rongguo Mansion—does that disgrace your lineage?” Yucun smiled, “Oh, that family. If one counts, my clan has many branches; ever since Jia Fu of the Eastern Han, the stock has spread through every province—who can trace it all? As for the Rongguo branch, they are indeed in the same genealogy. But they are so illustrious that we would not presume to claim kinship, and so we have grown estranged and hard to recognise.”

Zixing sighed, “Don’t say that, sir. The two mansions of Ning and Rong today are also dwindling—not what they once were.” Yucun said, “But in those days the Ning and Rong households had great numbers of people—how can they be dwindling?” Zixing said, “Exactly—it’s a long story.” Yucun said, “Last year I went to Jinling and wanted to see the relics of the Six Dynasties. I entered the Stone City and passed by their old mansions: the Ningguo Mansion on the east side of the street, the Rongguo on the west—two compounds adjoining, taking up half the street. Though the great gates were deserted, looking over the wall I could see that the halls and pavilions within still stood lofty and grand; and the gardens behind, with their trees and rocks, still had a verdant, moist vitality—how could that look like a decaying house?” Zixing laughed, “For a man who passed the jinshi examination, you are surprisingly ignorant! As the old saying goes, ‘A centipede dies but never falls stiff.’ Today, though not as flourishing as in its prime, it is still a different world from ordinary official families. But now there are ever more people, ever more affairs; masters and servants alike enjoy wealth and ease, with not a single one planning or managing; their daily extravagance they refuse to cut down. The outward show is still there, but the inner substance is all but exhausted. Yet that is a small matter. There is a greater one: this house, renowned for bells and cauldrons, for poetry and letters—its sons and grandsons are growing worse with each generation!” Yucun, hearing this, was surprised: “How can such a house of propriety and music fail to educate its children well? Of all families, I would have thought the Ning and Rong mansions best at raising their sons.”

Zixing sighed, “Those are exactly the two I mean. Let me tell you: the Duke of Ning and the Duke of Rong were own brothers by the same mother. The Duke of Ning, being the elder, had four sons. After his death, Jia Daihua inherited the title, and he too had two sons: the eldest, Jia Fu, died at eight or nine, leaving only the second, Jia Jing, who inherited the title. He now gives himself wholly to Taoism, loving only alchemy and elixirs, and cares for nothing else. Happily, he left an early son, named Jia Zhen, and because his father was bent on becoming an immortal, he passed the title to him. His father refused to return to his native place, but lingers outside the capital, messing about with Taoist priests. This Master Zhen has a son, now sixteen, named Jia Rong. Old Master Jing concerns himself with nothing. And as for this Master Zhen—would he ever study? He gives himself up to pleasure and debauchery, turning the Ningguo Mansion upside down, and no one dares to stop him. Now listen to the Rongguo side—the strange affair I mentioned is there. After the Duke of Rong died, his eldest son, Jia Daishan, inherited the title. He married a young lady of the Shi marquisate of Jinling—a family of hereditary honours—and had two sons: the elder, Jia She; the younger, Jia Zheng. Daishan has long since passed away, but the old lady is still living. The elder son, Jia She, holds the title. The younger, Jia Zheng, has loved books since childhood; his grandfather and father doted on him, and they meant him to win his rank through the examinations. But when Daishan lay dying, he submitted a final memorial, and the emperor, in his grace toward a deceased minister, allowed the elder son to inherit the title, and then asked how many other sons there were. He summoned Jia Zheng to an audience and, as an extra favour, gave him the post of a junior secretary in a ministry, where he has now risen to a sub-prefect. This Lord Jia Zheng’s wife, née Wang, first bore a son named Jia Zhu, who passed the district examination at fourteen, married and had a child before twenty, but then died of illness. Her second child was a daughter, born on New Year’s Day—that was strange enough; and then she bore another son, even stranger: at birth he had in his mouth a piece of brilliant, multi-coloured jade, with many characters inscribed on it, and so they named him Baoyu. Now, is that not a wonder?”

Yucun laughed, “Truly extraordinary—I daresay this person has no common origin.” Zixing sneered, “Everyone says so, and that is why the grandmother loves him like a treasure. On his first birthday, Lord Zheng wished to test his future inclinations, so he laid out all sorts of things for the child to grab. But the child took nothing—he only reached for rouge, powder, hairpins and bracelets. Lord Zheng was furious, saying, ‘He will be a lover of wine and women!’ and so took a dislike to him. Only the old lady, Lady Shi, treats him as her very life. And stranger still—now that he is seven or eight, though he is exceedingly mischievous, his cleverness and sensibility surpass a hundred others. His childish talk is the oddest of all: he says, ‘Girls are made of water, men of mud. When I see a girl, I feel fresh and clear; when I see a man, I feel foul and stinking.’ Is that not laughable? He will surely be a lecher!” Yucun checked him gravely and said sternly, “No! You do not understand the origin of such a person. I suspect even old Lord Zheng mistakes him for a lascivious devil. Without much reading, much knowledge, the power of investigating things and the capacity for profound understanding, one cannot grasp it.”

Zixing, seeing how seriously he spoke, begged to hear the reason. Yucun said, “The heaven-and-earth-born human beings—apart from the greatest good and the greatest evil—the rest differ little. The greatest good are born in response to the age of prosperity; the greatest evil in response to the age of calamity. When prosperity comes, the world is at peace; when calamity comes, the world is in turmoil. Yao, Shun, Yu, Tang, Wen, Wu, the Duke of Zhou, the Duke of Shao, Confucius, Mencius, Dong Zhongshu, Han Yu, the Zhou brothers, Cheng Yi and Cheng Hao, Zhang Zai, Zhu Xi—these were born in prosperity. Chi You, Gong Gong, Jie, Zhou, the First Emperor, Wang Mang, Cao Cao, Huan Wen, An Lushan, Qin Hui—these were born in calamity. The greatest good govern the world; the greatest evil throw it into chaos. Pure and bright, intelligent and fine—this is the upright qi of heaven and earth, which the good receive. Cruel, perverse, violent, and strange—this is the evil qi, which the wicked receive. Now, in this age of lasting prosperity and long peace, those who inherit the pure and bright qi abound from the court to the countryside. The surplus of that fine qi, with no place to go, turns into sweet dew and gentle winds, spreading over the four seas. But that cruel and perverse evil qi cannot flow freely under the bright sun; it congeals and fills the deep ravines and great chasms. Now and then, stirred by wind or driven by clouds, a thread or wisp of it leaks out by chance, and meets with the fine qi passing by. The one cannot tolerate the other; the evil envies the good. They struggle like wind and thunder, water and fire, meeting underground—unable to dissolve, unable to yield—and must battle and burst forth before they cease. Thus this qi is bound to be endowed upon some human being, to be discharged completely. If a man or woman receives it by chance, then in high station he will not become a virtuous gentleman, nor in low station a great villain. Among thousands, his brilliance and wit surpass all others; yet his perversity, his waywardness and unearthly manners, fall below all. If born into a noble and wealthy house, he will be a lover-maddening sentimentalist; if born into a poor but lettered family, he will be a recluse or a lofty eccentric; and even if born into a humble and destitute home, he will never stoop to be a menial drudge—he must become a famous actor, singer, or courtesan. Consider the ancients: Xu You, Tao Qian, Ruan Ji, Ji Kang, Liu Ling, the Wang and Xie clans, Gu Kaizhi, the last emperor of Chen, Emperor Ming of Tang, Emperor Huizong of Song, Liu Tingzhi, Wen Tingyun, Mi Fu, Shi Yannian, Liu Yong, Qin Guan; and in recent times, Ni Zan, Tang Yin, Zhu Zhishan; or again, Li Guinian, Huang Fanchuo, Jing Xinmo, Zhuo Wenjun, Hongfu, Xue Tao, Cui Yingying, Zhaoyun—all these, in a different station, would have been of the same kind.”

Zixing said, “According to you, then, ‘success makes one king or noble, failure makes one bandit or traitor’?” Yucun said, “Exactly that. You don’t know that since I was dismissed, I have wandered through many provinces these two years and have met two such extraordinary children. So when you mentioned Baoyu just now, I guessed at once that he belongs to that type. No need to go far—within Jinling city, you know the Zhen family, the Imperial Commissioner of the Bureau of Benevolence for Jiangnan?” Zixing said, “Who does not know them! The Zhen and Jia families are old relatives and old friends. Their intercourse is very close. Even I have had dealings with them for many a day.”

Yucun said, “Last year in Jinling, I was recommended to teach in the Zhen household. I went to see the place—and for all their eminence, they proved to be a family rich yet courteous, an excellent post. But the boy I taught, though only at his elementary lessons, was more trouble than a candidate for the highest examinations. Even funnier—he said, ‘I must have two girls to read with me, then I can recognise characters and understand them; otherwise my mind is all muddled.’ And he often said to his little servants, ‘The word “girl” is supremely honourable and pure—more noble even than the names of Amitabha or the Heavenly Worthy. You with your foul mouths and stinking tongues must never profane that word—mind that! If you must speak it, you must first rinse your mouth with clean water and fine tea; if you speak it wrongly, you will have your teeth chiseled and your cheeks pierced.’ His violence, impatience, stubbornness, and folly—all were extreme. But as soon as school was over, and he went inside to see the girls, he became gentle, peaceful, clever, and refined—a completely different person. His father beat him severely many times, but could not change him. When the beating hurt too much, he would cry out ‘Sister! Sister!’ The girls inside teased him: ‘Why do you call out for sisters when you’re beaten? Are you begging them to plead for you? Aren’t you ashamed?’ He gave the cleverest answer: ‘When the pain is sharp, calling “sister” may ease it—who knows? For once I called out, and the pain stopped; so I have found a secret: whenever the hurt is greatest, I call on sisters.’ Is that not ridiculous? Also, because his grandmother spoiled him blindly, she would often curse the tutors and scold her son on his account—so I resigned and left. And now I am tutoring in this Inspector of Salt’s house. You see, such a young man will never preserve his ancestors’ estate nor heed his teachers’ admonitions. It’s a pity that several of his sisters are rare ones.”

Zixing said, “Even in the Jia household, there are three good ones now. Lord Zheng’s eldest daughter, Yuanchun, because of her virtue and talent, has been chosen as a lady-in-waiting in the palace. The second daughter is born of Lord She’s concubine—named Yingchun; the third is Lord Zheng’s daughter by a concubine—named Tanchun; the fourth is the full sister of Jia Zhen of the Ning Mansion—named Xichun. Because the old lady Shi is extremely fond of her granddaughters, they all live with her and study together, and I hear each of them is excellent.” Yucun said, “What is even more admirable is the Zhen family’s custom—they name their daughters after the male line, not using flowery words like ‘Spring,’ ‘Red,’ ‘Fragrance,’ ‘Jade’ as others do. Why does the Jia household follow that vulgar fashion?” Zixing said, “Not exactly. It is only because the eldest young lady was born on New Year’s Day that she was named Yuanchun; the rest then followed with the character ‘spring.’ In the previous generation, they also followed the brothers’ names. There is proof: your present employer, Lord Lin’s wife, is the own sister of the two lords She and Zheng of the Rong Mansion; her maiden name was Jia Min. If you doubt me, go back and ask.” Yucun slapped the table and laughed, “No wonder this young lady of mine, whenever she comes across the character min in any book, always pronounces it as mi—every time; and when writing it, she always omits a stroke or two. I had wondered at that. Now that you tell me, it is certain. No wonder her speech and bearing are so different from ordinary girls—her mother must have been extraordinary to have such a daughter; and now I know she is a granddaughter of the Rong Mansion, I am not surprised. Pity that her mother died last month.” Zixing sighed, “Of the four old sisters, this one was the youngest, and now she too is gone. Of the elder generation, not one sister remains. Only look at this younger generation—whom will they find worthy to marry?”

Yucun said, “Indeed. You said Lord Zheng has that jade-bearing son, and also a weak grandson by his deceased eldest son. Does Lord She have no son at all?” Zixing said, “After Baoyu, Lord Zheng’s concubine bore another son—good or bad, who knows? For now there are two sons and one grandson—but the future is uncertain. As for Lord She, he too has two sons. The eldest, Jia Lian, is over twenty and married, in a union of kinship, to the niece of Lady Wang (Lord Zheng’s wife)—it has been two years now. This Master Lian has purchased the rank of sub-prefect; he too dislikes study, but is clever in worldly affairs and makes a decent show in conversation, so he currently lives at his uncle Lord Zheng’s house and helps manage the household affairs. But since his marriage, high and low alike praise his wife without end, while Master Lian has been put in the shade: she is said to be extremely handsome, quick of speech, and deep and subtle in mind—a woman in whom no man can match her.”

Yucun heard this and laughed, “You see my earlier words were not wrong. All those we have just mentioned—they may well be of the same kind, born of that mixture of good and evil qi.” Zixing said, “Evil or good, let us stop counting others’ accounts—you ought to drink another cup.” Yucun said, “True—we have talked so much that I have drunk several cups already.” Zixing laughed, “Talking of others’ affairs is the best relish for wine—a few more cups will do no harm.” Yucun looked out the window and said, “It is getting late; we must mind the city gates. Let us walk back slowly into the city and talk on the way—that will do.” So they rose, paid the wine bill, and were about to leave, when they heard someone behind call out: “Brother Yucun, congratulations! I have come specially to bring you good news.” Yucun turned hastily to look