'They are already sold,' said the girl. 'Here is the money.'

The old man wrote out a number of prescriptions, gave Zhao the money for his herbs and saw him on his way.

Back at home, Zhao tried out the prescriptions and found them to be extraordinarily effective. To this very day there are folk at Yishui who know how to make up Zhao's patent prescriptions, one of which a highly effective remedy for warts consists of pounded garlic, steeped in rainwater collected from the eaves of a thatched roof.

65.

TWENTY YEARS A DREAM.

Yang Yuwei went to live on the banks of the Si River, in a studio out in the wilds. There were numerous old graves just beyond the wall of his property. At night he could hear the wind soughing in the poplars, like the sound of surging waves.

He sat up late one evening beside his lamp and was beginning to feel very lonely and forlorn when he heard a voice outside chanting some lines of verse: In the dark night the cool wind blows where it will; Fireflies alight on the grass, they settle on my gown...

Over and over again he heard the same plaintive, melancholy lines chanted by a delicate woman's voice. The sound intrigued him greatly. The following day, he searched outside but could find no trace of the singer, except for a length of purple ribbon caught in the brambles, which he took back with him and placed on the window-sill. Towards the middle of the second watch of that night, the chanting began again. He moved his stool across to the window, climbed on to it and looked out. The sound ceased immediately. He now knew for sure that this must be the chanting of a ghost. He felt himself strangely drawn to it.

The following night, he crouched inside the outer wall of the compound and lay in wait for the ghost. Towards the end of the first watch, he saw a young woman come walking, almost gliding, out of the tall grass, leaning on the trees for support as she came, head bowed, chanting her melancholy dirge. Yang gave a faint cough, and she vanished at once into the tall grass. He continued to wait for her, and presently she reappeared. When her chanting was finished, Yang replied through the intervening wall: Who, alas, can know your heart's secret sorrow, As you stand at moonrise in your cold turquoise sleeves?

A long silence ensued, after which Yang retired to his room. He had been sitting there for a while when a beautiful young lady entered and, with a little shake of her sleeves, addressed him.

'You are indeed a gentleman of such refinement and cultivation, sir! It is a shame that I have shunned your company for so long.'

Yang helped her to a chair, scarcely able to contain his joy. She seemed so frail, and trembled, as if her body could barely support the weight of her own clothes.

'Where are you from?' he asked. 'Have you been long in these parts?'

'I am from the west, from the province of Gansu,' she replied. 'I followed my father here on his travels. When I was seventeen, I was taken with a sudden illness and died. That was twenty years ago or more. Since then I have haunted this desolate spot, lonely as a wild bird separated from its flock. The lines I was chanting I wrote myself, to give expression to my innermost feelings of grief. I have never been able to find lines to match them. You have completed the poem for me and brought me joy in the grave.'

Yang wished to make love to her without further ado, but she would not.

'I am a creature of the night,' she said, a slight frown crossing her brow. 'My dead bones are not like those of a living body. If we were to make love it would be an inauspicious union. It would only bring you an early death, and I could not bear to cause you harm.'

So Yang held back, merely toying with her breasts, which were as virginal and soft to the touch as freshly peeled lotus kernels. When he asked to see her little bound feet, her 'lotus-hooks', the tiny tips of which beckoned to him from beneath her skirt, she lowered her head and gave a little laugh.

'You're in a bit of a hurry, aren't you?'

Yang took her feet in his hands and caressed them, and, as he did, he noticed that one of her pale-green silk stockings was fastened with a purple ribbon, while the other was tied with coloured thread.

'Where is your other ribbon?' he asked.

'The other night you frightened me and I ran away I must have dropped it somewhere.'

'Allow me to replace it for you,' said Yang.

He took the ribbon from where he had kept it on his window-sill and handed it to her. She was curious to know where he had found it, and he told her while she undid the coloured thread and in its place tied the ribbon round her stocking.

She started browsing through the books on his desk and came across Yuan Zhen's famous ballad, 'The Lianchang Palace'.

'When I was alive this was one of my favourite poems,' she said, heaving a sigh. 'I feel as if this is all a dream!'

They talked about their favourite works of literature together, and he found her remarks both perceptive and endearing. They 'trimmed the lamp at the west window', talking into the night like newfound bosom-friends. And, from then, the faint sound of chanting would announce her arrival every evening.

'Never mention me to any of your friends,' she enjoined him. 'I have always been timid by nature, and am nervous of being roughly treated.'

Yang gave her his word, and they were as happy together as two fish sporting in the water. They never made love, but were happier and more intimate than many a married couple. She would often copy out their favourite works for him by lamplight in her neat, elegant calligraphy, and she even compiled her own selection of one hundred poems on courtly themes, copying them out and reciting them for him. She asked him to set out the Go-board and to buy a piba-mandolin, and every evening she would teach him Go-moves or play him a new air on the piba. She played 'Rain Dripping on the Plantains by the Window' but he found it unbearably melancholy, so she played him 'Oriole Singing in the Garden at Dawn' instead, which put him in a more cheerful mood. Thus they pleasantly whiled away the hours together well into the night and quite forgot the coming dawn. But the moment she saw first light at the window, she hurried away.

One day, a friend of Yang's by the name of Xue came to call and found him still asleep in bed. Xue was intrigued to see the piba and the Go-board in Yang's room, since to his knowledge his friend had never been fond of either. He started idly leafing through the books and papers on his desk and came across a handwritten scroll of poems on courtly themes, neatly written out in little characters. This intrigued him even more.

When Yang awoke, Xue asked him, 'Where do all these new hobbies of yours spring from?'

'Oh, I thought I'd try turning my hand to something new,' replied Yang, somewhat unconvincingly. Xue went on to inquire about the poems, which Yang pretended to have borrowed from a friend. Xue continued to glance through them, until he came to the very end, where he saw in minuscule characters the inscription: 'Written this... day of the... month, by Locket.'

He laughed. 'Locket why, that's a lady's name! You can't fool me!'

Yang seemed most put out and quite at a loss for words. Xue kept plying him with questions but his friend refused to give away his secret, until finally, when Xue made as if to walk off with the scroll under his arm, Yang gave in and told him the truth. Xue begged to see this mysterious lady-friend of his at once, and when Yang told him that he had given her his word never to mention her existence to a soul, he only pleaded the more insistently. In the end, Yang could hold out no longer and agreed to arrange a meeting between them. That night, when she came, he told her what he had done, and she reproached him angrily.

'Did I not make you promise? And you have to go gossiping like this!'

He told her how it had happened.

'It is all over between us!' she cried. 'Our destiny has run its course.'

His entreaties were of no avail, and she rose to leave, saying, 'I shall have to stay away for a while.'

The following day when Xue called, Yang was obliged to tell him that the meeting could no longer take place. Xue suspected that he was being fobbed off and came back again that night with two of his friends. They stayed and stayed and showed no sign of wanting to leave, making quite a nuisance of themselves and creating a great din into the early hours. Yang was most put out by their behaviour, but could do nothing to stop it. This continued for several nights, until eventually, since there was still no sign of Locket, the men gradually began to lose interest and their antics became more subdued. Then one night, they were about to leave for good when they heard a faint chanting outside, a beautiful sound of indescribable melancholy. Xue inclined his ear to listen, enraptured. One of his friends by the name of Wang, a boorish fellow and something of a dab hand at the Martial Arts, picked up a large rock and hurled it through the window.

'Stop putting on such highfalutin airs!' he cried. 'Come out and show your face, or shut up! No one's interested in your dreary verses! That fancy wailing bores us to death!'

The chanting ceased abruptly. The others reproached Wang, and Yang was extremely upset with them all and expressed his displeasure in no uncertain terms. The following morning they finally took their leave of him, and that night he slept alone in his studio, hoping against hope that his lady-friend would return. But there was no sign of her.

And then two days later, she appeared.

'How could you invite all those nasty friends of yours!' she sobbed. 'You just about frightened the wits out of me!'

Yang offered her an abject apology, but she was inconsolable.

'I meant it when I said it was all over between us! Farewell.'

She hurried out, and even as he reached out for her she had vanished.

For more than a month she did not come again. Yang pined for her, wasting away to skin and bone, but what he had done could not be undone. And then one evening he was drinking alone when to his great joy she parted the door-blind and walked in.

'Have you forgiven me?' he cried.

She wept and hung her head in silence, while he kept repeating the question. It was as if she wanted to say something in reply but could not bring herself to do so. Finally she spoke.

'I walked out on you in such a temper, and yet here I am back again, begging you for a favour. I feel so ashamed of myself.'

Yang pressed her to tell him more.

'It has all happened so suddenly. A vile monster is bullying me into being his concubine! I come from a good family how could I possibly stoop so low as to marry the ghost of a baseborn slave! But I am too weak to resist him. I beg you to come to my rescue, if you still think of me as your wife! I know I can count on you...'

Yang was filled with angry indignation at her plight, and offered at once to lay down his very life for her sake if need be. His only concern was that he would be unable to cross the gulf between the living and the dead.

'Tomorrow night you must go to sleep early,' she said. 'I will come to fetch you in your dreams.'

They sat up together talking till dawn, and as she left she told him not to sleep during the following day and to be ready for their meeting in the evening. Yang promised to do as she said. Late that afternoon, he had a little to drink, climbed on to his bed a trifle tipsy and lay down fully clothed as he was. The next instant he saw her enter. She handed him a sword and led him into a building. They had closed the door and were talking together when they heard the sound of someone smashing the door down with a stone.

'He's coming!' she cried in a fearful voice. 'My enemy is coming!' Throwing open the door and rushing out, Yang saw before him a man with bristling moustaches, wearing a red hat and a black gown. He reproached him angrily for his behaviour and the man replied with a hostile glare and a torrent of abuse, whereupon Yang rushed at him in a mighty rage. The fellow with the moustaches picked up a handful of stones and hurled them in a shower at Yang, striking him on his wrist so that he could no longer hold his sword. At this critical juncture Yang saw a figure in the distance, a man with a bow and arrow slung round his waist, setting off on a hunting expedition. Looking more carefully, he recognized him as his friend Wang, the Martial Arts enthusiast, and yelled to him for help. Wang strung his bow and came running towards him, letting loose one arrow that struck the red-hatted fellow in the thigh and another that killed him outright. Yang thanked his friend profusely for his timely intervention, and Wang, having ascertained the details of the situation, was glad to have done something to atone for his earlier boorishness. He accompanied Yang into the young lady's room.

She stood there trembling and bashful, keeping her distance and not saying a word. On the table in front of her lay a little dagger about a foot or so long. The blade was inlaid with gold and jade, and it shone brilliantly in its case. Wang held it in his hand. He was ecstatic in its praise and loth to put it down. He chatted a little longer with his friend Yang, but, seeing the young lady still standing there so timid and bashful, he presently said goodbye and took his leave. Yang also made his way home and was climbing over the wall into the compound when he stumbled and awoke with a start from his dream. The village roosters were already crowing. His wrist felt very painful, and by the light of dawn he could see that the skin was all red and swollen.

A little later that day, his friend Wang came to call on him and mentioned to Yang that he had dreamed a strange dream.

'Did you by any chance dream of shooting an arrow?' asked Yang. Wang was amazed that his friend should have known, and Yang showed him his bruised wrist and recounted his own dream. Wang for his part was still haunted by the beauty of the lady he had seen in his dream, his one regret being that it had not been a real encounter. He was pleased that he had been able to render some service to Yang's mysterious friend, and asked Yang to put in a word with her on his behalf.

That night she came to give thanks, and Yang gave all the credit for her rescue to Wang, at the same time conveying to her his friend's earnest desire to make her acquaintance.

'Such kindness should not be forgotten,' she said. 'But he is Caption

Wang strung his bow and let loose an arrow.

such a big fellow, he does rather scare me.' She continued, 'He seemed to take a liking to that dagger of mine. My father bought it for a hundred taels of silver when he was in Canton, and I have always been fond of it. I had the handle bound with gold thread and set with pearls. My father was so saddened by my early death that he had it buried in the ground with me. I would like to give it to your friend as a memento.'

The next day, Yang passed this message on to Wang, who was overjoyed. And that very evening she came with the dagger.

'Tell your friend to treasure it. It is not Chinese: it comes from a foreign land.'

From that day forth, she and Yang continued to see each other as before.

Several months passed by, and one evening they were sitting in the lamplight when suddenly she smiled at Yang, as if there was something on her mind. She blushed, and hesitated three times. Yang took her in his arms and asked her what was troubling her.

'You have given me so much affection,' she began. 'I have received from you the breath of the living. I have eaten your food. All of a sudden my blanched bones seem to feel life stirring in them once more. But I need the seed and blood of a living man if I am to be truly born again.'

Yang laughed. 'But it was you who always said no. When have I ever denied you?'

'After we make love,' she said, 'you will be gravely ill for three weeks. But with the right medicine you can be cured.'

They made love, and afterwards she dressed herself and rose to her feet.

'I still need a little human blood. Can you bear the pain for love's sake?'

Yang took a sharp knife and cut his arm, while she lay down on the bed and let the blood drip on to her navel. Then she stood up.

'I will not come again. Remember carefully what I am about to say. Count a hundred days from today, and go to my grave. You will see a blackbird singing in a tree. That is where you will find the grave. You must open it up.'

Yang noted all this carefully, and as she walked out through the doorway she said to him, 'Be neither a day early nor a day late. You must come on that exact day. Be sure not to forget.'

And so she left.

Ten days or so later, Yang fell gravely ill, his stomach becoming so swollen that he seemed close to death. A doctor gave him a remedy, which purged him of some vile stuff that resembled mud, and after another twelve days he had recovered.

On the hundredth day after Locket's departure, he duly made his way to the grave, sending one of his servants ahead with a shovel. As evening drew on, he saw two blackbirds in a tree.

'We can begin,' he ordered joyfully.

They hacked away the undergrowth and opened up the grave. The coffin boards had already rotted away, but the lady's body within the coffin was uncorrupted and still slightly warm to the touch. He wrapped her in a shroud and carried her home, laying her in a warm place. Her breathing was faint, tenuous like fine threads of silk. He fed her small portions of nourishing broth, and by midnight she was fully revived.

She always said to him afterwards, 'Those twenty years were like a dream.'

66.

MYNAH BIRD.

Wang Fenbin once told this story about a man in his native town who kept a mynah bird.

The man taught it to speak, and they became so intimate that the man took the bird with him every time he went travelling. A few years passed in this way. One day the man was passing through the town of Jiangzhou when he found that he had no money for the voyage home and became quite despondent.