Flying Fish of the Ji River 濟水魚飛

壬寅歲，濟源水中魚飛起，鳥鵲啄食之而墮，人取食無他異。甲辰冬，安賢鎮西南之馬陵，平旦無風雲，忽空中墮魚七八頭，不知所來，又比濟源者差小。陶朱種魚法，池中著鼈，不爾則飛去。

In the year renyin fish took wing from the waters at the head of the Ji River. Magpies ate them but then fell out of the sky, and people gathered and devoured them [fish and birds] without distinction. In the winter of the jiachen year, at Horse Hill to the southwest of Anxian Town, on a calm and cloudless dawn, seven or eight fish suddenly fell from the sky, their origins unknown, and not much smaller than those from the Ji. Tao Zhu’s method of breeding fish involves placing a soft-shelled turtle in the pool, and then [the fish] do not fly away like this.

Yuan Haowen 元好問, ‘Xu Yijian Zhi 續夷堅志 (Supplement to the Records of Yijian)’, ed. by Chang Zhenguo 常振國 in Xu Yijian Zhi / Hu Hai Xinwen Yijian Xu Zhi 續夷堅志 / 湖海新聞夷堅續志 (Selections from Supplement to the Records of Yijian and News of the Lakes and Seas Supplement to Records of Yijian), ed. by Chang Zhenguo 常振國 and Jin Xindian 金心點 (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 1986), juan 2, p. 25.

A Man Grows A Tail 人生尾

This comes from Xu Yijian Zhi 續夷堅志 (Supplement to the Records of Yijian)
A collection of strange stories collected by the writer Yuan Haowen during the Jin dynasty (1115-1234).

清河王博，以裁縫為業，年三十七。一日，詣聊城何道士，言：「丁酉初春，醉臥一桃園中，忽夢一神人，被金甲執戟，至其旁，蹴之使起。王問何為，神曰：『吾為汝送尾來。』自後覺尻骨痛癢，數日，生一尾指許大，如羊退毛尾骨然。欲勒去，痛貫心髓，灸之亦然。因自言不孝於母，使至飢餓，故受此報。每人觀看，則痛癢少止，否則不可耐也。」因問何求療，何無所措手，乃去。今在新店住。
何道士云。

Bo Wang of Qinghe worked as a tailor, and was thirty-seven years old. One day, a Daoist priest named He was leaving for Liaocheng narrated to me, “In early spring of the dingyou year, lying drunk in a peach garden, Wang suddenly saw in his dream an immortal dressed in the gold armour of a palace guard, who came to his side and stood to attention at his service. Wang asked him why, and the immortal said, “I have come to bring you a tail.” After this he began to feel an itching pain in his coccyx, and sprouted a finger-sized tail, bony but covered in soft hair like a sheep’s. He wanted to cut it off – the string of marrow through the middle hurt, and moxibustion treatment made no difference. He himself said the cause was a lack of filial piety towards his mother, and his flesh and skin had paid him back in this way. Everyone went to look at it, and the pain and itching died away, otherwise it would have been unbearable.” Because of all this he called He to cure it, but He was unable to manage it, and so left. Today he lives in Xindian.
Told by He the Daoist.

Yuan Haowen 元好問, ‘Xu Yijian Zhi 續夷堅志 (Supplement to the Records of Yijian)’, ed. by Chang Zhenguo 常振國 in Xu Yijian Zhi / Hu Hai Xinwen Yijian Xu Zhi 續夷堅志 / 湖海新聞夷堅續志 (Selections from Supplement to the Records of Yijian and News of the Lakes and Seas Supplement to Records of Yijian), ed. by Chang Zhenguo 常振國 and Jin Xindian 金心點 (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 1986), juan 1, p. 20.

The Undead Are Fat at Night and Thin in the Day 僵尸夜肥晝瘦

俞蒼石先生云：凡僵尸夜出攫人者，貌多豐腴，與生人無異；晝開其棺，則枯瘦如人腊矣；焚之，有啾啾作聲者。

Mr Yu Cangshi tells, “The undead all go out at night to seize and eat people, gradually becoming exceedingly plump in appearance, but they are unlike the living; when their coffins are opened in daylight they are emaciated like human jerky, and they make a chirping sound.

Yuan Mei 袁枚, Wang Yingzhi 王英志 (ed.), Yuan Mei Quanji 袁枚全集 [The Collected Works of Yuan Mei] (Nanjing: Jiangsu Guji Chubanshe, 1993), Volume 4: Zi Bu Yu 子不語, juan 24, p. 495.

A Black Bear Writes 狗熊寫字

乾隆辛巳，虎丘有乞者，養一狗熊，大如川馬，箭毛森立，能作字吟詩，而不能言。往觀者，一錢許一看。以素紙求書，則大書唐詩一首，酬以百錢。一日，乞丐外出，狗熊獨居。人又往，與一紙求寫。熊寫云：「我長沙鄉訓蒙人，姓金名汝利。少時被此丐與其伙伴捉我去。先以啞藥灌我，遂不能言。先畜一狗熊在家，將我剝衣捆住，渾身用針刺之，熱血淋漓。趁血熱時，即殺狗熊剝其皮包在我身上，人血狗血交粘生牢，永不脫落，用鐵鏈鎖我以騙人，今賺錢幾數萬貫矣。」書畢指其口，淚下如雨。眾人大駭，將丐者擒送有司，照采生折割律，立杖殺之。押解狗熊至長沙，交付本家。

余按：己未年京師某官奸僕婦，被婦咬去舌尖，蒙古醫來，命殺狗取舌，帶熱血鑲上，戒百日不出門，後引見奏對如初。元某將軍入陣，受刀箭傷無算，血涌氣絕。太醫某命殺馬剖其腹，抱將軍卧馬腹中，而令數十人摇動之，如食頃，將軍浴血而立，皆一理也。

In the year xinsi of Qianlong’s reign (1753), in Huqiu (in Jiangsu province) there was a beggar who kept a black bear which was as big as a Sichuan pony, had fur thick like a forest, and could write words and recite poetry, but was unable to speak. Onlookers could pay a coin and be allowed a glimpse, or bring plain paper and have a Tang dynasty poem written out elaborately for a hundred cash.

One day the beggar went out, and the bear was left on its own. Someone came along with a sheet of paper wanting it to write. The bear wrote, “I’m a schoolteacher from Changsha, my surname is Jin and my given name is Ruli. When I was a young man I was kidnapped and taken away by this beggar and his accomplice. First they gave me a muting drug, so I couldn’t talk. They had been keeping a black bear in the house, and they stripped my clothes and tied me up, pricking me all over with a needle so I was soaked in warm blood. Before it cooled, they killed the bear, peeled off its skin and wrapped it around me, and the bear blood and human blood made it stick fast so I could never take it off. They shackle me and make me deceive people, and I have earned them several tens of thousands strings of cash in profit.” After he finished writing he pointed to his mouth, and his tears fell like rain. The assembled crowd were astonished, and they took hold of the beggar and dragged him before the local officials; in accordance with the laws on witchcraft he was executed by flogging. The bear was escorted back to Changsha and handed over to his family.

Author’s note: In the year jiwei a certain official in the capital who had an evil servant woman, and she bit off the tip of his tongue. A Mongolian doctor came and directed him to kill a dog, take its tongue, and use hot blood to attach it. He warned the patient not to step outside his door for a hundred days. Afterwards the official could present memorials just as before.

During the Yuan, a certain general received a great many wounds in battle; blood spurted and he was about to breath his last. A doctor ordered the killing of a horse, had its stomach opened, laid the general within it, and had several dozen people shake it. After a moment the general stood up, bathed in blood but otherwise quite recovered.

Yuan Mei 袁枚, Wang Yingzhi 王英志 (ed.), Yuan Mei Quanji 袁枚全集 [The Collected Works of Yuan Mei] (Nanjing: Jiangsu Guji Chubanshe, 1993), Volume 4: Zi Bu Yu 子不語, juan 9, pp. 164-65.

Translator’s note: Such medicinal practices are not unheard of in early modern Inner Asia – for discussion of a range of textual references, some perhaps more alarming than the above tales, see Francis Woodman Cleaves, ‘A Medical Practice of The Mongols in The Thirteenth Century’, Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 17 (1954), 428-444.

(This article is available, to those of us with institutional affiliations, via JSTOR at: http://www.jstor.org/stable/2718323)

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貘 Mo

貘

房山有貘獸，好食銅鐵，而不傷人。凡民間犁刀斧之類，見則涎流，食之如腐；城門上所包鐵皮，盡為所啖。

Mo

On Fangshan there was an animal known as mo (a white leopard*), which liked to eat copper and iron, but did not harm people. The various ploughs, knives, and axes owned by the common folk made its mouth water, and it ate them up like tofu; the iron facings of the city gates were quite devoured too.

*most dictionaries seem to gloss 貘 mò as ‘tapir’, which in this context seems entertaining but unlikely, so I’m following my Classical Dictionary’s minority reading of ‘白豹’ báibào or ‘white leopard’.

Yuan Mei 袁枚, Wang Yingzhi 王英志 (ed.), Yuan Mei Quanji 袁枚全集 [The Collected Works of Yuan Mei] (Nanjing: Jiangsu Guji Chubanshe, 1993), Volume 4: Zi Bu Yu 子不語, juan 6, p. 106.

A Flying Vampire 飛僵

飛僵

穎州蔣太守，在直隸安州遇一老翁，兩手時時顫動，作搖鈴狀。叩其故，曰：「余家住某村，村居僅數十戶。山中出一僵尸，能飛行空中，食人小兒。每日未落，群相戒閉戶匿兒，猶往往被攫。村人探其穴，深不可測，無敢犯者。聞城中某道（土）[士]有法術，因糾積金帛往求捉怪。道士許諾，擇日至村中，設立法壇，謂眾人曰：「我法能布天羅地網，使不得飛去，亦須爾輩持兵械相助，尤需一膽大人入其穴。」眾人莫敢對，余應聲而出，問何差遣，法師曰：「凡僵尸最怕鈴鐺聲，爾到夜間伺其飛出，即入穴中，持兩大鈴搖之，手不可住；若稍歇，則尸入穴，爾受傷矣。」漏將下，法師登壇作法，余因握雙鈴，候尸飛出，儘力亂搖，手如雨點，不敢小住。尸到穴門，果猙獰怒視，聞鈴聲琅琅，逡巡不敢入；前面被人圍住，又無逃處，乃奮手張臂與村人格鬥。至天將明，仆地而倒。眾舉火焚之。余時在穴中未知也，猶搖鈴不敢停如故。至日中，眾大呼，余始出，而兩手動搖不止，遂至今成疾云。」

A Flying Vampire*

When Governor Jiang of Lingzhou was in Anzhou he met an elderly man whose hands shook constantly, as if he was ringing a small bell. When asked why, the old man said, “My home is in a hamlet, the inhabitants of which only number some ten families. A vampire came from the mountains; it could fly through the air and ate children. Each day before the sun went down, everyone was warned to close their doors and hide their children, but they were often taken anyway. The villagers went to its cave, but it was unfathomably deep and none dared enter.
They heard that in the city was a certain Daoist priest who could do magic, so they gathered gold and silks and went to ask him to catch the ghost.
The magician agreed and set a date to visit the village. He built an altar, and addressed the throng, saying, “My magic can spread out and hold it fast, preventing it from flying away, then you lot can take up weapons and help out; we especially need a big brave man to enter its cave.” The multitude did not dare answer, but I responded, stepping forward and asking why a man should be sent in. The Daoist said, “The thing all vampires fear above all else is the sound of hand-bells, so when night falls you need to wait for it to fly away, then enter the cave ringing two large bells. You must never let your hands stop; even if you rest for a moment, if the vampire enters the cave you will be hurt.”
Time passed, and the Daoist mounted his altar and began to work his magic, so I picked up a pair of bells and after the monster flew away I rang them crazily with all my might. My hands blurred like falling raindrops, but I didn’t dare rest for a moment. The vampire arrived at the mouth of the cave, and sure enough glared furiously, but hearing the clanging it hesitated, afraid to enter, but soon found itself surrounded by villagers, who raised their arms and set upon it. When the sky grew light, it collapsed onto the floor. The crowd then lit a fire and burned it.
Meanwhile I was in the cave and still unaware of all this, ringing the bell as before without daring to stop. At midday the crowd shouted and I left the cave, but my hands kept waving, and are still like this now.”

*The character 僵 jiāng has a central meaning of ‘stiff’ or ‘numb’, but in combination with 尸shī is often used for ‘corpse’, and in supernatural contexts has been used to refer to ambulant corpses, zombies, and the like. As this particular jiangshi is quite predatory and mobile, vampire seems a more useful term than the lumbering forms of the undead associated with the word ‘zombie’.

Yuan Mei 袁枚, Wang Yingzhi 王英志 (ed.), Yuan Mei Quanji 袁枚全集 [The Collected Works of Yuan Mei] (Nanjing: Jiangsu Guji Chubanshe, 1993), Volume 4: Zi Bu Yu 子不語, juan 12, pp. 230-31.

Spirits Steal Mantou 鬼搶饅頭

鬼搶饅頭

文林言：洞庭山多餓鬼，其家蒸饅頭一籠，甫熟，揭蓋見饅首唧唧自動，逐漸皺縮，如碗大者，頃刻變小如胡桃，食之味如麵筋，精華盡去。初不解其故，有老人云：「此餓鬼所搶也。起籠時以硃筆點之，便不能搶。」如其言，點者自點，縮者仍縮。蓋一人之點，不能勝群鬼之搶也。

Spirits Steal Mantou

Wenlin said: On Dongting Shan were many hungry ghosts, his family had just steamed a load of mantou, but when they lifted the lid they saw the steamed buns whispering to one another of their own accord and gradually shrinking, from being as big as a bowl down to the size of a walnut, as if their very essence was being devoured. To begin with nobody could understand what caused this, but an old man said, “These have been stolen by hungry ghosts. When you set up the steamer, mark them with a red dot; then they won’t be able to take any.” Following his instructions, each was marked, but they still shrank. One person’s mark alone can’t defeat the thievery of a horde of ghosts.

Yuan Mei 袁枚, Wang Yingzhi 王英志 (ed.), Yuan Mei Quanji 袁枚全集 [The Collected Works of Yuan Mei] (Nanjing: Jangsu Guji Chubanshe, 1993), Volume 4: Zi Bu Yu 子不語, juan 22, p. 424.

Black Peonies

黑牡丹

福建惠安縣，有青山大王廟。廟之階下，所種皆黑牡丹。花開時數百，朵朵皆向大王神像而開；移動神像，花亦轉面向之。

Black Peonies

In Hui’an County of Fujian Province was a temple to the King of Qing Shan. Below the temple stairs, the only things planted were black peonies. When the time came for the several hundred flowers to open, each bloom faced the statue of the king; when the idol moved, the flowers turned to face it.

Yuan Mei 袁枚, Wang Yingzhi 王英志 (ed.), Yuan Mei Quanji 袁枚全集 [The Collected Works of Yuan Mei] (Nanjing: Jangsu Guji Chubanshe, 1993), Volume 4: Zi Bu Yu 子不語, juan 4, p. 67.

枯骨自贊 A Skeleton Praises Itself

This seems very suitable for Halloween… but then so is most of Zi Bu Yu.

袁枚全集卷2, p. 37

枯骨自贊

蘇州上方山有僧寺。揚州汪姓者，寓寺中。白日聞階下喃喃人語，召他客聽之，皆有所聞。疑有鬼訴冤，糾僧眾用犂鋤掘之。深五尺許，得一朽棺，中藏枯骨一具，此外并無他物，乃依舊掩埋。未半刻，又聞地下人語喃喃，若聲自棺中出者。眾人齊傾耳焉，終不能辨其一字，群相驚疑。 或曰：「西房有德音禪師，德行甚高，能通鬼語，盍請渠一聽？」汪即與眾人請禪師來。禪師傴僂于地，良久，誶曰：「不必睬他。此鬼前世作大官，好人奉承。死後無人奉承，故時時在棺材中自稱自贊耳。」眾人大笑而散，土中聲亦漸漸微矣。

Yuan Mei 袁枚, Wang Yingzhi 王英志 (ed.), Yuan Mei Quanji 袁枚全集 [The Collected Works of Yuan Mei] (Nanjing: Jangsu Guji Chubanshe, 1993), juan 2, p. 37.

A Skeleton Praises Itself

On Shangfang Shan in Suzhou there was a Buddhist temple, and a Yangzhou man of the surname Wang lived there. In broad daylight he heard mumbling in a human language coming from beneath the stairs, summoning him to pay it a visit and listen to it – this was all he could hear all day. Thinking this was some spirit with a grievance, he gathered the monks and together they used a plough to dig down to it. About five chi deep they discovered a rotten coffin; in this lay a skeleton, but apart from this there was nothing else, so they buried it as before. Before long, Wang again heard a mumbling under the ground, like a voice coming from a coffin. Everyone leaned together and listened to it, but eventually were unable to distinguish individual words, and looked at one another in doubt and confusion.
Someone said, “In the western room there is a wise Chan master; he is a man of great integrity, and he knows the language of spirits, so why not invite him to listen?” Wang immediately went with the crowd and invited the Chan master to come.
The Chan master bent his body to the ground, and after a good while upbraided them, saying, “There’s no need to pay attention to him. In his previous existence he was a grand official, and everyone flattered him. After he died nobody flattered him, so just he lies in his coffin and constantly praises himself.”
The crowd all laughed and went on their way, and the voice beneath the ground gradually faded.

Birds in the rain

This afternoon I was sitting in the 師大 Shida library, looking out of the big first-floor windows at the rain pouring determinedly onto Heping Road, and at a number of birds taking advantage of the breadfruit trees’ dinner-plate-sized leaves to stay almost dry in the continuing deluge. White-eyes were bouncing gracefully from branch to branch (I’m not at all sure that ‘bounce’ and graceful’ can usually be combined, but if anyone can manage it, my money is on the white-eye).

A pair of the more substantial Spotted-neck Doves 珠頸斑鳩 also stopped by for a brief visit and a shake of damp feathers. These are rather elegant, sporting subtle russet and grey feathers across most of their bodies, and then setting things off with a delicate collar of white polka dots on a near-black ground. They’re also more slender in build than their more familiar city pigeon relatives, and somehow look more calmly melancholy and less frenetically dedicated to eating and other worldly pleasures. Unfortunately my painting makes this one look rather ill-tempered, but what can you do? 어떻게 !