Chinese Fairy Tales and Fantasies (Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library) (14 page)

From then on Chang became a wealthy man without holding office, and the value of his services continued to rise with his rising reputation. He would visit only those who offered him large fees and comfortable transportation.

Another famous physician was Old Man Han, who lived in Yitu of Ch’ing province. Before he became famous he peddled tonics in the four corners of the realm. One night when he was far from any inn, he was given lodging by a family. It happened that their son was dying of typhoid, and the parents begged Han to treat the boy. Han feared that if he refused, they would throw him out; yet the truth was that he had no cure for the disease. Pacing back and forth wondering what to do, he rubbed his hand along his body, and some grime came off in his fingers. In his distraction he kneaded the dirt into a pellet. Then the thought struck him that he could dose the boy with it, for it certainly could do no harm. If there was no improvement by dawn, Han would have already earned a meal and his night’s rest.

Han gave the boy the pellet, and in the middle of the night the boy’s father came knocking furiously at Han’s door. Sure that the boy had died, the physician leaped out of bed and vaulted the compound wall to avoid a beating. The father pursued the fleeing doctor for over a mile and finally caught up with him. Then Han learned that the patient had sweated and recovered. They led the medical man back to a sumptuous banquet and sent him on his way richly rewarded.

—
P’u Sung-ling

A man who lived on the northern frontier of China was skilled in interpreting events. One day for no reason, his horse ran away to the nomads across the border. Everyone tried to console him, but his father said, “What makes you so sure this isn’t a blessing?” Some months later his horse returned, bringing a splendid nomad stallion. Everyone congratulated him, but his father said, “What makes you so sure this isn’t a disaster?” Their household was richer by a fine horse, which the son loved to ride. One day he fell and broke his hip. Everyone tried to console him, but his father said, “What makes you so sure this isn’t a blessing?”

A year later the nomads came in force across the border, and every able-bodied man took his bow and went into battle. The Chinese frontiersmen lost nine of every ten men. Only because the son was lame did father and son survive to take care of each other. Truly, blessing turns to disaster, and disaster to blessing: the changes have no end, nor can the mystery be fathomed.

—
Liu An

A woodsman of the state of Cheng was gathering firewood in the forest when he met a frightened deer. He stood before the animal and struck it dead. Afraid someone else would find and appropriate it, he hastily hid the deer in a ditch and covered it with the wood he had gathered. Presently, however, the place where he had hidden the deer slipped his mind, and he ended up thinking it had all been a dream.

As the woodsman continued on his way, he sang a song about what had happened. A passerby on the road overheard the song, and making use of the words, found the deer and took it home. The passerby told his wife, “I heard a woodsman who dreamed he had a deer but didn’t know where it was. I now have it, so plainly his dream was true.”

“Might it not be,” said his wife, “that
you
dreamed a woodsman had a deer? Why must there be a woodsman at all? Since you now have the deer, doesn’t it mean that
your
dream is true?”

“Well, since the deer is in my possession,” said the man, “what difference does it make whether he was dreaming or I was?”

When the woodsman who had killed the deer returned home, he was distressed over losing the animal. That night he dreamed of the place where he had hidden it and also of the passerby who had taken it. Early next morning he searched and found the man just where the dream had indicated. He took the man to court over the deer, and the case came before the magistrate.

Addressing the woodsman, the magistrate said, “At first when
you really got a deer, you called it a dream. And when you really dreamed of getting a deer, you called it real. The passerby really got your deer, and you are challenging him for it. His wife says that you are claiming another’s deer from a dream, and that no one got your deer. Now then, the passerby and his wife have possession of this deer, but I advise that it be divided between you.”

The magistrate brought the case to the attention of the king of Cheng. “Ah well,” said the king, “I suppose you will in turn be dreaming that you divided the deer?” The king consulted the prime minister, his chief adviser, who said, “I cannot tell dreaming from waking. Only the Yellow God-king or Confucius could do that. Since we have neither, it seems best to accept the magistrate’s decision.”

—
Lieh Tzu

Hua Tzu of the state of Sung suffered a loss of memory in his middle years. Whatever he took in the morning was forgotten by evening. Whatever he gave in the evening was forgotten by morning. On the road he would forget to move ahead. Indoors he would forget to sit down. Here and now, he has forgotten then; later he will not remember the here and now.

His whole household was plunged into confusion by his ailment. Finally he sought the help of an astrologer, but divination provided no answer. He sought the help of a medium, but prayer could not control the problem. He visited a physician, but the treatment brought no relief.

In the state of Lu there was a Confucian scholar who claimed that he could cure the disease, and Hua Tzu’s wife paid him half their estate to do it. “No sign or omen,” said the Confucian, “can solve this. No prayer can preserve him. No medicine will work. I must try to transform his mind and alter his thinking; then there may be hope.” The scholar stripped Hua Tzu, and the naked man demanded clothes. The scholar starved Hua Tzu, and he demanded food. He locked Hua Tzu in a dark room, and he demanded light.

The delighted Confucian said to Hua Tzu’s son, “This illness can be cured. But my remedy is a secret handed down for generations, a secret that has never been revealed to anyone outside our family. I must ask you to dismiss all your father’s attendants so that he can live alone with me for seven days.” The son agreed.

No one knows what methods the scholar used, but Hua Tzu’s ailment of many years cleared up. When Hua Tzu realized that
he was cured, he went into a tremendous rage. He chastised his wife, punished his son, and drove off the Confucian with weapons. People seized Hua Tzu and asked him why he did this.

“In my forgetfulness I was a free man, unaware if heaven and earth existed or not,” said Hua Tzu. “But now I remember all that has passed, all that remains or has perished, all that was gained or lost, all that brought sorrow or joy, all that was loved or hated—the ten thousand vexations of my decades of life. And I fear that these same things will disturb my mind no less in times to come. Where shall I find another moment’s oblivion?”

—
Lieh Tzu

During his travels to the east, Confucius came upon two boys arguing. He asked them why, and one replied, “I say that the sun is closest to us when it first comes up, and farthest away at noon.”

“No,” said the other, “it’s farthest from us when it rises and closest at noon.”

The first boy said, “When the sun rises, it’s as big as a chariot’s canopy. At noon it’s the size of a plate. Isn’t this because the farther is smaller, the closer is larger?”

The second boy said, “When the sun rises it’s still cool, but by noon it’s quite hot. Isn’t this because what’s closer is hotter, and what’s farther is cooler?”

When Confucius could not solve the problem, the two boys said, “Who says you know so much?”

—
Lieh Tzu