The Cricket

I n the Xuande years the palace took up a fashion for cricket fights, and so every year the insects were levied off the common people. The cricket is no native of the western provinces, but a magistrate in Huayin, hoping to flatter his superiors, sent one up. It fought well. After that a steady tribute was demanded, and the magistrate passed the burden straight down to the village headmen. In the Xuande era the palace prized the sport of cricket fighting, and each year the insects were exacted from the common people. This creature is not by nature a product of the west; but a magistrate of Huayin, wishing to ingratiate himself with his superiors, sent one up. When it was made to fight it proved able, and so a regular supply was demanded of him. The magistrate in turn laid the demand upon the village headmen.

The young toughs of the market took to it for profit, caging the fine specimens and naming wild prices. The wily clerks made it an excuse to squeeze the registers: each cricket they demanded could break several households at once. In that county lived a man called Cheng Ming, a perennial student who had sat the examinations for years and never placed — slow of speech, easily imposed on. The clerks reported him fit and saddled him with the headman's post. The idle young men of the marketplace would cage a good cricket and keep it, raising its price and treating it as a rare commodity. The crafty clerks used this as a pretext to extort the population: each single cricket demanded would ruin the property of several families. In the district was a man named Cheng Ming, who followed the student's calling but had long failed to pass; awkward and halting in speech, he was, by the crafty clerks, reported and pressed into the village headman's service.

He schemed a hundred ways to wriggle free and could not. Before the year was out his thin holdings were eaten away. Then a cricket levy came due, and he had nothing — he dared not press the households, and could not afford to buy his way out. He was sick with worry, ready to die. His wife said dying would mend nothing; better go out and hunt himself, on the slim chance of a lucky find. Cheng agreed. He went out at dawn and came home at dusk, a bamboo tube and a copper-wire cage in hand, turning over stones and opening burrows along the ruined walls and in the thick grass. Nothing came of it. The two or three he did catch were feeble runts, far below the standard. He contrived by a hundred plans to escape the post and could not. Before the year was through, his meager property was wholly drained away. When a cricket levy fell due, he dared not exact it from the households, yet had no means to make up the loss; distressed and despairing, he wished to die. His wife said, 'What good is dying? Better to go and search yourself — there may be one chance in ten thousand of a find.' Cheng thought this right. Going out at dawn and returning at dusk, carrying a bamboo tube and a copper-wire cage, he searched the broken walls and clumps of grass, prying at stones and opening holes, leaving no method untried. Nothing availed; and the two or three he caught were weak and inferior, falling short of the requirement.

“A throne can want a small thing, and the wanting will run all the way down to a poor man's last copper and a child's life.”

The magistrate fixed a hard deadline and called him in to answer for it. In a little over ten days Cheng was flogged a hundred strokes, until the blood and pus ran between his thighs and he could no longer even walk out to hunt. He tossed on his bed and thought only of ending himself. Just then a hunchbacked sorceress came to the village, one who could divine by the spirits. Cheng's wife scraped together some money and went to ask her. Girls in red and old women in white crowded the doorway. Inside was a closed room hung with a curtain; before it stood an incense table. The petitioners burned incense in the censer and bowed twice, while the witch, gazing up at the empty air, mouthed a prayer on their behalf — her lips opening and closing on words no one could make out. Everyone stood in awe and listened. The magistrate set a strict deadline and pressed him by punishment. In a little more than ten days he was beaten to a hundred strokes; the pus and blood flowed freely between his two thighs, and he could no longer go out to catch crickets at all. Turning from side to side on his bed, he thought only of taking his own life. At that time there came to the village a hunchbacked sorceress who could divine by the spirits. Cheng's wife gathered money and went to inquire. Young women in red and old women in white filled the doorway. Within was a private room with a hanging curtain; outside the curtain an incense table was set. The inquirers burned incense in the censer and bowed twice over, while the sorceress, looking up into the empty air on their behalf, prayed — her lips parting and closing on words none could understand. Each stood reverent and listening.

After a moment a slip of paper was tossed out from behind the curtain, and on it was set down the very thing the petitioner had in mind, exact to a hair. Cheng's wife laid her coins on the table, burned incense, and bowed. In about the time it takes to eat a meal the curtain stirred and a scrap of paper fluttered down. She picked it up — not writing, but a picture. It showed a hall and pavilions like a temple, and behind it, at the foot of a small hill, jumbled grotesque rocks and a thicket of thorns, with a green-headed cricket crouched among them. Beside it sat a toad, as if poised to leap. She studied it and could make nothing of it — but the cricket was just what filled her heart. She folded it away and carried it home to Cheng. After a little, from within the curtain a paper was thrown out, and on it was written the very matter in the inquirer's mind, without the slightest error. Cheng's wife laid her money on the table, burned incense, and bowed. In about the space of a meal the curtain moved and a scrap of paper fell. Picking it up to look, she found it was not writing but a drawing: in the middle were painted a hall and pavilions, resembling a temple; behind it, at the foot of a small hill, grotesque rocks lay scattered and thorny brambles grew in clumps, and there a green-headed cricket lay hidden. Beside it was a toad, as though about to leap and dance. She unrolled and examined it, unable to understand it; yet seeing the cricket, it answered to what was in her heart. She folded it away and returned, showing it to Cheng.

Cheng turned it over and over. Was the spirit telling him where to hunt? He looked harder at the scene — it was the spitting image of the great Buddha temple east of the village. He forced himself up, leaned on his cane, and took the picture out behind the temple. There stood an ancient grave mound; along its edge ran ridged, scaly rocks, just as in the drawing. He went slowly through the wormwood, cocking an ear, as if hunting for a needle or a seed of mustard. For a long while there was no sign, no sound. He kept up the blind search — and then a toad suddenly hopped away. Startled, Cheng went after it. It slipped into the grass. Following its track, parting the stems, he found a cricket crouched at the root of a thornbush. He lunged, and it darted into a crack in the rocks. He teased at it with a slender grass-tip; it would not come. He flooded the hole with water from his tube, and out it came at last — a magnificent creature, big-bodied, long-tailed, green-necked, gold-winged. Overjoyed, he caged it and carried it home. Cheng pondered it again and again. Could the spirit be showing him where to catch the insect? Examining the scene closely, it was strikingly like the great Buddha hall east of the village. So he forced himself up, and leaning on his cane, took the picture and went behind the temple. There an ancient grave rose up; following its edge he walked, and saw ridged, scaly rocks, exactly resembling the drawing. Then among the wormwood he went slowly, listening sideways, as if seeking a needle or a mustard-seed. He searched a long time with no trace and no sound. While still groping blindly, a toad suddenly leapt away. Cheng, the more startled, hurried after it; it went into the grass. Tracing its tracks and parting the growth in search, he saw a cricket crouched at the root of the thorns. He pounced at once, and it went into a hole in the rock. He probed with a slender grass-stem; it would not come out. He poured water from his tube into the hole, and it began to emerge — its form exceedingly fine and vigorous. He chased and caught it: examining it, the body was large, the tail long, the neck green, the wings gold. Greatly delighted, he caged it and returned.

The whole household rejoiced — a thing more precious than a disc of jade. They settled it in a pot, fed it crab meat and yellow chestnut, and tended it with every care, waiting for the deadline to discharge their duty to the magistrate. Cheng had a young son. While his father was out, the boy secretly opened the pot to look. The cricket sprang out at once. He grabbed for it — too late: a leg came off in his fingers, the belly split, and in a moment it was dead. Terrified, the boy ran weeping to his mother. When she heard, her face went the color of ash. 'You ruinous seed,' she cried, 'your death is coming. Wait till your father is home — he will settle this with you.' The boy went off sobbing. The whole family congratulated one another, prizing it more than a jewel of jade. They kept it in a pot and reared it, providing crab meat and yellow chestnut, sparing no care and love, holding it against the appointed day to discharge their obligation to the magistrate. Cheng had a young son who, while his father was away, secretly opened the pot to look. The cricket sprang straight out. Before he could catch it, by the time it was in his hand a leg had come off and the belly burst, and in a moment it was dead. The boy, frightened, ran weeping to tell his mother. Hearing it, her face turned ashen as death, and she cried out in fury, 'You seed of ruin — your death is upon you. When your father comes home he will reckon with you himself.' The boy went off, weeping.

When Cheng came home and heard the news, it was as if ice and snow had closed over him. He went looking for the boy in a rage — and the boy had already thrown himself into the well. The anger turned at once to grief. They hauled him out, beat their breasts, called his name, and could have died there with him. Husband and wife sat facing the bare corners of the room. No smoke rose from the cold hearth. They looked at each other and said nothing, with nothing left to lean on. Toward dusk they took up straw to bury the child — and touching him, found a faint thread of breath still in him. Overjoyed, they laid him on the bed. By midnight he stirred and revived. Their hearts eased a little. But the cricket cage stood empty. When Cheng looked at it the breath caught and died in his throat. He dared not pursue the matter of the boy any further. When Cheng came home and heard his wife's words, it was as though he had been covered in ice and snow. In a rage he went to seek the boy — but the boy had already cast himself into the well. Thereupon his anger turned to grief, and crying out he could have died. Husband and wife faced the empty corners; from the thatched hut no smoke rose; they sat opposite in silence, with nothing more to depend on. As evening drew near they took straw to bury the child, and touching him, found his breath faint but lingering. Overjoyed, they set him on the bed. By the middle of the night he revived, and the hearts of the husband and wife were a little comforted. But the cricket cage was empty: when he looked at it, his breath broke off and his voice was swallowed, and he dared not pursue the matter further.

From dusk to dawn Cheng never closed his eyes. The sun mounted the sky and he lay stiff in a long, unbroken grief. Then, all at once, he heard a cricket chirping outside the door. He started up and looked — and there it was, as if nothing had happened. Delighted, he went to take it, but at each chirp it leapt away. He clapped his palm over it: empty, as though he had caught nothing. He raised his hand and it sprang off again. He chased it round the corner of the wall and lost it. Wandering, casting about him, he saw a cricket clinging to the wall. He looked it over: short, small, dark red — plainly not the one he had been chasing. Thinking it a poor and trifling thing, he ignored it and went on searching for the other. Then the small cricket on the wall suddenly leapt down onto his sleeve. He examined it: shaped like a mole-cricket, plum-blossom wings, a square head, long legs — it had the look of a fighter. Pleased, he took it in. From dusk to dawn he did not let his eyes meet in sleep. When the eastern sun had already mounted its chariot, he lay rigid in long sorrow. Suddenly he heard a cricket chirping outside the door. Starting up, he peered out: the cricket was there as before. Delighted, he went to catch it; but at each chirp it leapt away. When he covered it with his palm, it was empty, as if nothing were there; the moment he raised his hand, again it sprang off. Hurrying after it, it turned past the corner of the wall, and he lost where it had gone. Pacing and looking all about, he saw a cricket clinging to the wall. Examining it closely, it was short and small, of a dark red color — not at all the former creature. Cheng, taking it for small and inferior, went on hesitating and looking about, seeking the one he had chased. The small cricket on the wall suddenly leapt down onto his sleeve and breast. Looking at it, its form was like a mole-cricket, with plum-blossom wings, a square head, and long legs — it seemed a good one. Glad, he took it up.

He meant to present it, but feared it would not pass muster, and thought to try it in a fight first. There was a meddlesome young man in the village who kept a champion he called Crab-shell Green, matching it daily against the other boys' crickets and never losing; he priced it high and found no buyer. The youth came round to Cheng's, saw what Cheng was keeping, and laughed behind his hand. He brought out his own and set it in the comparison cage beside Cheng's. Seeing the great, long thing, Cheng was more ashamed than ever and dared not match them. But the youth pressed him hard, and Cheng reasoned that a worthless insect was no use to him anyway — better gamble it for a laugh. So he put them in together. He was about to present it at the official hall, but anxious and afraid it would not suit, he thought to try it in a fight to see. In the village was a meddlesome young man who had tamed a cricket he named Crab-shell Green, pitting it daily against the other young men's and never failing to win. He wished to keep it for profit and held its price high, but found no buyer. He came straight to Cheng's house to call on him, and seeing what Cheng kept, covered his mouth and laughed. He brought out his own and put it into the comparison cage. Cheng looked at it: huge and long, and he grew the more ashamed, not daring to match them. The young man pressed him firmly. Reflecting that keeping an inferior creature was, after all, of no use, he thought it better to stake it for a single laugh; and so he put them together to fight.

The little cricket crouched and would not stir, dull as a wooden chicken. The youth roared with laughter. He teased its feelers with a pig-bristle; still it did not move. He laughed again and prodded it once more — and the small cricket flew into a fury, charged straight in, and the two leapt and grappled, raising a din. In a moment the little one sprang up, spread its tail, stretched its feelers, and bit clean into the enemy's neck. The youth, aghast, broke them apart and called a halt. The cricket stood tall and chirped in triumph, as if reporting its victory to its master. Cheng was overjoyed. As the two of them stood admiring it, a chicken came darting by and pecked straight at the cricket. Cheng cried out in alarm — the peck, by luck, missed, and the cricket sprang off a foot or more. The chicken strode after and bore down on it; the cricket was already under its claws. Cheng, beside himself, did not know how to save it, and stamped the ground, white in the face. Then the chicken stretched its neck and thrashed about — and looking close, there was the cricket fastened to its comb, biting with all its might and not letting go. Astonished and overjoyed, Cheng picked it up and put it in the cage. The small cricket crouched still and did not move, stupid as a cock of wood. The young man laughed loudly again. He tried teasing its feelers with a pig-bristle; still it did not stir. The young man laughed once more. After he had teased it repeatedly, the cricket flew into a sudden rage and rushed straight in; the two then sprang up and struck at each other, rousing themselves and making a sound. In a moment the small one leapt up, spread its tail, stretched its feelers, and bit straight at the enemy's neck. The young man, greatly alarmed, separated them and made them stop. The cricket stood tall and chirped proudly, as if reporting its victory to its master. Cheng was greatly delighted. As they were admiring it together, a cock suddenly came and went straight at the cricket to peck it. Cheng, alarmed, stood crying out; by luck the peck missed, and the cricket sprang off a foot or more. The cock advanced briskly and pressed after it; the cricket was already under its claws. Cheng, in his haste, knew no way to rescue it, and stamped his feet, his face pale. Then he saw the cock stretch its neck and thrash about; looking close, the cricket was settled on its comb, biting hard and not loosening. The more astonished and delighted, Cheng took it up and set it in the cage.

Next day he brought it to the magistrate, who, seeing how small it was, scolded him angrily. Cheng told of its strange powers; the magistrate would not believe him, and set it against the other crickets — every one was beaten. He tried it against a chicken, and it was just as Cheng had said. So he rewarded Cheng and presented the cricket to the Governor. The Governor was delighted, sent it up to the emperor in a golden cage, and wrote a memorial detailing its gifts. In the palace it was matched against every tribute under heaven — butterflies, mantises, oil-crickets, green-foreheads, every rare and curious breed — and none could stand above it. More than that: whenever it heard the zither and lute, it would dance in time to the music. They marveled at it the more. The emperor, hugely pleased, decreed gifts of fine horses and silks to the Governor, who did not forget where his good fortune had come from. Before long the magistrate too was rated outstanding, and, pleased, released Cheng from his post and charged the examiner to enroll him in the county school. The next day he presented it to the magistrate, who, seeing it small, angrily rebuked him. Cheng related its strangeness, but the magistrate did not believe, and tried it against other crickets — all were utterly routed. He tried it again against a cock, and it was indeed as Cheng had said. So he rewarded Cheng and presented the cricket to the Governor. The Governor, greatly pleased, sent it up in a golden cage to the emperor, setting out its abilities in a detailed memorial. Once it was in the palace, all the butterflies, mantises, oil-crickets, green-silk-foreheads and every strange kind offered as tribute throughout the empire were tried against it, and none surpassed it. Each time it heard the sound of zither and lute, it would dance in keeping with the measure, and they marveled at it the more. The emperor, greatly pleased, decreed gifts to the Governor of famous horses and fine silks; and the Governor did not forget the source of his good fortune. Before long the magistrate was reported outstanding; pleased, he released Cheng from his post, and further charged the education officer to have him enrolled in the county school.

A little more than a year later, Cheng's son came back to himself. He told them that his body had become the cricket — nimble, quick, a born fighter — and that only now had he woken again. After a year and more, Cheng's son's spirit returned as before. He said of himself that his body had become the cricket, nimble and good at fighting, and that only now had he revived.

The Governor, for his part, rewarded Cheng richly. And so, by his skill at raising crickets, Cheng grew famous. Within a few years he held a hundred qing of fields, towers and pavilions by the ten thousand rafters, cattle and sheep in their thousands — and whenever he went out, his furs and horses outshone the old great houses. The Governor too rewarded Cheng generously. From this, by his skill in raising crickets, Cheng became renowned; in not many years he held a hundred qing of fields, towers and pavilions of ten thousand rafters, oxen and sheep by the thousand; and whenever he went out, his furs and horses surpassed those of the great families.

促織 The original Chinese · honored as an artifact

宣德間,宮中尚促織之戲,歲征民閒。此物故非西產;有華隂令欲媚上官,以一頭進,試使鬬而才,因責常供。

Opening lines, classical Chinese · Strange Tales 聊齋誌異 · Pu Songling