Jiao-no

K ong Xue-li was a descendant of the Sage — which is to say, of the Kong clan, who traced their line back to Confucius and never let you forget it. He was a man of quiet cultivation who wrote good poetry. A close friend of his had been posted as magistrate to Tiantai, and sent a letter urging Kong to come. Kong went. The magistrate promptly died. Stranded, too broke to pay the road home, Kong took lodgings at Putuo Temple and hired himself out to the monks as a copyist. Kong Sheng Xue-li was of the Sage's lineage. His character was refined and restrained; he excelled at poetry. A close friend of his had been appointed magistrate of Tiantai, and sent him a letter inviting him to come. Kong went, but the magistrate had just died. Drifting without means to return, he lodged at Putuo Temple, hiring himself out to copy documents for the monks.

About a hundred paces west of the temple stood the mansion of a certain Mr. Shan — a former grandee's son ruined by a lawsuit, moved to the countryside, and left the property empty. One day a great snowstorm buried everything; the roads were silent, not a soul moving. Kong was passing the mansion gate when a young man stepped out, bearing himself with the easy grace of someone who had never stood in a queue. He saw Kong and quickened his step, bowed with ceremony, asked after him with genuine warmth, and then invited him in. Kong liked him at once and went. About a hundred paces west of the temple was the residence of a Mr. Shan, a former grandee's son whose means had been destroyed by a great lawsuit; he had moved to the countryside, leaving the house long vacant. One day heavy snow fell in cascades; the roads were empty, no traveler passing. Kong happened by the gate when a young man came out — of surpassing elegance. Seeing Kong, he hastened forward with a greeting, exchanged a few warm words, and at once invited him in. Kong, feeling drawn to him, gladly followed.

Inside: not a very large compound, but every room hung with brocade curtains, the walls covered in paintings and calligraphy by ancient masters. On the desk lay a book titled Langhan Fragmentary Records — Kong flipped through it and found page after page of things he had never encountered anywhere. He assumed, since he was in the Shan residence, that the young man must be a Shan. He did not ask about rank or family. The young man questioned him carefully about his situation, expressed sympathy, and suggested he hang out a shingle to take on pupils. 'Wandering far from home,' Kong said, 'who would recommend me to anyone?' The young man said: 'If you will not reject a dull student, I would like to take you as my teacher.' Kong was pleased, but refused the formal title — let them be friends instead. He asked why the house had been locked so long. The young man explained: it was still the Shan family's property; their son had moved to the country and left it vacant. He himself was of the Huangfu clan, originally from Shaanxi — his family home had burned in a wildfire, and he was borrowing this place temporarily. Kong understood then that these were not Shans. The rooms were not very large, but brocade curtains hung everywhere, and the walls were covered with calligraphy and paintings by ancient masters. On the desk was a single book, its label reading Langhan Suoji. Flipping through it, Kong found things he had never seen before. Supposing this was the Shan residence, he took the young man to be a Shan, though he did not inquire into family rank. The young man questioned him closely about his circumstances, expressed sympathy, and encouraged him to set up classes and take pupils. Kong sighed: 'Far from home with no patron, who would vouch for me?' The young man replied: 'If you will not reject a slow learner, I would be honored to study under you.' Kong was glad, but declined the role of teacher and asked instead to be friends. He then asked why the house had been locked so long. The young man explained that it belonged to the Shan family; their son had moved to the countryside, so it had long stood empty. He himself was of the Huangfu clan from Shaanxi; his family home had been burnt in a wildfire, and he was borrowing this house temporarily. Kong now understood they were not Shans.

“Kong Lang died for me — how can I live?”

That night they talked and laughed until the room felt small, and Huangfu — for that was the young man's name — kept Kong in his bed. At dawn a page boy came to stoke the charcoal brazier. Huangfu slipped inside to the inner quarters. Kong was still sitting up in his bedding when the page announced: 'The old master is coming.' A white-haired elder walked in, bowing deeply and thanking Kong for not despising his son and consenting to instruct him. He presented a padded silk robe, a fur hat, stockings, and shoes. When Kong had washed and combed, wine was brought and food laid out — the tables, cushioned seats, and utensils were of kinds Kong could not name, but the light that came off them struck the eye. After several rounds of wine the old man took his leave, walking stick in hand. That evening they talked and laughed with great pleasure, and Kong was kept to share the bed. At dawn a page boy came to stoke the charcoal brazier. Huangfu rose first and went inside. Kong was still sitting up in his quilt when the page entered and announced: 'The old master is coming.' An elder entered, white-haired, bowing deeply to Kong in grateful courtesy, thanking him for not disdaining his son and agreeing to instruct him. He presented a padded silk robe, a fur hat, socks, and shoes. When he saw Kong had washed and combed, he called for wine and food. The tables, cushions, and utensils were of sorts Kong could not name, their brilliance striking the eye. After several rounds the elder excused himself and left, walking stick in hand.

After breakfast Huangfu showed his coursework — all classical prose and verse, nothing of the examination style. Kong asked why. He laughed: 'I am not aiming for office.' By evening they were drinking again. 'Tonight we make merry to the full,' Huangfu said. 'Tomorrow the rules return.' He sent the page to check whether the old master was asleep; when the answer came back yes, he had a silk pouch brought in, a pipa inside. Then a maid entered — her makeup vivid as a painting. Huangfu ordered her to play 'Consort Xiang.' She drew the ivory plectrum across the strings and the sound rose, passionate and sorrowful, in rhythms unlike anything Kong had heard before. Then she poured wine in great cups and kept them filled until the third watch. After the meal, Huangfu presented his studies — all classical prose composition and verse, nothing of the eight-legged examination essay. Asked about it, he laughed: 'I do not seek advancement.' Toward evening they drank again. Huangfu said: 'Tonight let us be wholly merry; tomorrow such things will not be permitted.' He called to the page to see whether the old master had gone to sleep; when told he had, he first had a silk bag brought in, containing a pipa. Shortly after, a maid entered, her face brilliantly made up. Huangfu ordered her to play 'The Xiang Consort.' She drew the ivory plectrum and the sound arose — stirring and mournful, the rhythm unlike anything Kong had heard before. She then poured wine in great goblets and kept the rounds going until the third watch of the night.

After that evening it became a pattern: early rising, shared study. Huangfu learned with startling speed — read once, retained forever. Two or three months in, his compositions had a quality that surprised. They settled on a drink-feast every five days, and at each one the maid — her name was Xiang Nu, Fragrance — was called in to play. One evening Kong drank himself warm and let his gaze linger on her. Huangfu read the look. 'She's kept by my father,' he said. 'You've been away from home too long, and I've been quietly thinking about your situation. I'll find you a good match.' Kong said: 'If you must find me one, let her be like Xiang Nu.' Huangfu laughed: 'You've seen little and marvel much, sir. If that passes as beautiful to you, your tastes are easily satisfied.' From then on they rose early each day to study together. Huangfu was exceedingly quick-minded; whatever he read he could recite from memory. After two or three months his compositions had a remarkable quality. They settled on a feast every five days, and at each feast Xiang Nu was summoned. One evening, flushed with wine and warmth, Kong let his gaze fix on her. Huangfu had already read his intention, and said: 'This maid is kept by my father. You have been away from home too long; I have long been quietly thinking on your behalf. I will find you a good match.' Kong said: 'If you truly mean to favor me, let it be someone like Xiang Nu.' Huangfu laughed: 'You are one who has seen little and marvels much. If you find this beautiful, your desires are easily satisfied.'

Half a year passed. One day Kong walked to the gate wanting to get some air — the double doors were barred from outside. He asked Huangfu, who explained: his father, worried that outside company would scatter Kong's mind, had simply closed off visitors. Kong accepted this. After half a year Kong went to the gate wishing to walk about outside, but found the double doors bolted from outside. He asked about it; Huangfu explained that his father feared contact with outsiders would distract Kong's thoughts, so he had declined all visitors. Kong accepted this and settled back.

Then the summer heat came in force. They moved their study out to the garden pavilion. A swelling appeared on Kong's chest, the size of a peach. By the next morning it had grown to the size of a bowl. He lay groaning. Huangfu came morning and night to sit with him, his own eating and sleeping suffering for it. Several more days and the sore turned violent; Kong could neither eat nor drink. The old master came as well, and the two of them sat beside Kong sighing. It was then the height of summer, sweltering and oppressive; they moved their study to the garden pavilion. A swelling appeared on Kong's chest, the size of a peach. By the next morning it had grown to the size of a bowl. He lay in pain, moaning. Huangfu came to see him morning and evening, himself unable to eat or sleep properly for worry. After several more days the sore became acute; Kong could take neither food nor drink. The old master came as well, and the two sat beside him sighing heavily.

Huangfu said: 'The other night a thought came to me. My younger sister Jiao-no has some gift for healing this kind of thing. I sent someone to our maternal grandfather's house to call her back — why hasn't she arrived?' Just then a page came in to report: 'Miss Nuo has come. Her maternal aunt and Miss Song have come with her.' Father and son hurried inside. A short while later, Huangfu led his sister in to see Kong. Huangfu said: 'The other night something occurred to me. My younger sister Jiao-no is able to treat this. I sent someone to our maternal grandfather's to summon her — why has she not yet arrived?' Just then a page came in to report: 'Miss Nuo has arrived; her maternal aunt and Miss Song have come with her.' Father and son both hurried inside. After a short while, Huangfu led his sister in to look at Kong.

She was perhaps thirteen or fourteen. Her gaze was alive with intelligence; her figure was as supple as a willow in spring. Kong looked at her and his moaning stopped. His whole spirit lifted. Huangfu said to her: 'This man is my closest friend — closer than a brother. Please heal him, sister.' She composed her shyness, drew back her long sleeves, and approached the bed to examine Kong. The grip of her fingers on his wrist: her fragrance was stronger than orchids. She smiled and said: 'It is fitting that you have this illness — your heart-pulse is stirring.' Then: 'The condition is dangerous, but it can be treated. The swelling has already hardened, though; we will need to cut through skin and flesh.' She was perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old. Her eyes flowed with a lively intelligence; her figure had the grace of a slender willow. Kong looked at her and his groaning ceased; his spirits rallied at once. Huangfu said to her: 'This is my closest friend, no less than a brother to me. Please heal him, sister.' She composed her shy expression, drew back her long sleeves, and approached the bed to examine him. As she took his wrist he was aware of a fragrance surpassing orchids. She smiled and said: 'It is fitting you have this illness — your heart-pulse is agitated.' Then: 'Though the condition is dangerous, it can be treated. But the swelling has already congealed; we must cut through skin and flesh.'

She slipped the gold bracelet from her arm, set it over the swelling, and pressed it slowly down. The sore rose up inside the ring, all its spread gathered neatly within the circle — no longer wide as a bowl. Then with one hand she opened her collar and unclipped a knife from her belt, its blade thin as paper. Holding bracelet and blade together, she cut lightly around the base. Dark blood ran out and soaked the bedding. Kong was so absorbed in watching her that he felt no pain — in fact, he was afraid she would finish too quickly and he would lose his excuse to remain close. Before long she had cut away the dead flesh, which came off in a lump like a growth pared from a tree. She called for water and washed the wound. Then she brought out from her mouth a red pill the size of a marble, pressed it against the flesh, and rotated it slowly: once around — a rush of heat; twice — a faint itch; three times, and cool clarity spread through his whole body, sinking to the bone. She retrieved the pill to her lips, said 'You are healed,' and rose to go. Kong leapt up and bowed his thanks. The long affliction was gone as though it had never existed. She slipped the gold bracelet from her wrist and placed it over the swelling, pressing it slowly down. The sore rose up about an inch inside the ring; all the surrounding inflammation was gathered within it, no longer as broad as a bowl. With one hand she opened her silk collar and unclipped a knife from her waist, its blade as thin as paper. Holding bracelet and blade together, she cut lightly along the base. Dark blood flowed out and stained the bedding. So absorbed was Kong in gazing at her that he felt no pain at all — he even feared she would finish quickly, cutting short his opportunity to remain near her. Before long she had cut away the decayed flesh, which came away in a round mass like a gall cut from a tree. She called for water to wash the wound, then produced from her mouth a red pill the size of a marble, pressed it to the wound, and rotated it with her finger: one revolution, and he felt intense heat; a second, a light itch; after a third, clear coolness spread through his entire body, penetrating to the marrow. She collected the pill back into her mouth, said 'You are healed,' and rose to leave. Kong sprang up to give his thanks. The long affliction had vanished as though it had never existed.

But now he could think of nothing except her face. The longing would not quit. He abandoned his books and sat in a stupor, good for nothing. Huangfu saw it. 'I will find you a match, brother,' he said. Kong asked who. 'Also one of my people.' Kong sat thinking for a long while, then said only: 'No need.' He turned to the wall and murmured two famous lines: 'Having crossed the sea, no other water will do — / Having seen Wushan's clouds, no other clouds exist.' Huangfu understood perfectly. He said: 'My father has long admired your talent and wished to form a family connection with you. But we have only the one younger sister, and she is too young besides — and promised elsewhere. There is, however, our aunt's daughter, Miss Song. She is eighteen and not unpleasing to look at. If you do not believe me, she walks in the garden every afternoon; wait in the front wing and you can see for yourself.' But he thought of nothing but her face; the yearning would not subside. From that point he neglected his books and sat as if bewitched, with nothing to sustain him. Huangfu had already observed this and said: 'I will find you a good match, brother.' 'Who?' 'Also one of my household.' Kong sat in thought for a long while, then said only: 'No need.' He turned to face the wall and quietly recited: 'Having crossed the sea, no lesser water will satisfy — / Save the clouds of Wushan, no clouds are clouds at all.' Huangfu understood his meaning. He said: 'My father has long admired your talent and has always wished to form a marriage alliance. But we have only the one younger sister, and she is both too young and already betrothed. There is, however, our aunt's daughter Miss Song, who is eighteen and not at all plain. If you do not believe me, she walks in the garden each day; wait in the front wing and you can see her.'

Kong did as told and waited. Sure enough, Jiao-no and a beautiful woman came walking through the garden together — arched brows like moth-antennae, tiny feet in embroidered slippers, their loveliness equal. Kong was delighted and asked Huangfu to make the proposal. Next morning Huangfu came out from the inner rooms beaming: 'It is agreed.' A separate courtyard was prepared; Kong was married with full ceremony. That night music and voices filled the air; dust drifted down from the beams. The woman Kong had spent months imagining had suddenly stepped from that dream into his bed. He began to feel that the palaces of the moon could not, after all, be so far above the earth. In the days that followed the marriage, his heart was wholly at ease. Kong followed the advice, waited, and indeed saw Jiao-no arrive in the garden with a beautiful woman. Brows arched and curved like moth-antennae, lotus feet in phoenix-embroidered slippers — her beauty was on a par with Jiao-no's. Kong was greatly pleased and asked Huangfu to serve as go-between. The next day Huangfu came out from within and congratulated him: 'It is settled.' A separate courtyard was prepared; the wedding rites were performed that evening. Music filled the air; dust drifted down from the beams. The woman he had glimpsed as a vision suddenly shared his bed-curtains; he began to feel that the palaces of the moon were perhaps not so very remote from the world of men after all. After the wedding his heart was wholly content.

Then one day Huangfu came to Kong with a worried face. The original owner of the mansion — the Shan heir — had resolved his lawsuit and was returning to reclaim the house, urgently. The Huangfu family would need to move west. Once they parted, it would be hard to be together again. Kong offered to go with them. Huangfu urged him to return to his home village instead; Kong hesitated, the road being long and his purse empty. 'Don't worry,' Huangfu said. 'I will send you there myself.' The old master brought Songyu out and presented Kong with one hundred gold taels as a parting gift. Huangfu took Kong and Songyu each by one hand, told them to close their eyes and not to look. Kong felt his feet leave the ground; only the sound of wind at his ears. After a long moment Huangfu said: 'We have arrived.' Kong opened his eyes. He was standing in his own village. He understood then that Huangfu was not a human being. One day Huangfu came to Kong with an expression of anxiety. He explained that Mr. Shan's son had resolved his lawsuit and was returning urgently to reclaim the house; the family would likely have to move west. Once they parted it would be difficult to gather again, and the thought of separation weighed on him. Kong wanted to accompany them. Huangfu counseled him to return to his home district; Kong was reluctant. Huangfu said: 'Do not worry — I can send you home directly.' Before long the old master brought Songyu out and presented Kong with one hundred gold taels. Huangfu took Kong and Songyu each by one hand, and instructed them to close their eyes and not look. Kong felt himself treading on air; he was aware only of the sound of wind past his ears. After some time Huangfu said: 'We have arrived.' Kong opened his eyes and found himself back in his home village. He understood then that Huangfu was not a human being.

He knocked at his own gate. His mother came out and stared. Then she saw Songyu, and her astonishment dissolved into joy. When she turned to look again, Huangfu was gone. Songyu served her mother-in-law with the devotion of a model daughter-in-law. Her beauty and her reputation for virtue spread through the district. He knocked at his own family gate. His mother came out in astonishment; then she saw the beautiful woman with him, and her surprise turned into delight. When she looked back again, Huangfu had already left. Songyu served her mother-in-law with filial devotion; her beauty and good name spread far and wide.

Kong later passed the jinshi examinations and was appointed judicial assistant in Yan'an. He took his family to the post. His mother, the road being too long, stayed home. Songyu bore a son they called Xiaohuan. In time Kong was dismissed for opposing a superior inspector and found himself stranded, unable to get back. One day he went hunting in the countryside and came across a handsome young man on a black horse who kept glancing at him. He looked more closely. Huangfu. They caught each other's reins and stopped; grief and joy arrived together. Huangfu invited him along. They rode to a village where old trees grew so dense the canopy blotted out the sky. Inside the house: gilded walls, the unmistakable air of a noble family. Kong asked after Jiao-no — she had married. The old mother — she had died. He felt real grief at that. They lodged the night and then parted. Later Kong passed the jinshi examinations and was appointed judicial assistant in Yan'an; he took his family to the post. His mother, the distance being too great, did not go. Songyu gave birth to a son, named Xiaohuan. In time Kong was dismissed for opposing an imperial inspector and found himself stranded and unable to return home. Once while hunting in the countryside he came upon a handsome young man on a black horse, who repeatedly looked over at him. Looking closely, he recognized Huangfu. They drew up and stopped; grief and joy were intermingled. Huangfu invited him to come along. They arrived at a village where great old trees grew so thickly they darkened the sky. Inside the house: gilded fittings, unmistakably the appearance of a great family. He asked after his younger sister — she had married. The old mother — she had passed away. He felt deep sorrow at this. They lodged that night and then parted.

Kong went home and brought his wife back to see Huangfu. Jiao-no was there too. She picked up little Xiaohuan and dandled him, teasing: 'Your sister has been muddling up my bloodline.' Kong bowed deeply in thanks for what she had once done for him. She laughed: 'Brother-in-law is a distinguished man now. The wound has healed long since — do you still remember the pain?' Her husband, a man named Wu, came to pay his respects as well. After two nights they all left. He returned with his wife. Jiao-no was also present; she lifted little Xiaohuan and played with him, saying teasingly: 'Your sister has been muddling up my bloodline.' Kong bowed reverently in gratitude for her past healing. She laughed: 'Brother-in-law has become a man of distinction. The wound has long since healed — do you still remember the pain?' Her husband, a man named Wu, also came to pay his respects. After two nights they departed.

One day Huangfu came to Kong looking troubled. 'Heaven is sending a calamity,' he said. 'Can you help us?' Kong did not know what was meant, but pledged himself at once. Huangfu called in the entire household and had them prostrate before the hall. Kong was alarmed and pressed him for an explanation. Huangfu said: 'We are not human — we are foxes. A thunder-tribulation is coming for us. If you are willing to put your body at risk, the whole family may have a chance to survive. If not, take your son and leave; do not be dragged down with us.' Kong swore to live or die with them. One day Huangfu came to Kong with a troubled expression and said: 'Heaven is sending down a calamity — can you come to our aid?' Kong did not understand what was meant but immediately pledged himself. Huangfu called the entire household in, and they all knelt and prostrated themselves before the hall. Kong was greatly alarmed and pressed him urgently. Huangfu said: 'We are not human — we are foxes. A thunder-tribulation is coming for us. If you will put your person at risk for us, the whole family may hope to survive; if not, please take your son and leave, so as not to be dragged down with us.' Kong swore to share life and death with them.

Huangfu stationed Kong at the gate with a sword and told him: 'When the thunder comes, do not move.' Kong stood as ordered. The sky darkened in the middle of the day, black as a sealed cave. He looked back at Huangfu's house — walls and gate were gone; in their place rose a great ancient mound, with a bottomless pit at its base. While Kong stood staring, a thunderclap shook the mountains. Rain and wind came tearing in; old trees were ripped out by the roots. Kong's vision blurred and his ears rang — but he did not move. Then through the churning black smoke he saw a thing: sharp beak, long claws, dragging a person upward out of the pit into the darkness above. He caught a glimpse of the clothing and knew — Jiao-no. He leapt from the ground, swung the sword, and cut. The creature dropped her and she fell. Then a thunderbolt cracked the air and Kong fell with it, and did not rise. Huangfu stationed Kong at the gate, gave him a sword, and instructed him: 'When the thunder strikes, do not move.' Kong stood as instructed. Dark clouds descended in the middle of the day, as black as pitch. Looking back at the old residence, walls and gate had vanished; in their place rose a great ancient mound, with a vast and bottomless pit at its base. As Kong stood bewildered, a tremendous thunderclap shook the mountains; violent rain and furious wind uprooted old trees. Kong's eyes were dazzled and his ears deafened; yet he did not move. Suddenly, amid roiling black smoke, he saw a demon — sharp-beaked and long-clawed — seizing a person from the pit and flying upward through the smoke. Glimpsing the clothing, he recognized Jiao-no. He leapt into the air and struck with his sword; the creature dropped her and she fell. Then a crashing thunderbolt exploded; Kong fell and died.

When the clouds broke and the sky cleared, Jiao-no had already come back to herself. She saw Kong lying dead beside her and wept aloud: 'Kong Lang died for me — how can I live?' Songyu also came out. Together they carried Kong inside. Jiao-no had Songyu hold his head; Huangfu used a gold hairpin to pry his teeth apart; Jiao-no herself took his chin in her hands, passed the red pill from her mouth to his with a kiss, then pressed her lips to his and breathed into him. The pill rattled down his throat. After a while he stirred and came back. The whole household stood around him. It was like waking from a dream. The shock settled; joy followed. When the storm broke and the sky cleared, Jiao-no had already revived on her own. Seeing Kong lying dead beside her, she wept aloud: 'Kong Lang died for me — how can I live on?' Songyu also came out; together they lifted Kong and carried him in. Jiao-no had Songyu support his head; Huangfu used a gold hairpin to open his teeth; Jiao-no herself held his chin, transferred the red pill from her own mouth with a kiss, then pressed her lips to his and breathed into him. The red pill passed down his throat with a rattling sound. After some time he regained consciousness. His entire household stood before him; it was like waking from a dream. The shock gave way at last to joy.

Kong felt that a mound-dwelling was no place to stay long, and they talked about moving back to his home district together. The whole household agreed; only Jiao-no looked unhappy, because of her husband Wu. Kong invited Wu to come too, but worried that Wu's parents might not want to leave their young son. They debated all day without settling it. Then a servant arrived from the Wu household, gasping, streaming with sweat. They questioned him urgently: the Wu family had suffered the same calamity on the same day. All dead. Jiao-no stamped her feet and wept without stopping. The others consoled her. And so the decision to go together was made. Kong felt that dwelling in an earthen mound was no place for long habitation, and they discussed returning together to his home district. The whole household agreed; only Jiao-no was unhappy, on account of her husband Wu. Kong invited Wu to come as well, but worried that his in-laws might not wish to leave their young son; they deliberated all day without reaching agreement. Suddenly a small servant arrived from the Wu household, breathless and soaked in sweat. They questioned him urgently; the Wu family had suffered the same calamity on the same day — the whole family had perished. Jiao-no stamped her feet in grief and wept without end. The others consoled her. And so the decision to return together was settled.

Kong went into the city for a few days to settle his affairs. Then they packed through the night and set out. Once home, Kong installed Huangfu's family in a secluded garden and kept it closed to visitors; the gate opened only when Kong and Songyu came. Kong and the Huangfu siblings spent their days in chess, wine, and conversation, as though they were one household. Their son Xiaohuan grew up handsome and fine-boned, with something fox-like about him. When he went out into the city, everyone knew at once he was the fox-child. Kong went into the city for several days to arrange his affairs, then they packed by night and departed. On returning home, Kong lodged the Huangfu family in a secluded garden, kept constantly locked; it was opened only when Kong and Songyu visited. Kong and the Huangfu brothers and sisters spent their days in chess, wine, and conversation as though they were one family. Xiaohuan grew up with a beautiful, delicate appearance and something fox-like about him. When he went out into the city, people all knew him as the fox-child.

Pu Songling, the Chronicler of the Strange, writes: Of Kong Sheng I do not envy him his beautiful wife — I envy him his intimate friend. To look upon her face is to forget hunger; to hear her voice is to dissolve into smiles. To have such a good friend and meet for wine and talk from time to time — her spirit given in the color of her face, his soul surrendered in kind — this surpasses even the frantic tumble of lovers' robes. The Chronicler of the Strange says: Of Kong Sheng, I do not envy him his beautiful wife — I envy him his intimate friend. To gaze upon her face is to forget hunger; to hear her voice is to relax into smiles. To have such a fine friend, and from time to time to share wine and conversation — 'spirit given in color, soul surrendered in kind' — this far surpasses even the heedless disarray of lovers' clothing.

嬌娜 The original Chinese · honored as an artifact

孔生雪笠，聖裔也。為人蘊藉，工詩。有執友令天台，寄函招之。生往，令適卒。落拓不得歸，寓菩陀寺，佣為寺僧抄錄。

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