Nie Xiaoqian

N ing Caichen was a Zhejiang man, open-handed and plain-spoken, the kind who guarded his own conduct like a wall. He used to tell people, flatly, that in all his life he had never looked at a woman but his own. Business took him to Jinhua, and at the north edge of town he set his bundle down at a temple to rest. The halls and pagoda were grand enough, but the weeds stood taller than a man and the paths had gone to no one's feet for years. Ning Caichen was a man of Zhejiang, generous and frank by nature, strict with himself in conduct. He always told people, "In my life I have had no second love." Once, traveling to Jinhua, he reached the north wall of the city and set down his baggage at a Buddhist temple. The temple's halls and pagoda were grand and imposing, yet the weeds buried a man, as though no one walked there.

The monks' quarters east and west stood with their doors half open, all but one small cell that was locked up tight and looked new-kept. By the eastern corner of the main hall a stand of bamboo as thick as a fist grew over a wide pond, where wild lotus had already flowered. Ning liked the deep quiet of the place. With the examination commissioner due in town, lodgings had gone dear, so he decided to stay on, and strolled about waiting for a monk to return. The monks' quarters east and west had their double doors loosely shut, only one small cell with its bolt and lock as if new. Looking to the eastern corner of the hall, he saw bamboo a fist's-girth thick, and below the steps a great pond where the wild lotus had already bloomed. He took much pleasure in its secluded depth. The examination commissioner was arriving, and lodgings in the city were costly, so he thought to stay here, and strolled about waiting for the monks to come back.

At dusk a scholar came and opened the south door. Ning went to him courteously and explained himself. The man said there was no landlord here — he too was only camping. If Ning could stomach the desolation, and would favor him with his company morning and night, he'd be glad of it. Ning made himself a bed of straw and a desk of a propped board, settling in like a man planning a long stay. That night the moon hung bright and clean, the cold light running like water, and the two men sat knee to knee in the gallery and traded names. The stranger said he was Yan, courtesy name Chixia. His accent was nothing like Zhejiang's; pressed, he called himself a man of Qin. He was blunt and honest, and when their talk ran dry they bowed and went to bed. At dusk a scholar came and opened the south door. Ning hurried to pay his respects and told him his purpose. The scholar said, "There is no landlord here; I too am only lodging. If you can bear the desolation, and instruct me morning and evening, I would be most fortunate." Ning was pleased. He spread straw for a bed and propped a board for a desk, making plans as a long-term guest. That night the moon was bright and pure, its clear light like water, and the two sat knee to knee in the hall gallery, each giving his name. The scholar said his surname was Yan, his courtesy name Chixia. Ning had supposed he was there for the examination, but his speech was unlike Zhejiang's; questioned, he said he was a man of Qin. His words were simple and sincere. When their talk was exhausted, they bowed and parted for sleep.

“This one, she saw, was iron and stone all the way through.”

Ning could not sleep in the strange place. From the north came a low murmuring, like a household awake. He rose and looked out from under the stone window in the north wall. Beyond a low wall lay a little courtyard, and in it a woman of about forty and an old crone in a faded red gown, bent and ancient, were talking under the moon. "Why hasn't Xiaoqian come?" the woman said. The crone said she ought to be along soon. "She hasn't been complaining about you, has she?" the woman asked. "No," said the crone, "but she seems out of sorts." "The little wretch doesn't deserve kindness," the woman said — and a girl of seventeen or eighteen came in, lovely past describing. The crone laughed: "Speak no ill of folk behind their backs. We two were just saying what a sweet little demon you are. And here you come without a sound." In the new lodging Ning could not sleep. He heard murmuring from the north of the building, as of a household. Rising, he peered out beneath the stone window of the north wall. Past a low wall was a small courtyard, where a woman of perhaps forty-odd and an old woman in faded crimson, with a tortoise-back and senile gait, were talking under the moon. The woman said, "Why has Xiaoqian not come for so long?" The crone said, "She should be here soon." The woman said, "Has she no complaint against you?" "None that I've heard, but she seems downcast." The woman said, "The slave-girl does not deserve good treatment." Before she finished, a girl of seventeen or eighteen came, seemingly beautiful beyond compare. The crone laughed, "Don't speak of people behind their backs. We two were just saying — what a pretty little demon-girl, come so quietly without a trace."

Ning took them for some neighbor's family and lay back down. A long while later, just as he was dropping off, he felt someone come into his room. He sat up fast — it was the girl from the north courtyard. She smiled and said the moon was too bright for sleep; she'd come to share his bed. Ning sat straight and said, "You should mind what people will say, and so should I. One slip of the foot and a person's honor is gone." She said no one would know in the dark. He scolded her off. She lingered, as if she had more to say. He told her to leave at once or he'd call the scholar in the south room. She went, frightened — then turned at the door, came back, and laid a bar of gold on his bedding. Ning picked it up and flung it out into the courtyard. "This is not honest money," he said. "It dirties my purse." She went out ashamed, gathering up the gold, and said to herself: this man is iron and stone. Ning supposed they were a neighbor's household and lay down again, no longer listening. After some time all fell silent. As he was about to sleep, he sensed someone enter his sleeping place. He rose quickly and looked: it was the girl of the north courtyard. Startled, he questioned her. She smiled and said, "A moonlit night, sleepless — I wish to share love with you." Ning, composing his face, said, "You should fear gossip, and I dread people's talk. One slip of the foot, and the way of honor is lost." The girl said, "In the night no one knows." Ning scolded her again. She hesitated, as if she still had words. Ning shouted at her to go quickly, or he would call the scholar in the south room. The girl, frightened, withdrew. At the door she suddenly returned and laid a bar of gold on the bedding. Ning snatched it up and threw it into the courtyard, saying, "Money gained without right fouls my purse." The girl, ashamed, went out, picked up the gold, and said to herself, "This fellow must be iron and stone."

At dawn a scholar from Lanxi arrived with a servant to wait for the exam, and took a room in the east wing. That night he died suddenly. In the sole of his foot was a small hole, as if pricked by an awl, with a fine thread of blood running out. No one knew the cause. By the next night the servant was dead too, marked the same way. When Yan came back that evening, Ning asked him about it. Yan said the place was haunted. Ning, being upright and hard-headed, did not let it weigh on him. At dawn a scholar of Lanxi came with one servant to await the examination, lodging in the east wing. That night he died suddenly. In the sole of his foot was a small hole as if pricked by an awl, with fine blood seeping out, and no one knew the reason. After one more night the servant also died, marked the same way. Toward evening the scholar Yan returned, and Ning questioned him; Yan thought it the work of a goblin. Ning, being upright and unbending, did not much take it to heart.

At midnight the girl came again. She told Ning plainly: "I have known many men, and never one with a temper as hard as yours. You are a true gentleman, and I will not lie to you. My name is Nie Xiaoqian. I died at eighteen and was buried beside this temple. A monster forces me to do this vile work, to come before men and lure them — it is not what I want. There is no one left here to kill, so it will likely send a yaksha to come for you tonight." Ning, terrified, asked what to do. She told him to share Yan's room and he would be spared. He asked why. "Yan is an extraordinary man," she said. "It dares not go near him." Then he asked how she did the killing. The men who took her to bed, she said, she pricked in the foot with an awl, and they fell into a stupor while she drew off their blood for the monster to drink. Or she lured them with the gold — which was no gold, but the bone of a rakshasa demon, and it cut out a man's heart and liver. Whichever the man's appetite favored, that was the bait. At midnight the girl came again and said to Ning, "I have looked over many men, but none of so iron a heart as you. You are truly a sage, and I dare not deceive you. My surname is Nie, my name Xiaoqian. I died young at eighteen and was buried beside this temple. A monster has terrorized me, forcing me into menial, shameful service — to put on a fawning face before men — which is truly not what I wish. Now there is no one in the temple left to kill, and I fear it will send a yaksha to come for you." Ning, afraid, asked her plan. The girl said, "Share a room with the scholar Yan and you may escape." He asked why she was not deluded by him. "He is an extraordinary man; it truly dares not approach." He asked how she deluded men. "Those who lay with me — I secretly pricked their feet with an awl, and they fell as if dazed, while I drew off their blood for the monster to drink. Or I lured them with gold; it was not gold, but the bone of a rakshasa, which can cut out a man's heart and liver. Both were simply to suit each man's taste."

Ning thanked her and asked when to be on his guard. Tomorrow night, she said. As she left she wept: "I have fallen into a sea of darkness and cannot find the shore. Your honor reaches to the clouds — surely you can lift me out of this and save me from suffering. If you would gather up my rotting bones and carry them home for burial in a quiet place, it would be no less than giving me a second life." Ning firmly promised. He asked where she was buried. "Just look for the white poplar with a crow's nest in it," she said — and went out the door, scattering into nothing. Ning thanked her and asked the time to prepare. She answered, the next night. As she parted she wept, saying, "I have sunk into a dark sea and cannot find the shore. Your righteous spirit pierces the clouds; surely you can pull me out and save me from this misery. If you would be willing to bag up my decayed bones and take them home for burial in a peaceful place, it would be no less than recreating me." Ning resolutely promised. He asked where she was buried. She said, "Only remember: above the white poplar where there is a crow's nest, that is the spot." Having spoken, she went out the door and dispersed, vanishing.

The next day, afraid Yan might go out, Ning invited him over early, and by mid-morning had laid on wine and food, watching him closely. He asked to share his room for the night. Yan begged off — he liked his solitude. Ning pressed, and brought his bedding over anyway, so Yan gave in and moved a couch for him, warning: "I know you for a man of spirit, and I admire you greatly. There is something hard to explain about me. Please do not pry into my boxes and bundles — it would be bad for us both." Ning agreed. They lay down; Yan put a small case on the windowsill and was soon snoring like thunder. The next day, fearing Yan might go elsewhere, Ning early invited him over, and after mid-morning set out wine and dishes, taking care to observe him. He then arranged to share the night's lodging. Yan declined, pleading a temperament fond of solitude. Ning would not listen and forced his bedding over, so Yan had no choice but to move a couch to accommodate him, charging him: "I know you to be a true man, and I lean toward you with deep feeling. There is a small private matter hard to declare at once; please do not turn over and look into my boxes and bundles. To disregard this would be ill for us both." Ning respectfully accepted the warning. Once each had lain down, Yan set his case on the windowsill, and after a while was snoring like a thunderclap.

Around the first watch a shadow gathered at the window, then came close and peered in, its eyes glittering. Ning froze in fear and was about to call out — when something burst from Yan's case, a streak bright as white silk, snapping the stone lattice of the window, flashing out and back in a single instant like lightning, and gone. Yan woke and rose. Ning feigned sleep and watched. Yan lifted the case, took out something, sniffed it and held it to the moon — a thing white and crystal-bright, about two inches long and a chive-leaf wide. He wrapped it in many folds and put it back in the broken case, muttering, "What bold old monster, to wreck my box like this." Ning, amazed, rose and told him what he'd seen. Yan said, "Since we are friends, why hide it. I am a swordsman. Had it not been for the stone lattice, the thing would have died on the spot. Even so, it is wounded." Ning asked what was wrapped in the case. "A sword," said Yan. "I smelled the demon-stench on it just now." Ning wished to see it, and Yan generously showed him — a small, gleaming blade. After that Ning held him in even higher regard. About the first watch, faint shapes of a person appeared outside the window; soon it came near and peered in, its eyes glittering. Ning was afraid and was about to call Yan when suddenly something split out of the case, bright as a bolt of white silk, striking and breaking the stone lattice of the window; in a flash it shot out and at once drew back in, vanishing like lightning. Yan woke and rose; Ning feigned sleep to spy on him. Yan took up the case and examined it, drew out an object, sniffed and looked at it by the moon — white and crystalline, about two inches long and a chive-leaf wide. Then he wrapped it firmly in several layers and put it back in the broken case, saying to himself, "What old monster is so bold as to ruin my case." He lay down again. Ning, greatly astonished, rose and questioned him, telling what he had seen. Yan said, "Since we are friends in trust, how dare I deeply conceal it. I am a swordsman. Had it not been for the stone lattice, the monster would have died at once; even so, it is wounded." Ning asked what was sealed within. "A sword. Just now I smelled a demonic air on it." Ning wished to see it, and Yan freely brought it out to show — a glittering little sword. After this Ning esteemed him the more.

Next day Yan found bloodstains outside the window. Going north of the temple, he came on a tangle of neglected graves — and there stood the white poplar with a crow's nest in its crown. When his business was done and Ning made ready to leave, Yan held a farewell feast, warm with feeling, and gave him a worn leather bag. "This is a sword-pouch," he said. "Keep it well and it will hold off the most evil things." Ning wanted to learn the art from him. Yan said, "A man of your faith and iron honesty could master it. But you are meant for rank and riches — you are not of this road." Then Ning dug up the girl's bones, on the pretext that a sister of his lay buried there, wrapped them in cloth and bedding, hired a boat, and carried her home. The next day Yan saw bloodstains outside the window. He went north of the temple and saw a mass of overgrown graves, and indeed there was a white poplar with a crow's nest at its top. When his affairs were settled, Ning packed to return home. Yan set out a farewell feast, his feeling generous and deep, and gave Ning a worn leather bag, saying, "This is a sword-pouch. Treasure it, and it can keep evil spirits far off." Ning wished to receive his art from him. Yan said, "A man of your faith, righteousness, and iron uprightness could do this. Yet you are one within wealth and rank, not one of this path." Ning, on the pretext that a younger sister was buried there, dug up the girl's bones, gathered them with clothes and bedding, hired a boat, and returned home.

Ning's study looked out on open country. He raised a grave beside it, buried her there, and made his offering: "Pitying your lonely soul, I have buried you near my poor home, where you can hear me sing and weep, so no fierce ghost may bully you. A bowl of plain water — not sweet, I know. Forgive it." When he turned to go a voice called after him, "Wait, let me walk with you." He looked back: it was Xiaoqian. She thanked him, glad: "Your faith and honor — ten deaths could not repay it. Let me come home with you, to bow to your mother. I would be your servant and your bedfellow, and never regret it." He looked at her closely. In daylight she was more dazzling still, skin like flowing sunset, feet small as bamboo shoots. He brought her home and asked her to wait while he went in to tell his mother. Ning's study faced open fields. He raised a grave outside it and buried her there, then made an offering and invoked her: "Pitying your orphaned soul, I bury you near my snail's hut, that we may hear each other sing and weep, and you not be bullied by fierce male ghosts. A bowl of water-gruel — far from clear and sweet; I hope you will not disdain it." Having prayed, he turned back. Behind him a voice called, "Wait, let us go together." Looking back, it was Xiaoqian. Joyfully she thanked him: "Your faith and honor — ten deaths would not repay it. Let me follow you home, to bow before your mother and mother-in-law; as servant and concubine I would have no regret." Examining her closely, her skin shone like flowing rose-light, her feet arched fine as little bamboo shoots; seen by full day her loveliness was utterly surpassing. He went with her to the study, bade her sit and wait a little, and first went in to tell his mother.

His mother was startled. Ning's wife had long been sick, so the mother warned him to say nothing, for fear of frightening her. As they spoke, the girl came lightly in and threw herself down on the ground. Ning said, "This is Xiaoqian." The mother stared, at a loss. The girl said, "I am a lone drifting thing, far from father and mother and brothers. Sheltered by your son's kindness, his grace falling over me to the very skin, I wish to take up broom and dustpan to repay his honor." Seeing how graceful and dear she was, the mother dared at last to speak: "You would do my son a kindness — I am beyond glad. But this is my only son, who must carry on the line. I cannot let him take a ghost for a wife." The girl said, "I truly have no other heart. Since a creature of the grave cannot be trusted by you, let me serve your son as a brother, and wait on you morning and night. Would that do?" Moved by her sincerity, the mother allowed it. His mother was alarmed. At the time Ning's wife had long been ill, and the mother warned him to say nothing, fearing she would be frightened. As they spoke, the girl came lightly in and prostrated herself on the ground. Ning said, "This is Xiaoqian." The mother, startled, looked about in confusion. The girl said to her, "I am one drifting body, far from father, mother, and brothers. Receiving the young master's shelter, his grace soaking my very skin and hair, I wish to take broom and dustpan to repay his great kindness." The mother, seeing her graceful and lovable, dared at last to speak: "That you would favor my son delights me beyond bound. But in all my life I have only this one son, on whom the lineage rests; I dare not let him have a ghost for a mate." The girl said, "I truly have no second heart. Since one beneath the springs cannot be believed by you, let me serve your son as an elder brother and attend you morning and evening — how would that be?" The mother, pitying her sincerity, consented.

The girl wanted to greet Ning's wife, but the mother put her off, the wife being too ill. So Xiaoqian went straight to the kitchen and took up the cooking in the mother's place, moving through the rooms as if she had always lived there. At nightfall the mother, still uneasy, sent her off to sleep and set out no bed for her. Reading her thoughts, the girl left. Passing the study she made to go in, then drew back and lingered outside the door, as if afraid. Ning called to her. "There is a sword-aura in the room," she said. "That is why I never came to see you on the road." Ning understood — it was the leather bag — and took it down and hung it elsewhere. Then she came in and sat by the candle. For a long while she said nothing. The girl wished to bow to the wife, but the mother declined on account of her illness, so it was set aside. The girl then went into the kitchen and took the mother's place at the cooking, entering the rooms and passing through them as one long settled there. At dusk the mother, fearing her, dismissed her to go and sleep, and set out no bed or bedding for her. Reading the mother's intent, the girl at once left. Passing the study she meant to enter, then drew back and paced outside the door, as if afraid of something. Ning called her. The girl said, "There is a sword-air in the room; that is why on the road I could not come to see you." Ning understood it was the leather bag, took it down, and hung it in another room. The girl then came in and sat by the candlelight. For a good while she said not a word.

After a time she asked if he read at night — she had once recited the Surangama Sutra, but had forgotten most of it, and wished to borrow a copy and have him correct her in her free evenings. Ning agreed. She sat silent again, and near the end of the second watch still would not leave. He urged her to go. Sadly she said, "A stranger's lonely ghost, I am afraid of the desolate grave." Ning said there was no other bed in the study, and besides, between brother and sister they ought to keep their distance. She rose, knit her brows as if to weep, dragged her feet to the door, and faded away down the steps. Ning pitied her in secret and would have kept her on another couch, but feared his mother's anger. After a while she asked whether he read at night. "In my youth I recited the Surangama Sutra, but now have forgotten more than half. I beg a copy, that in your free evenings I may come and have my elder brother correct me." Ning agreed. Again she sat silent. As the second watch drew to its close she still did not speak of leaving. Ning pressed her, and mournfully she said, "A lone soul in a strange land, I am much afraid of the desolate grave." Ning said, "There is no other bed in the study, and besides, between brother and sister we ought to keep apart." The girl rose, knit her brows as if to weep, and with faltering, reluctant steps went slowly out the door, crossed the steps, and vanished. Ning secretly pitied her and wished to keep her on a separate couch, but feared his mother's displeasure.

Morning and night the girl waited on the mother, bringing the basin to wash her hands, taking on every task about the house, bending to the mother's wishes in everything. At dusk she would take her leave, always stopping at the study to read sutras by candlelight, and only when she sensed Ning ready for sleep would she slip sorrowfully away. Ning's wife had been bedridden, and the mother, worn out with the work, found in the girl a great relief and grew grateful to her. Day by day they came to know her better, until they loved her like their own, and forgot she was a ghost, and could not bear to send her off at night, so she stayed and rose with them. At first she ate and drank nothing; after half a year she began to sip a little thin gruel. Mother and son both doted on her, and never spoke of her being a ghost, and outsiders could not tell. Morning and dusk the girl attended the mother, holding the basin to pour water for her washing, going down to the hall to work — in nothing failing to follow the mother's wishes. At dusk she would take leave and always pass by the study, reading the sutra by candlelight, and only when she sensed Ning about to sleep would she sorrowfully withdraw. Earlier, Ning's wife had been an invalid and the mother worn out with toil; getting the girl, she was much eased and grateful in her heart. As the days grew familiar, they loved her as their own child, until they forgot she was a ghost and could not bear to make her go at night, keeping her to lie and rise with them. When the girl first came she never ate or drank; after half a year she gradually took a little thin gruel. Mother and son both doted on her and avoided speaking of her being a ghost, and others too could not tell.

Before long Ning's wife died. The mother privately turned over the thought of taking the girl for her son, though she feared it would bring him harm. The girl caught wind of it and found a moment to say: "I have lived here more than a year — you must know my heart by now. I followed your son here for one reason only: that a man so upright and clear should be honored by all the powers. Let me lean on this fine household three or four years, and earn him a patent of honor to light my way in the underworld." The mother knew the girl meant no evil, but feared she could not carry on the family line. The girl said, "Sons and daughters are given by Heaven. Your son's destiny holds three sons to glorify the house — that will not be taken away because his wife is a ghost." The mother believed her, and talked it over with her son. Ning was glad. He spread a feast and announced it to his kin. Some asked to see the bride. The girl came out boldly in fine dress, and the whole hall stared — and far from suspecting a ghost, they took her for an immortal. Before long Ning's wife died. The mother secretly held the intent of taking the girl in for her son, yet feared it would harm him. The girl, perceiving this, found a chance to tell her: "Having dwelt here over a year, you should know my inmost heart. I followed the young master here for no other reason than that, finding the young master upright and magnanimous, one whom Heaven's people revere, I truly wished to rely on this house three or four years, to borrow a patent of rank and bring light to the springs below." The mother also knew she meant no evil, but feared she could not continue the lineage. The girl said, "Sons and daughters are bestowed by Heaven alone. The young master's destined fortune records three sons to exalt the clan; it will not be stripped away because of a ghost wife." The mother believed her, and discussed it with her son. Ning rejoiced. He spread a banquet and announced it to his relatives. Some asked to see the new bride; the girl, unhesitating, came out in splendid dress, and the whole hall gazed in wonder — and far from doubting her a ghost, they suspected her an immortal.

After that the women of the kindred all came with gifts to congratulate them, vying to make her acquaintance. The girl was good at painting orchid and plum, and would repay them with a small scroll, which they treasured and stored away as an honor. One day she sat at the window with her head bowed, low and lost, as if she had lost something. Suddenly she asked where the leather bag was. "Because you feared it," Ning said, "I sealed it away somewhere else." She said, "I have taken in the breath of the living long enough now — I should not fear it any more. Bring it and hang it by the bed." Ning asked why. "For three days my heart has been pounding with no rest," she said. "I think the monster of Jinhua, furious that I fled so far, may come looking any day now." Ning fetched the bag. She turned it over and over and said, "This is what the swordsman used to hold men's heads. Look how worn it is — no telling how many it has killed. Even today, seeing it, my flesh crawls." She hung it up. After this the women of the various clans all brought gifts to congratulate, vying to make her acquaintance. The girl was skilled at painting orchid and plum, and would repay them with a foot of silk, which the receivers stored away as an honor. One day she leaned at the window, head bowed, melancholy as if at a loss, and suddenly asked, "Where is the leather bag?" Ning said, "Because you feared it, I sealed it elsewhere." She said, "I have received the breath of the living a long while now and should no longer fear it; it ought to be fetched and hung by the bed." Ning asked her meaning. She said, "For three days my heart has throbbed without ceasing. I suspect the Jinhua monster, hating that I fled afar, may seek me out any day." Ning indeed brought the leather bag. The girl examined it again and again and said, "This is what the sword-immortal used to hold men's heads. Worn out to this state — who knows how many it has slain. Looking at it even today, my flesh creeps." So it was hung.

The next day she had him move it to hang over the door. That night she sat facing the candle, and told Ning to wait up. All at once a thing dropped down like a flying bird. The girl started and hid behind the curtain. Ning looked: a creature shaped like a yaksha, eyes flashing like lightning, a bloody tongue, snatching and clawing as it came forward. At the door it checked, hung back, and paced a long while, then crept nearer the leather bag and with its talons hooked at it, as if to tear it open. The bag gave a sharp crack and swelled to the size of a great basket; out of it lurched the dim half-body of some spirit, which seized the yaksha and dragged it inside, and then all was silent, and the bag shrank back to its old size. Ning was struck dumb with shock. The girl came out, overjoyed: "It is over." They looked into the bag together — and found only a few pints of clear water. The next day she had him move it to hang over the door. At night, sitting facing the candle, she charged Ning to keep watch. Suddenly something dropped down like a flying bird. The girl, alarmed, hid behind the curtain. Ning looked: the thing was shaped like a yaksha, eyes flashing lightning, tongue bloody-red, snatching and grasping as it advanced. Reaching the door it halted, drew back, and paced for a long while, gradually nearing the leather bag, and with its claws plucked at it as if to tear it open. The bag suddenly gave a loud crack, swelling as large as a basket; dimly some ghost-thing thrust out half its body and hauled the yaksha in, and at once all fell silent, the bag shrinking back as before. Ning was struck with shock and wonder. The girl, too, came out, greatly delighted, saying, "It is finished." Together they looked inside the bag: only a few measures of clear water, and nothing more.

Some years on, Ning did pass the highest examination and became a presented scholar. The girl bore him a son. He took a concubine, and she and Xiaoqian each bore another son, and all three sons rose to office and made names for themselves. Some years later Ning indeed ascended to the rank of presented scholar. The girl bore one son. He took a concubine, and afterward each bore one more son; all entered office and won reputations.

聶小 The original Chinese · honored as an artifact

寧采臣,浙人,性慷爽,廉隅自重,每對人言:「生平無二色。」

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