Thirteen poems by still more Chinese ghosts

[larryhammer]

A fourth installment of translations of Tang ghost poets, which are all from Complete Tang Poems chapter 866 (headnotes). Which is far enough into the collection, we finally get to the poems by female ghosts—a lot of them, actually, and they’re almost all interesting. Certainly, this chapter, there’s a lot more variety in types of episodes, compared to ch865.

Highlights this time include what I swear is the pilot episode of a BL historical drama, a musical number advertising a ghostly brothel, and several messages from wives to their widowers, including one who rescues her children from their cruel stepmother. Oh, and a woman who claims what traditionally was a strictly male title.

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Presented to Ma Zhi, (Man) Dressed in White in a Gorge

Cut bamboo turned into a pipe is a flute to blow—
Above Paired-Phoenix Pool paired phoenixes are flying.
I’ll trouble you to travel south to Guizhou with this:
That for the governor, it’s like ten-thousand seasons.

赠马植
作者：峡中白衣
截竹为筒作笛吹，
凤凰池上凤凰飞。
劳君更向黔南去，
即是陶钧万类时。

And of course this installment starts with a naked poem without a headnote for context—which just makes this evocative imagery all the more cryptic. FWIW, Ma Zhi appears in records starting in 819 and died in 857. Idiom: I’ve been silently translating the more flowery courtesy titles into plain English, but the governor’s is an especially odd one, literally “pottery-thrower,” as in making a pot on a wheel—it’s supposed to suggest molding his populace. Omitted in the original: that the governor must “wait” ten-thousand-or-so seasons for the ghost’s arrival.


Inscribed on a Banana Leaf, Zhang Renbao

Imperial Recorder Zhang Ranbao always had talent and learning, from when he was young till he passed away, after which he was sent from Chengdu to be interred in Langzhong, though his coffin was kept temporarily in Dongjin Temple. On Cold Food Day, they heard an urgent knocking on the gate at his family’s home. They went out and looked around, but saw no one, except upon the gate there was a banana leaf inscribed with a poem. On Dragon Boat Festival, again they heard knocking at the gate. His father looked out the cracked gate and saw his son, grown to perhaps 10 meters high, his feet not treading the ground, inscribing “Upon the Double Fifth, the Mid-Sky Festival…” The inscription was not yet finished when his father opened the gate, and he immediately lost existence there.

On Cold Food Day, in every household smoke is quite forbidden.
In the birchleaf pears, the wind has dropped a little flowered hairpin.
The empty existence of today is the dream of a lonely soul
Who half-exists beside the Jialing River, half in Jinjiang.

题芭蕉叶上
作者：张仁宝
〈校书郎张仁宝，素有才学，年少而逝，自成都归葬阆中，权殡东津寺。其家寒食日，闻扣门甚急，出视无人，唯见门上有芭蕉叶题诗。端午日，又闻扣门声，其父于门罅伺之，见其子身长三丈许，足不践地，门上题五月五日天中节。题未毕，其父开门，即失所在。〉
寒食家家尽禁烟，
野棠风坠小花钿。
如今空有孤魂梦，
半在嘉陵半锦川。

TL;DR: “Bury me for real already.” To untangle the geography: Langzhong (his family home) is on the Jialing River in northeastern Sichuan, with Dongjin (“east crossing”) Temple many miles upstream, while Jinliang (where he’d lived and worked) is a district of Chengdu, in central Sichuan. In some traditions, which this story follows, until someone’s body is interred with the proper rites, especially in a family graveyard, part of their spirit is attached to their body and another part is still attached to the place of death. Which sounds uncomfortable, honestly. Cold Food Day, which honors the dead, is on April 5 while the Dragon Boat Festival (also known as Mid-Sky Festival and the Double Fifth) is on the 5th day of the 5th lunisolar month, roughly two months later. Birchleaf pear is Pyrus betulaefolia, the hairpin is specifically a kind decorated with inlaid flowers, and the line that mentions them is completely obscure to me.

Honestly, I was expecting a poem written on a banana leaf to be more fun and less head-scratch-y. Though I am pleased to meet another ghost who’s 3 zhang = 10m/30ft high—that makes this a trope.


Matching Lines in Guanpo Inn, Imperial Attendant Cui (and others)

A certain court eunuch lodged for the night at Guanpo Inn. Beneath the lantern, he saw three men arrive wearing old-fashioned clothing and caps. They all introduced themselves, and one said, “Imperial Attendant Cui has come to inquire, for just now someone has arrived at this cold and dismal place, yet there’s a feeling of departing on a long journey concealed in him—that’s what Imperial Attendant Cui (would like to know about).” They lifted up wine and composed a poem, each line in succession, quickly ending with Imperial Attendant Cui’s words. When the court eunuch invited them to rise up together as a group of four, they gazed mournfully at him, moaned, and then departed.

The brocade quilt that’s on the bed—patches lapping patches.
The crimson robes upon the rack—dark-red lapping dark-red.
The moon’s distinct in the empty courtyard—later ever later.
The road’s remote as night grows long—mountains lapping mountains.

官坡馆联句
作者：崔常侍
〈有中官宿官坡馆，灯下见有三人至，皆古衣冠，相谓，曰：“崔常侍来何，迟俄有一人续至凄凄，然有离别之意盖，崔常侍也。”举酒赋诗聮句末即，崔常侍之词也。
中官将起四人相，顾哀，啸而别。〉
床头锦衾班复班，
架上朱衣殷复殷。
空庭朗月闲复闲，
夜长路远山复山。

Another matching lines game, ha ha—with the bonus that this one I think works nicely as an actual poem. I do wonder what sort of long journey the court eunuch recently started on (I assume he is on one, as ghosts universally tend to be correct in these sorts of observations) and how he thinks these three presumptive allies will help him rise up the official ranks.


Poem Revealed After His Death, Li Yu

One day while Jia Duke of Wei was governor of the capital district, a person suddenly came to him, holding out a calling card that read, “Former ruler of lands south of the river Li Yu.” They greeted each other, but this one was a distinctly emaciated Daoist priest who said he was now king of Ceylon, and had coincidentally thought of Mt. Zhong, and came here. He handed a poem that captured what was in his bosom to Jia, who read it and then carried out his request to scatter his ashes (there).

My strange country’s not recorded.
I’ll trouble your leisure with my death—
Through stormy waves, ten-million li,
Yet might it be I’ll see Mt. Zhong?

亡后见形诗
作者：李煜
〈贾魏公尹京日，忽有人来，展刺谒曰：“前江南国主李煜。”相见，则一清瘦道士尔，自言今为师子国王，偶思钟山而来。怀中取一诗授贾，读之，随身灰灭。〉
异国非所志，
烦劳殊清闲。
惊涛千万里，
无乃见钟山。

This one? This is off the map of “realistic” ghost stories, having taken a long caravan ride to outright fantasy:

1. Jia Dan, the Duke of Wei, spent part of his official career as military governor of the eastern capital Luoyang in 784-786. He received his dukedom in 801 for his encyclopedic work (completed while serving as chancellor) on geography and cartography … which is significant to the story.
2. The Li Yu who ruled lands south of the Yangzi was the last emperor of the Southern Tang Dynasty, who died in 978, two years after being captured by Song Dynasty forces … which means we’ve got a time-traveling ghost. (Or a careless writer.)
3. There’s a bunch of Mt. Zhongs, including ones in Guangxi and Guizhou in the deep south (not to mention a mythological one in the Kunlun Mountains), but none that I can find in the Yellow River valley that a governor of Luoyang had ready access to … which means Jia’s prowess as a geographer has reached legendary status.

Yes, calling cards were a thing in premodern China, and their function was broadly similar to those in 18th-19th century Britain. But most of all, I’m gleeful to meet someone serendipitously reincarnated as the king of Sri Lanka.

:pause to let the etymology geeks groan:


Poems of Wandering in the Afterlife, together with Ma Shaolong, a youth of Lumen, Duke Pang De

Gazing Together upon Jingmen
Millennia for ancient lands—the ages rush by quickly.
By one pillar of this high terrace, an already severed spirit.
I hope that at the hill pavilion there is a clear night’s moon—
And with my lord, whistling long, I’ll learn to revive your sect.

Reflecting Upon the South Side of Jingmen
The famous Song Yu lost his beauty and refinement,
The poet Yu Xin had his flourishing talent cut.
Who’s like that crane of Liaodong, after a thousand years
Perched on the Son of Heaven’s pillar, and yet returning?

同鹿门少年马绍隆冥游诗
作者：庞徳公

千年故国岁华奔，
一柱高台已断魂。
唯有岘亭清夜月，
与君长啸学苏门。〈同望荆门〉

高名宋玉遗闲丽，
作赋兰成绝盛才。
谁似辽东千岁鹤，
倚天华表却归来。〈忆荆南〉

Wei general Pang De was defeated and killed in the area by Guan Yu (he of the fine beard, later deified) during the wars of the Three Kingdoms, in the early 3rd century. Assuming this follows the genre conventions of other afterlife encounters to come, the youth is alive and apparently receiving instruction from the ghost. The first poem seems to be the youth’s and the second the ghost’s reply, despite the usual convention of prioritizing the ghost’s poem.

Lumen (“deer gate”) and Jingmen (“thorn gate”) are mountains in western Hubei. There was an ancient meditative practice involving long, drawn-out whistles. Song Yu was a poet of the Warring State of Chu and Yu Xin was a poet of the Liang Dynasty, both caught up in political turmoils. The crane comes from the legend of Daoist immortal Ding Lingwei, a prefect of Liaodong who was prosecuted for using government grain stores to aid the poor during a famine but saved from execution by being carried off by cranes; a thousand years later, transformed into a crane himself, he returned to the city, landing on a pillar before the city gates considered sacred to the imperium, and was shot at to chase him off.

In a more pop-cultural-style translation, I’d render that “together with X” part of the title as a “feat. X” after the artist a la songs. There’s more of them to come, almost always naming the living person involved in an exchange. If I edit these into a more polished collection, I may move them from the title to the attribution.


Poem Given to Chang Yi, Zhu Jun

Chang Yi’s home was near Qing Creek in Nanjing. One day someone delivering a message arrived called Zhu Jun, a County Scholar of Wu County who had heard of him, and (Yi) understood he was not speaking with a living person. At the end of the message was a poem, and within these writings (in the style) of the era of subduing ancient barbarians was a request to meet with him. The county scholar wore the cornered headcloth of a hermit and unlined hemp clothing, with a relaxed stride, possibly about 50 years old, demeanor elegant and calm with a clear and refined presence. He said he was the paternal nephew of Zhu Yi of the Liang Dynasty, and in the above-mentioned prefecture he achieved the highest level of county scholar, but this was followed by many troubles from all directions and finally he did not become an official, and he decided in the end that he was finished with this earth. (Yi) asked him to explain events between the Liang and Chen Dynasties, and one by one they were clarified. After several visits, they spoke together (as if) at a banquet and composed poems.

Throughout my life I wandered city walls,
In death I didn’t meet with unchecked thickets—
I myself took leave of the mortal world,
No longer knowing neither spring nor autumn.
Cattle and sheep have long come to the herders
And pines and cypress turn to firewood—
I left behind the carriages and steeds,
Willing to follow mobs of hares and foxes.
From what place did this cooling breeze arrive?
A noble man, my neighbor fortunate—
So ardent, he, and with a name for virtue,
I just don’t want to end this looked-for visit.
A thousand years, I’ll ask at dawn and dusk—
A single house where move both men and gods,
A lofty tree as if beneath the full moon,
An open road that’s very easy to follow.
If the great gateway won’t open easily,
Together we’ll divide the Dragon Crossing.

贻常夷诗
作者：朱均
〈建康常夷，家近清溪。一日，有人赍书至，称吴郡朱秀才均相闻，悉非生人语。末有一诗，夷尅期书中，请与相见。秀才著角巾，葛单衣，曳履，可年五十许，风度闲和，雅有清致，自云梁朝朱异从子，本州举秀才高第，属四方多难，遂无宦情，陈永定末终此地。问梁陈间事，历历分明。后数相来往，谈宴赋诗。〉
平生游城郭，
殂没委荒榛。
自我辞人世，
不知秋与春。
牛羊久来牧，
松柏几成薪。
分绝车马好，
甘随狐兔群。
何处清风至，
君子幸为邻。
烈烈盛名德，
依依伫良宾。
千年何旦暮，
一室动人神。
乔木如在望，
通衢良易遵。
高门傥无隔，
向与析龙津。

I feel like I’ve stumbled upon the pilot episode of a BL historical drama. The Liang Dynasty ruled the south half of China from Nanjing from 502–557, until it was overthrown by the coup that founded the Chen Dynasty. Significantly, during this Southern Dynasties period, male homosexual relationships among the scholar-official class were tolerated and even sometimes praised, including pairs of an older man mentoring a younger lover. Fandom, have at it—please.

Zhu Yi (483-549) was the trusted but corrupt chief minister of Liang Emperor Wu who died during Huo Jing’s first rebellion, which was ostensibly directed against him. The history of the end of the Liang and beginning of the Chen dynasties is noted for being especially confusing, even compared to the rest of the Northern & Southern Dynasties period. “Foxes and hares” is an idiom for bad or low-status people. The Dragon Crossing is that spillway that a carp, if it leaps over it upstream, can turn into a dragon.


Songs in an Empty Inn at Night, A Young Woman of Yiling

In the middle of civilization, Liu Feng of Jingling sought refuge in an empty inn in Yiling. That night he saw a young woman, who sent over a servant in purple to soothingly invite Liu to the house of her and her six maternal aunts and forty maternal uncle’s wives—she lived nearby to the south, this quite outstanding young lady. An abundance of maids then sang songs with her. [TN: read the songs now] When the songs were finished, a certain person in a yellow jacket presented an old woman, who explained that at the ruler’s command (the young woman) had been banished (from Handan) for not meeting him.

1.
A cooling breeze in bright moonlight,
We meet together late at night.
The Starry River turns upside-down
As our amusements never end.
A green wine-jar, a jade-green ladle—
For you, m’lord, fill cup to the brim,
For if you will not drink tonight,
Then when will you have gaiety?

2.
        Willows and poplars, willows and poplars,
    Graceful, so graceful in the urgent wind.
The beauty of West Tower constantly dreams of spring—
The colored banner rolls up, its many strips bend in.

3.
With jade-trimmed door and golden lamps,
We wish for the presence of you, our ruler,
Within the palace of Handan.
With gold and gemstones, strings and reeds,
The woman Wei’s a beauty from Qin—
From everywhere they journey here
Where dancers’ white silks fly about,
Indigo eyebrows, red adornments.
When Ruler is happy, he cares for us
Who serve our ruler as singers and dancers.
We hope our lord is ever happy,
Without disasters or suffering.

空馆夜歌
作者：夷陵女郎
〈文明中，竟陵刘讽投夷陵空馆，夜见一女郎，命青衣紫绥邀刘家六姨姨、十四舅母、南邻翘翘小娘子、溢奴同歌咏。歌竟，有黄衫人奉婆提王命召去，因不见。〉

[其一 ]
明月清风，
良宵会同。
星河易翻，
欢娱不终。
绿樽翠杓，
为君斟酌。
今夕不饮，
何时欢乐。

[其二]
杨柳杨柳，
袅袅随风急。
西楼美人春梦长，
绣帘斜卷千条入。

[其三]
玉户金缸，
愿陪君王。
邯郸宫中，
金石丝簧。
卫女秦娥，
左右成行。
纨缟缤纷，
翠眉红妆。
王欢顾盼，
为王歌舞。
愿得君欢，
常无灾苦。

This starts a run of interesting episodes with (at last!) female ghosts. Though this one isn’t typical: specifically, she’s an elite courtesan (with 46 “aunts”) staying in Yiling in Hubei after being exiled from Handan in Hebei by the local PTB (not necessarily an actual king or lord, given how flattering honorifics work) in a power-move snit. The songs are, in part, advertisements for their brothel—though, yeah no, not the sort of brothel the living should visit.

The Starry River aka Milky Way turns over as the night passes. A “spring dream” is an erotic one. The strips of a banner/curtain over a door bend in when someone passes through. A “beauty of Qin” has the strong connotation of being a singer, even if she’s not actually from Shaanxi.

The 4-character lines are very old-fashioned—as in Classic of Songs old (compiled around 500 BCE). The standard form for this sort of poetry started to shift to 5-character lines (and then also 7-character) late in the Han Dynasty, in the second century CE.


Composed for Her Husband: Three Poems, née Kong

In the middle of the Kaiyun Era (713-741), there was a military adjutant surnamed Zhang. His wife, whose maiden name was Kong, bore five children and then died. He later married a woman, maiden name Li, who was violently jealous and treated the five children oppressively, beating them daily. The five could not endure their hardship and wept before their mother’s grave. Suddenly their mother came out of her grave and consoled her children, weeping for a long time. Then using her white headscarf, she inscribed poems to Zhang and ordered the five to submit them to their father. The commander-in-chief heard of this, and decreed that Zhang’s current wife was certainly one in a hundred and banished her south of the Five Ranges, and Zhang gave up his duties.

1.
Not satisfied to follow the deceased …
I hide my every tear in a full headscarf.
’Tween death and life there is a separation—
So long since we have had a chance to meet.

2.
Inside the box are my now-spoiled cosmetics,
Preserved and given to that later person.
Within the Yellow Springs, they aren’t useful.
Resentment grows within the dirt of my grave.

3.
There are feelings inside men and women—
Heartless as well is my appointed lord.
Should you wish to know where guts feel like they’re slashed:
The bright moon shines on a solitary mound.

赠夫诗三首
作者：孔氏
〈开元中，有幽州衙将姓张者，妻孔氏，生五子而卒。后娶妻李氏，悍妒，虐遇五子，日鞭箠之。五子不堪其苦，哭于其母墓前，母忽于冢中出，抚其子，悲恸久之。因以白布巾题诗赠张，令五子呈其父。连帅上闻，敕李氏决一百，流岭南，张停所职。〉

[其一]
不忿成故人，
掩涕每盈巾。
死生今有隔，
相见永无因。

[其二]
匣里残妆粉，
留将与后人。
黄泉无用处，
恨作冢中尘。

[其三]
有意怀男女，
无情亦任君。
欲知肠断处，
明月照孤坟。

A date, however vague, but apparently it’s the fairy-tale quality of the story that made this fail to qualify for the other chapter—there are later stories with even more fantastic stories with exact years. Youzhou was a frontier prefecture-cum-commandary covering northern Hebei and western Liaoning, centered on Ji City, now a district of Beijing. The Five Ranges are the northern borders of Guangdong and Guangxi, or more generically the southernmost regions of the empire.

(Digression into afterlife terminology: Loosely speaking, the underworld, the Netherworld, and the Yellow Springs all refer to the “place” where spirits go after their mortal body dies. More precisely, they mean respectively the afterlife in general, the realm of the dead (conceptually similar to Hades), and the entrance area to the Netherworld. Sometimes not much distinction is made between them, sometimes they’re more clearly delineated. The Undiscovered Country is, despite these tales of travelers visiting from its bourn, a secret/shadowed/hidden place.)

Here “one in a hundred” means worst behaved, which makes me wonder what it meant in A Round-Dance.


Presented to Her Older Sister, Husband, and Sister-in-Law, Wei Huang

The wife of Lucheng County Magistrate Zhou Hun, Wei Huang, was beautiful in form and features and by nature frequently shrewd and intelligent. She regularly spent time with her older brother’s wife and older sister, and (they agreed that) whoever died first would report to the others by Netherworld means. In 759, she passed away. Over a month later, she suddenly arrived at her home, speaking as a spirit in the air, telling her family, “It’s time to report to you, and because of this I have come.” Then she attached herself to a servant girl for spirit-speaking, as well as composed five-character poems, giving several to her older sister, her sister-in-law, and husband.

Presented to Her Older Sister
Through every good and bad, there is a parting—
But ostentation also isn’t true.
It cuts my gut, beneath the earth in the Springs,
A secret sorrow that is hard to explain.
It’s cold, so cold, the wind among the poplars:
At sundown I’ll endure making you worry.

Presented to Her Husband: Two Poems
(Title: Wei Huang Visits from the Yellow Springs)

1.
We cannot stay nearby each other long—
Hibiscus blossoms die young in the spring.
Where I once traveled, now’s forever past:
The Netherworld I still regard as home.

2.
If I had known that parting slices a person’s heart,
I’d’ve regretted our ever deeper love and affection.
In Yellow Springs, the lonesome ones passed long ago
And yet the white sun on the curtain seeks me again.

Presented to Her Sister-in-Law
(Preface: A poem left amid mutual distrust for her dear sister-in-law.)
Our bare hearts were exhausted, getting to know each other:
Wary and then worried—it only set distrust.
Official records can explain the phases of life.
Though peachwood seals on doors are holy, what was the use?

作者：韦璜
〈潞城县令周混妻韦璜，容色妍丽，性多黠惠，恒与其嫂、姊期，先死以幽冥事相报。乾元中卒。月馀，忽至其家，空中灵语，谓家人曰：“本期相报，故以是来。”后复附婢灵语，又制五言诗，与姊、嫂、夫数首。〉

赠姊
修短各有分，
浮华亦非真。
断肠泉壤下，
幽忧难具陈。
凄凄白杨风，
日暮堪愁人。

赠夫二首
〈题云：泉台客韦璜。〉

[其一]
不得长相守，
青春夭蕣华。
旧游今永已，
泉路却为家。

[首二]
早知离别切人心，
悔作从来恩爱深。
黄泉冥寞虽长逝，
白日屏帷还重寻。

赠嫂
〈序云：阿嫂相疑留诗。〉
赤心用尽为相知，
虑后防前只定疑。
案牍可申生节目，
桃符虽圣欲何为。

A more definitive demonstration that the division between chapters is not, as I initially thought, historicity. Instead, it seems to be a genre thing—in general, the more fantastic (for lack of a better word) ghost stories are all in this chapter, but that’s not the only criterion.

The “spirit-speaking” is a sort of possession, like the shamanistic sort we’ve seen before: using a living person’s mouth to speak, instead of being just a disembodied spirit. Talismans made from peachwood, blessed at temples, were hung above the main door of a house to ward off bad fortune—but she died anyway. It’s striking how the poems to the three recipients are different in tone and content, reflecting her relationships with them.


Poems of an Afterlife Encounter, together with Zeng Jiheng, Wang Lizhen

In 830, prefectural commander Zeng Xiao’an had a grandson, Jiheng, who moved into the west courtyard residence. Before this, a Lord Wang’s daughter, Lizhen, had died suddenly. When Jiheng moved, her spirit appeared to him, wanting to join with him. For approximately 60 days, the youth was lustful and not concerned with being careful, and accidentally divulged his lover. Lizhen berated his turning his back on their agreement, and signaled her leaving by presenting a departure poem. Jiheng was not good at poetry but strived hard to answer her with a composition, and thereupon she vanished. [TN: read the poems now] Afterwards, they inquired in Wuyuan, and a seamstress there told them, “Wang sent away m’lord’s daughter, who was returned to her family home to be buried on Mt. Beimang, and on a dark night, many people saw her spirit travel there.” However, the daughter’s poem actually says, “With Beimang empty, I resent the peaceful autumn moon.”

Lizhen’s Poem upon Departing
Wuyuan, we parted from each other, truly like Wu and Yue—
Swallows will split, orioles cleave, fragrant grass dries out.
This year there were few fireworks, hither and yon in spring.
With Beimang empty, I resent the peaceful autumn moon.

Jiheng’s Reply upon Her Departure
Sedge grasses green, so very green—the wild geese long to return.
On your jade cheek, the pearl tears scatter as we near the fork.
Your cloud chignon is floating off—the fragrant wind dies down.
I’m anxious, seeing the oriole sing upon the red tree-branch.

与曽季衡冥会诗
作者：王丽真

〈太和四年，监州防禦使曾孝安有孙季衡，居使宅西院。前使君王有女丽真，暴终于此，魂现，与季衡款合。近六十日，少年好色，不以为疑，偶泄之人，丽真责其负约，留诗为别，季衡不能诗，强为一篇酬之，遂绝。后询五原纫针妇，云：“王使君女，归葬北邙山，阴晦，人多见其魂游于此。”则女诗所云“北邙空恨清秋月”也。〉

五原分袂真吴越，
燕拆莺离芳草歇。
年少烟花处处春，
北邙空恨清秋月。〈丽真留别〉

莎草青青雁欲归，
玉腮珠泪洒临岐。
云鬟飘去香风尽，
愁见莺啼红树枝。〈季衡酬别〉

Mt. Beimang near Luoyang was the site of many burials, including royalty and nobles from the Han and Jin dynasties. As we’ve seen before, Wuyuan (“five springs”) is a common place name. Wu and Yue have been the names of many states over the millenia, always both in the Yangzi delta region, almost always rivals. Jiheng’s poem is indeed a little clumsy—more specifically, obvious in its images, none of which are fresh—but it’s basically competent. The branch is red, btw, because it’s blooming—in response to her imagery of autumn, he hopefully uses spring images, but in vain.

So he lost his ghost lover, but suffered no other consequence? Huh.


Presented to Duan He, Woman in a Tenant-Farmer Village

In 834, Advanced Scholar Duan He rented a room in a tenant-farmer village while he was bedridden, and he improved a little. A beauty arrived in his chamber assisted by two servants, all of them stunning in appearance, and repeatedly told him that she longed for him. In the end He did not comply with her wishes, and she thereupon inscribed a poem on red note-paper, put it on the table, and departed. Her handwriting was gentle and charming, and at the end of the paper all that was written was one character (of her name?). After this, He’s sickness retreated.

My joy spread wide, you’re clearly weak, enduring several years.
A beautiful woman would support you, without regard to money—
Both lithe and graceful, clever too, returning melancholy
From He’s place to an emerald tower inlaid with red jade.

赠段何
作者：客户里女子
〈进士段何，太和八年，赁居客户里，卧疾，小愈。有美人径至閤中，从二青衣，皆绝色，说谕再三。何终不应，乃以红笺题诗一篇，置案上而去。书迹柔媚，纸末惟书一我字，何自此疾日退。〉
乐广清羸经几年，
姹娘相托不论钱。
轻盈妙质归何处，
惆怅碧楼红玉钿。

So he turned down an affair with a ghost, and not only didn’t she punish him, but she may even have helped heal him. Dude. Tho’ that last is ambiguous, given he was already improving somewhat. Given that emerald tower, I’d take her for a Daoist immortal aka “fairy,” but apparently that’s not what the editors understood. (CTP has 8 whole chapters devoted to poems of 仙, immortals, which until I read them I’m going to assume that’s where poems by immortals such as fairies and ascended Daoists would go.)

Also, why don’t we get the character she wrote at the end?


Recited in the Hucheng Government Hall, Buddhist Monk Mituo

During the Great Harmony Era, the deputy of Wenxiang County Registrar Shen Gongli was an officer from Hucheng. A person called Li Zhongyi, from the Jianghuai region, was a servant of his. (The deputy) died while they were traveling, and (Zhongyi) had to beg and implore for even a single meal, and twice that for just a small cap (i.e., a scrap of clothing). When respectful courtesy permitted it, Zhongyi told them, “In this hall dwell many people who are not peaceful—there’s this one woman, age possibly 17 or 18, known by the name Buddhist Monk Mituo, who comes irregularly, and who simply cannot take part in conversation.” A short while later a woman came, smiling slightly and gazing all around, who put herself forward in spite of respectful courtesy. The woman recited this poem, again in spite of respectful courtesy, hesitated, and then departed. Afterwards, as he returned to Wenxiang, she (appeared) also the night before his arrival, and again for over a year, tending to gradually get fainter, so in the end she could no longer be troublesome.

The time the Yellow Emperor rose to Heaven—
The era of mortal emperors is now—
The two and seventy jade women have
Transformed into the golden ganodermas.

湖城㕔吟
作者：宻陀僧
〈大和中，阌乡主簿沈恭礼摄湖城尉，有人自称李忠义，江淮人，佣于此，客死，丐祈一食，兼一小帽。恭礼许之，忠义曰：“此厅人居多不安，有一女子，年可十七八，名曰密陀僧，来参，甚不可与交言。”少间，果有一女子来，微笑转盼自荐，恭礼不顾。女吟此诗，恭礼又不顾，逡巡而去。在湖城，每夜辄来。后归阌乡，亦隔夜至，一年馀，方渐稀，然终不能为患也。〉
黄帝上天时，
鼎湖元在兹。
七十二玉女，
化作黄金芝。

But wait, I can all but hear you say, what’s with this regnal era? Aren’t you translating those into Common Era years? Or at least giving us a range? Well, comma, it turns out there were two Great Harmony Eras in the Tang-plus period, 827-835 and 929-935. So this is either around 831 or around 932, but we don’t know which. Am I amused? I am greatly amused. Historiography: not easy.

A new ghost trope—one I’m familiar with in Western lore but hadn’t met in these stories: the ghost on cyclic autopilot, doing their cryptic thing without regard for circumstances, over and over. Wenxiang is a former county, recently merged into Lingbao County, western Henan, which was itself anciently known as Hucheng County—so nearby neighbors. Jianghuai, however, is the region between the Yangzi and Huai Rivers, encompassing much of Anhui and Jiangsu—making Zhongyi a foreigner who talks funny, as far as locals are concerned, and too suspicious to help out. The Registrar was the local official in charge of registering births, marriages, and deaths of anyone who’s a member of a family based in his county.

Yes, this is a female ghost who claims the title of what traditionally is strictly a male role: 僧 (sēng) always means “Buddhist monk” while a “nun” is 尼 (ní). While the significance of Linzi County Magistrate doing this isn’t clear to me, given how transgressively Mituo behaves, I’m pretty sure here it’s another a transgressive gesture. (Could it be transgender-y as well? Maybe. I don’t know enough to tell.)

The poem itself is completely whack—I’ve no clue what it means, and I suspect no one who heard it did either. Despite Mituo’s Buddhism, it has Daoist esoterica: golden ganoderma is a legendary fungus used in potions of miraculous healing.


Poems of an Afterlife Encounter, together with Xiao Kuang, Empress Zhen

During the Great Harmony Era, the scholar Xiao Kuang, who was good at playing the qin, traveled the east, arriving at the Luo River. Upon this appeared a beautiful woman who called herself the Luo Riverbank Goddess, formerly Empress Zhen. She was by nature excellent at striking the qin and desired to hear m’lord play, and Kuang plucked “Departing Cranes” and “Sorrowful Wind.” The empress thereupon summoned the Dragon King’s silk-weaving woman, then passed around a goblet, requesting that they all compose poems and depart.

Presented by Empress Zhen upon Leaving Xiao Kuang
Jade-chopstick tears on my cheek, recalling the Palace of Wei—
One touch on crimson strings, I’m cleansed by a cooling breeze.
Your instrument admired at dawn, I silently worry—
Mist fades upon the sandbank: a kingfisher feather, deserted.

The Silk-Weaver’s Poem
While weaving silk beneath the Springs, there’s few amusements.
I urge young Xiao to finish off the jar of wine.
I was anxious to hear you play “Departing Cranes,”
And yet just now my clear teardrops dripped down like pearls.

Xiao Kuang’s Poem in Reply
Red orchids blossom forth between the fresh peach trees.
I like to seek fine scenes, and several have I met:
Pearl Pendant and Crane Bridge, from now on I’ll abstain—
The distant heavens regret in vain high clouds in the blue.

与萧旷冥会诗
作者：甄后
〈太和处士萧旷，善琴，东游至洛水，之上见一美人，自称洛浦神女，即甄后也。性好鼓琴，愿一听君操。旷为弹《别鹤》及《悲风》，后又召龙王织绡女，传觞叙语，各为诗而别。〉

玉箸凝腮忆魏宫，
朱弦一弄洗清风。
明晨追赏应愁寂，
沙渚烟销翠羽空。〈甄后留别萧旷〉

织绡泉底少欢娱，
更劝萧郎尽酒壶。
愁见玉琴弹《别鹤》，
又将清泪滴真珠。〈织绡女诗〉

红兰吐艳间夭桃，
自喜寻芳数已遭。
珠佩鹊桥从此断，
遥天空恨碧云高。〈萧旷答诗〉

Apparently a mortal ascended to god(dess)hood after death counts as a ghost, rather than an immortal or deity. Empress Zhen was the wife of Cao Pi, king of Cao Wei and posthumously declared the first emperor of the Wei Dynasty. Again, we get two people of rank and one commoner—though the silk-weaver to a draconic water god hardly counts as “low” compared to a mere mortal. Maybe this doesn’t count as that trope. My genre sense, see it flounder about.

Same ambiguity of which Great Harmony Era this is. Again, there are multiple Luo Rivers, but given the Wei capital was Luoyang, the Luo that city is on and named after seems probable. “(Like) jade chopsticks” is a conventional epithet/comparison for tears—yeah, IDK. Kingfisher feathers are used to decorate the banners of the emperor—the Empress’s last line decodes as a lament for both Xiao’s coming departure and her separation from her husband. Lost in translation: the silk-weaver longs to hear his “jade qin” play. The silk-weaver is less elegant than the others but honestly feels more heartfelt, especially compared to Xiao’s courtier flattery.

---

And that’s enough for now. The next installment will have way fewer entries, but will if anything be slightly longer. Not to scare you or anything … which is, okay, a silly thing to say about ghost stories. Nevermind.

---L.

Index of Chinese translations

Comments

[puddleshark]

More wonders!

Thank you.

[larryhammer]

Bu ke qi!

[movingfinger]

I am enjoying these a lot, and I hope you're having fun with them too! They're so puzzle-like.

"That night he saw a young woman, who sent over a servant in purple to soothingly invite Liu to the house of her and her six maternal aunts and forty maternal uncle’s wives..." =?

"And these are my sisters and my cousins and my aunts, my sisters and my cousins and my aunts!"

[larryhammer]

I am totally having fun with these. Such the fun puzzle-boxes.

I am assuming that these are not her aunts but her "aunts." I mean, it's possible there are blood relations among them and yes premodern China did run to large families, especially when you factor in polygamy -- but I suspect the title is a fig-leaf to the young woman living on her own and are really additional courtesans who attend to those men who can't afford the brothel's star. That they're all specifically "related" on her maternal i.e. non-clan side is significant.

[sartorias]

So ardent, he, and with a name for virtue. Hee!

In the birchleaf pears, the wind has dropped a little flowered hairpin. Love both the image and the intriguing obscurity.

Also love the "lapping" one.

[larryhammer]

👍👍👍