Original Text
Meng Longtan, a native of Jiangxi, and a provincial graduate named Zhu were once lodging together in the capital. One day, they happened to enter a temple where the halls and monks' quarters were not very spacious, and only an old monk was temporarily staying there. When the old monk saw visitors arriving, he adjusted his robes and went to welcome them, leading them on a tour of the temple. In the center of the Buddha hall stood a statue of the eminent monk Baozhi, while the walls on either side were adorned with exquisite and marvelous murals, each figure so lifelike it seemed to breathe. On the eastern wall was painted a group of celestial maidens scattering flowers, among whom was a young girl with disheveled hair, holding a flower and smiling, her cherry-like lips as if about to speak, her eyes brimming with tender affection like rippling waves.
Scholar Zhu stared at the young girl for a long time, and before he knew it, his soul and spirit were adrift, and he fell into a dazed reverie of wild fancies. Suddenly, his body floated lightly upward, as if riding clouds and mist, and he flew onto the wall. There he saw halls and pavilions layered one upon another, unlike the world of mortals. An old monk was seated on a high dais expounding the Buddhist scriptures, surrounded by many monks in clerical robes listening to his sermon. Scholar Zhu also stood among them. After a while, he felt as if someone were secretly tugging at his sleeve. Turning his head, he saw it was the very girl with the flowing hair, who smiled at him and then turned and left. Scholar Zhu lifted his foot and followed her. Passing through a winding corridor, he saw the girl enter a small room. Scholar Zhu hesitated, wanting to go forward but daring not. The girl looked back, raised the flower in her hand, and beckoned him from afar, so Scholar Zhu quickly followed her into the small room. The room was silent and empty, and he stepped forward to embrace her; the girl offered little resistance, and thus they enjoyed each other as husband and wife. When it was over, the girl closed the door and left, instructing him on her way out not to cough or make a sound. At night, she came again. Thus passed two days.
The female companions discovered this matter and together searched for Scholar Zhu, teasing the maiden by saying, "The child in your belly is already this big, and you still want to let your hair hang loose and pretend to be an unmarried girl?" So they brought out hairpins and earrings, urging her to comb her hair into a married woman's bun. The maiden was so ashamed she could not utter a single word. One companion said, "Sisters, let us not linger here any longer, lest we cause displeasure." The companions then laughed and departed. Scholar Zhu looked again at the maiden, and saw that her hair was piled high like clouds, adorned with a drooping phoenix hairpin, making her even more enchanting than when her hair was loose. Seeing that no one else was around, he slowly began to caress her again, and felt a fragrance like orchids and musk penetrating his heart and spleen. As they were locked in blissful passion, suddenly they heard the urgent clatter of boots and the clanking of chains, followed by a clamor of voices. The maiden, startled, sat up from the bed, and together with Scholar Zhu, they peered out secretly. They saw a messenger in golden armor, with a black face, holding chains and a hammer, surrounded by heavenly maidens. The messenger asked, "Are all present?" The maidens replied, "All are here." The messenger said, "If anyone has hidden a mortal from the lower world, you must report it immediately, and not bring trouble upon yourselves." The maidens answered in unison, "There is none." The messenger turned around, scanning like a hawk, as if to search. The maiden was terrified, her face ashen, and she said hastily to Scholar Zhu, "Hide quickly under the bed." She opened a small door in the wall and fled in haste. Scholar Zhu lay under the bed, not daring to breathe. After a while, he heard the sound of boots gradually entering the room, then leaving again. Not long after, the chaotic noise outside faded away, and Scholar Zhu's heart felt somewhat at ease, but there were always voices coming and going outside the door. He crouched in discomfort for a long time, feeling as if cicadas were buzzing in his ears and stars flashing before his eyes, the situation utterly unbearable. Yet he could only wait quietly for the maiden's return, having completely forgotten whence he had come.
At this moment, Meng Longtan was in the great hall, and in the blink of an eye, he could not see Scholar Zhu anywhere, so he asked the old monk in astonishment. The old monk smiled and said, "He has gone to listen to a sermon on the sutras." Meng Longtan asked, "Where is he?" The old monk replied, "Not far from here." After a short while, the old monk tapped the wall with his finger and called out loudly, "Benefactor Zhu, why have you roamed so far for so long and not yet returned?" Then, the image of Scholar Zhu appeared on the mural, standing quietly, with his ear tilted as if he had heard something. The old monk called out again, saying, "Your traveling companion has been waiting for you for a long time." Thereupon, Scholar Zhu floated down from the wall, utterly dejected, stunned, and weak-limbed as he stood there. Meng Longtan was greatly startled and slowly questioned him, only to learn that Scholar Zhu had been lying under the bed when he suddenly heard a sound like a thunderclap, so he came out of the room to look around and then returned to the mortal world. Together, they went to look again at the maiden holding flowers in the mural, and saw that her hair was now coiled high in a bun, no longer that of a maiden with flowing locks. Scholar Zhu, in astonishment, bowed to the old monk and asked him to explain the cause of this matter. The old monk smiled and said, "Illusions are born from one's own mind; how could I, a humble monk, know the reason?" At this, Scholar Zhu felt a deep melancholy in his heart and could not understand it no matter how he pondered. Meng Longtan, hearing this, was secretly amazed and filled with trepidation. The two then took their leave, descended the steps one by one, and walked out of the temple.
The Chronicler of Strange Tales says: All illusions are born from the human heart itself—this seems to be the words of one who has attained the Way. When a man harbors licentious thoughts, licentious scenes arise; when he harbors frivolous thoughts, terrifying scenes arise. The Bodhisattva, in order to enlighten the ignorant, causes them to experience all manner of illusions, which are themselves born from their own minds. The Dharma master, with a compassionate heart, earnestly admonishes and exhorts, but it is a pity that the foolish, upon hearing his words, cannot achieve great awakening and retreat into the mountains to cultivate their practice.
Commentary
According to Buddhist doctrine, all things in the world are illusory and unreal; "all appearances are false and deceptive," and "illusions arise from the mind," being products of the human heart itself. Yet, though this is said, it requires practice to test and prove. How to test it? Many novelists who believe in this Buddhist teaching have crafted stories where protagonists personally experience, traverse, and realize that "when falsehood is taken for truth, truth becomes falsehood; where nothingness is treated as being, being turns to nothingness." Cao Xueqin's "Illusory Land of Great Void" is such a case, and Pu Songling's "The Painted Wall" is likewise.
"Painting Wall," though intended to illustrate the principle that "illusions arise from the mind," presents a romantic tale so beautiful and moving that it captivates the soul: the lovely and amorous maiden with flowing hair "plucks a flower and smiles, her cherry lips about to move, her rippling eyes ready to flow"; her companions, full of playful affection, tease her, saying, "The little one in your belly is already so big, and you still wear your hair loose like a maiden?" Together they offer hairpins and earrings, urging her to coil her tresses. One maiden says, "Sisters, let us not linger too long, lest we displease others." The group laughs and departs. Though sparingly described, the scene sways with grace and vividness, leaving an unforgettable impression.
Perhaps Pu Songling's original intention was indeed to convey the idea that "illusions arise from the mind," yet this notion is far less profound to the reader than the story itself, leaving one with a sense of "a hundred exhortations for a single reproach."