Original Text
In Lingyang there lived a scholar named Zhu Erdan, styled Xiaoming. He was bold and open-hearted by nature, though somewhat dull-witted; he studied diligently but had yet to gain any renown. One day, his literary society friends gathered for a drinking party, and someone jested with him, saying, "Are you not famed for your audacity? If you dare to go to the Hall of the Ten Kings in the dead of night and carry back the judge from the left corridor, we will all pool our money to feast you." Now, in Lingyang there stood a Hall of the Ten Kings of the Underworld, where the effigies of gods and ghosts were carved from wood and adorned so lifelike they seemed real. In the eastern corridor stood a judge in a standing posture, with a green face and a vermilion beard, his features fiercely hideous. It was said that at night, the sounds of torture and interrogation could be heard from the corridors, and those who entered often felt their hair stand on end. Thus, the company sought to put Zhu to the test. Hearing this, Zhu rose with a smile and went straight to the hall. Before long, they heard him shout from outside, "I have brought the bearded master!" The others all stood up in haste. In an instant, Zhu entered carrying the judge on his back, set it down on a table, raised a cup of wine, and offered three toasts to the effigy. The company, beholding the judge's visage, trembled with fear and could barely keep their seats, so they urgently begged Zhu to carry it back. Zhu then poured wine on the ground and prayed reverently, "Your disciple was rash and rude just now; I trust the great master will not take offense. My home is not far from here; I pray you, by this happy occasion, come to my house for a drink, and let not the barrier between human and ghost limit your presence." With that, he shouldered the judge and departed.
The next day, the group indeed invited Zhu Erdan to a feast. By evening, Zhu returned half-drunk, his craving for wine still unsated, so he lit a lamp and began to drink alone. Suddenly, someone lifted the curtain and entered; looking up, he saw it was the Judge. Zhu quickly rose and said, "I fear my end is near! Last night I was rude, and now you have come to take my head, have you not?" The Judge, opening his broad mouth thick with beard, smiled slightly and replied, "Not at all. Last night I was honored by your generous invitation, and tonight, having a moment of leisure, I have come respectfully to keep the appointment with you, a man of true refinement." Overjoyed, Zhu took the Judge by the sleeve and eagerly bade him sit, then personally washed the cups and heated the wine. The Judge said, "The weather is warm; we may drink it cold." So Zhu obeyed, set the wine jug on the table, and hurriedly told his family to prepare dishes and fruits. His wife, terrified, urged him not to go out, but Zhu would not listen; he waited until all was ready, then brought the tray out. As they drank cup after cup, Zhu asked the Judge his name. "My surname is Lu," said the Judge, "but I have no given name." They then spoke of ancient classics, and the Judge answered fluently. Zhu asked, "Do you understand the way of the eight-legged essay?" The Judge replied, "I can distinguish the good from the bad. In the underworld, reading and writing are much the same as in the world of the living." Lu was a great drinker, downing ten large cups in one breath. Zhu, having drunk all day, could no longer hold himself upright and fell asleep, slumped over the table. When he awoke, the lamp was dim and the ghostly guest had already departed.
From that time onward, Judge Lu came every two or three days, and their friendship grew even closer, sometimes sharing the same bed with their feet touching. Zhu Erdan would bring out his writings for Judge Lu to review, and Judge Lu would take up his vermilion brush to make corrections, saying they were all poorly written. One night, Zhu Erdan, having drunk too much, fell asleep first, while Judge Lu continued to drink on his own. In his drunken slumber, Zhu Erdan suddenly felt a slight pain in his internal organs. Waking and opening his eyes, he saw Judge Lu sitting upright by the bed, cutting open his chest and abdomen, carefully arranging his intestines one by one. Zhu Erdan was startled and asked, "You and I have no old grudges or recent grievances—why are you killing me?" Judge Lu laughed and said, "Do not be afraid; I am merely replacing your heart with a more intelligent one." With that, he calmly placed the intestines back into the abdominal cavity, sewed up the belly, and finally wrapped a foot-binding cloth around Zhu Erdan's waist. When the operation was finished, there was not a trace of blood on the bed, only a slight numbness in his abdomen. Zhu Erdan saw Judge Lu place a piece of flesh on the table and asked what it was. Judge Lu replied, "This is your heart. Seeing that your writing was not sharp, I knew your mind's passages were blocked. Just now in the underworld, among thousands of hearts, I selected a clever one to replace yours, leaving this one to fill the gap." Having said this, Judge Lu rose, closed the door, and left. At dawn, Zhu Erdan unwrapped the cloth and saw that the wound had healed, leaving only a red line as a mark. From then on, his literary talent greatly improved; whatever he read, he never forgot. A few days later, Zhu Erdan showed his new writings to Judge Lu, who said, "These are acceptable. But your fortune is thin; you cannot attain great wealth or high rank—only a scholar or provincial graduate at most." Zhu Erdan asked, "When will I pass the provincial examination?" Judge Lu replied, "This year you will surely take the top place." Soon, Zhu Erdan came first in the prefectural exams, and indeed won the highest honors in the provincial examination. His fellow students, who had always mocked him, were stunned when they saw his examination paper, their eyes wide with astonishment. After careful inquiry, they learned of this strange affair. They all begged Zhu Erdan to introduce them to Judge Lu, wishing to become his friends. Judge Lu agreed. They prepared a grand feast and awaited his arrival. At the first watch, Judge Lu appeared, his red beard flowing, his eyes blazing like lightning. The crowd, seeing this, lost their wits, their faces pale with terror, their bodies trembling, their teeth chattering. Before long, they all fled away.
Zhu Erdun pulled Judge Lu home to drink wine. When they were both tipsy, Zhu Erdun said, "The matter of washing the intestines and cutting open the stomach has already received great kindness. But there is another matter I wish to trouble you with, I wonder if it might be possible?" Judge Lu bade him speak freely. Zhu Erdun then said, "Since the heart and intestines can be replaced, I suppose the face can also be changed. My wife, my first and lawful spouse, has a decent figure, but her head and face are not very pleasing. I would trouble you to once again wield your knife and axe, if that might be done?" Judge Lu smiled and said, "Very well, let me slowly find an opportunity for it."
After a few days, the Judge of the Underworld came knocking at the door in the dead of night. Zhu Erdan hurriedly rose to welcome him in, and holding up a candle, saw that the Judge carried something wrapped in his robe. When asked what it was, the Judge replied, "That matter you entrusted to me some time ago has been difficult to find a suitable match for. But just now I happened to obtain a beautiful woman's head, and I respectfully present it to you to fulfill my task." Zhu parted the wrapping and saw that the blood at the neck was still moist. The Judge urged him to go quickly into the inner chamber, lest the fowls and dogs be disturbed. Zhu worried that the inner door was already bolted, but when the Judge approached and pushed with his hand, the door swung open. They entered the bedchamber, where the wife was sleeping on her side. The Judge handed the beautiful head to Zhu to hold, then drew a sharp dagger from his boot, pressed it against the wife's neck, and with a motion like cutting bean curd, the head rolled off onto the pillow beside her—the hand moved and the blade cut, cleaving through as if by itself. The Judge swiftly took the beautiful head from Zhu's arms, placed it upon the wife's neck, carefully adjusted its position, and pressed it down to join seamlessly. When this was done, the Judge tucked the pillow under the wife's shoulder, told Zhu to bury the original head in a secluded place, and then departed. When Zhu's wife awoke from her sleep, she felt a slight numbness in her neck and a roughness on her face; rubbing it with her hand, she shed some flakes of blood, and in great fright, she called for a maid to bring water for washing. The maid entered and, seeing the wife's face covered with bloodstains, nearly fainted from shock. The wife washed her face with her hands, and the basin of water turned red. When she lifted her head, her features were utterly changed, and the maid, looking again, was struck with renewed terror. The wife took a mirror to examine herself and was stunned, unable to comprehend what had happened. Just then, Zhu entered the room and told her the whole story. He studied her closely and saw that her long brows extended to her temples, and her cheeks bore dimples, making her look like a beauty from a painting. When he loosened her collar to inspect, there was indeed a ring of red line around her neck, and the flesh above and below the line was of distinctly different colors.
In earlier times, a censor named Wu had a daughter of exceptional beauty, who had been betrothed twice, yet both suitors died before she could marry, leaving her unwed at nineteen. On the night of the Lantern Festival, the fifteenth day of the first month, she went to visit the Hall of the Ten Kings. Amid the bustling crowd, a lecherous rogue took note of her loveliness, secretly discovered her dwelling, and under cover of darkness and sparse foot traffic, scaled a ladder to leap over her courtyard wall. He dug a hole into her bedchamber door, crept inside, first slew a maidservant beside her bed, then forced himself upon the lady, seeking to ravish her. She resisted with all her might, crying out loudly, and the rogue, in a fury, killed her as well. Lady Wu faintly heard the commotion and sent a maid to investigate; the maid, upon seeing the corpses, was struck with terror. The entire household was roused, and they laid the lady's body in the hall, placing her head beside her neck, while the family wept and wailed through the night. At dawn, when they lifted the shroud covering her, they found the body intact but the head missing. The master beat all the maidservants, accusing them of lax watchfulness that allowed the lady's head to become a wild dog's meal. Censor Wu reported the tragedy to the prefect, who sternly ordered the constables to capture the culprit within a set deadline, yet three months passed without the murderer being caught.
The matter of Zhu's wife having her head exchanged gradually reached the ears of Censor Wu. Wu harbored deep suspicions about this affair and sent an old maidservant to the Zhu household to investigate. Upon seeing Lady Zhu, the maidservant was so startled that she turned and fled, returning to the residence to report to Censor Wu. Finding his daughter's corpse still intact, Wu was both astonished and perplexed, unable to fathom the truth himself, and surmised that Zhu Erdan had used sorcery to harm his daughter, thus he went to the Zhu home to interrogate him. Zhu Erdan said to Censor Wu, "My wife had her head exchanged in a dream, and I truly do not know how it came about. To say that I killed your daughter is a grave injustice." Censor Wu did not believe him and lodged a complaint with the authorities. The officials summoned and interrogated every member of the Zhu household, and their testimonies all matched Zhu Erdan's account. The prefect could not settle the case and had no choice but to release Zhu Erdan. Upon returning home, Zhu sought out Judge Lu and asked for his counsel. Judge Lu said, "This matter is not difficult; I shall have Wu's daughter speak for herself." That very night, Censor Wu dreamed that his daughter said, "Father, your child was murdered by Yang Danian of Suxi, and it has nothing to do with Zhu the Filial Scholar. He once found his wife not beautiful enough, so Judge Lu took my head to replace hers; this is a fortunate event where my body perished but my head still lives. I hope you will not bear enmity against the Zhu family." Upon waking, Censor Wu recounted the dream to his wife, and she had experienced the same dream. Thus, Censor Wu reported the dream to the authorities. An investigation revealed that a man named Yang Danian indeed existed, and he was apprehended and brought to justice, finally forcing the murderer to confess and accept his punishment. Censor Wu then visited Zhu Erdan and requested to meet his wife, and thus the two became father-in-law and son-in-law. They then buried Lady Zhu's head together with Censor Wu's daughter's corpse.
Zhu Erdan had once gone to the capital three times to take the Ministry of Rites examinations, but each time he failed due to violating the examination rules, and thus he became disheartened with the path of officialdom through examinations. Thirty years passed in this way, until one evening, Judge Lu told Zhu Erdan, "Your lifespan is not long." Zhu Erdan asked about the deadline, and Judge Lu said there were five days. Zhu Erdan asked, "Can you save me?" Judge Lu replied, "Everything is determined by Heaven; how can people act according to private wishes? Moreover, in the eyes of a man of understanding, life and death are fundamentally the same; why take joy in life and sorrow in death?" Zhu Erdan, hearing this, found it very reasonable. So he went to prepare his burial clothes, bedding, and coffin, and when everything was ready, he donned his finest garments and died. The next day, as his wife was weeping while supporting his coffin, Zhu Erdan suddenly drifted in from outside, ethereal and indistinct. His wife was terrified, but Zhu Erdan said, "Though I am now a ghost, I am no different from when I was alive. I worry about you, a widow with an orphaned child, and I am truly reluctant to part!" His wife was overcome with grief, weeping bitterly until her tears soaked her lapel, and Zhu Erdan gently comforted and consoled her. His wife said, "In ancient times, there was talk of the dead returning to life; since you can manifest yourself, why not be reborn?" Zhu Erdan replied, "The decree of Heaven cannot be defied." His wife then asked, "What do you do in the underworld?" Zhu Erdan answered, "Judge Lu has recommended me to handle clerical affairs; I have an official rank and suffer no hardship." His wife wanted to say more, but Zhu Erdan said, "Lord Lu has come with me; you can prepare some wine and food." With that, he quickly walked out of the room. His wife followed his instructions and prepared the food and drink, and from within the room, she heard laughter and the sounds of drinking, loud and spirited, just as in life. At midnight, she peeked in again, but the room was empty, with no trace of the two men. From then on, Zhu Erdan returned home every three to five days, sometimes staying overnight for intimate moments, and taking care of household matters. His son, named Wei, was just five years old, and each time Zhu Erdan came, he would hold him; when the boy grew to seven or eight, he taught him to read by lamplight. The son was quite intelligent, able to write essays by age nine, and became a xiucai at fifteen, unaware that he was a fatherless child. Later, Zhu Erdan gradually came home less and less often, only once every month or so.
One evening, Zhu Erdang came again and said to his wife, "Tonight I must bid you a final farewell." His wife asked, "Where are you going?" He replied, "I have received a decree from the Heavenly Emperor appointing me as the Grand Hua Minister, and I am to depart for a distant post, where affairs are many and the road is long, so I cannot return." Mother and son embraced Zhu Erdang and wept bitterly. Zhu Erdang comforted his wife, saying, "Do not grieve so! Our son has grown to manhood, and the family livelihood can sustain you; where in this world is there a couple that never parts, even for a hundred years?" Then, gazing at his son, he said, "Conduct yourself well, and do not squander the estate I leave behind. In ten years, we shall meet again." With these words, he strode straight out the door and was never seen again.
Later, when Zhu Wei was twenty-five years old, he passed the imperial examination and was appointed to the post of a messenger. By imperial decree, he was sent to offer sacrifices at the Western Sacred Mountain, Huashan. As he passed through Huayin County, suddenly a carriage adorned with pheasant-feathered canopies, disregarding the ceremonial procession, rushed forward at great speed. Zhu Wei was greatly startled, and upon closer inspection, he saw that the person seated inside was none other than his father. He dismounted from his horse, weeping, and knelt prostrate by the roadside. Zhu Erdan halted the carriage and said, "Your official reputation is excellent; I can rest peacefully in the underworld." Zhu Wei remained kneeling, unwilling to rise. After speaking, Zhu Erdan urged the carriage onward and sped away without a backward glance. After the carriage had traveled some distance, he looked back, unfastened the sword at his waist, and sent an attendant to deliver it to his son, calling out from afar, "Take this; it will ensure your wealth and honor." Zhu Wei wished to follow his father, but the carriage and attendants vanished like the wind, disappearing in the blink of an eye. Zhu Wei's grief lingered long, unable to subside. He drew the sword and examined it; it was exquisitely crafted, with a line of characters engraved upon it: "Be bold in courage yet cautious in heart; be wise in strategy yet upright in conduct."
Zhu Wei later rose in official rank to become a Sima, and he fathered five sons, named Zhu Chen, Zhu Qian, Zhu Mi, Zhu Hun, and Zhu Shen. One night, in a dream, he heard his father say, "The girdle sword should be given to Hun." Thereupon he passed the sword to his fourth son, Zhu Hun. Zhu Hun later attained the position of Zongxian, and his official reputation was excellent.
The Chronicler of the Strange remarks: To saw off a crane's legs and graft them onto a duck's feet, seeking to remedy shortness with length, is a deluded and absurd notion; to cut a flower and transplant it onto another tree, grafting it there, is a fanciful and creative act of ingenuity. How much more so, then, to use axes and chisels to replace a man's liver and intestines, or knives and awls to alter his head and neck! The Judge of the Underworld, Lu, may truly be said to have a hideous exterior concealing a noble and refined spirit. From the end of the Ming dynasty to the present day, the span of years is not so great—does the Judge Lu of Lingyang still dwell in the world? Does his efficacy still hold? If I could but hold the reins of his chariot and serve him, that would be my joy and my deepest admiration.
Commentary
The story of "Judge Lu" is divided into two parts. The first half narrates Pu Songling's understanding and fantasies regarding medical science, while the second half recounts his fantasies about society and human life. The core of the tale lies in the first half, and its brilliance also resides there.
For men, talent (primarily in poetry and prose) was prized; for women, beauty was paramount—these were the golden standards by which individuals were judged in ancient China. Yet both talent and beauty were gifts of heredity, beyond the reach of nurture, leading many to yearn and scheme for ways to alter their lot. Through Pu Songling's romantic imagination, "The Judge of the Underworld" fully reflects the psychological state of ancient Chinese people and reveals a possible path for change: organ transplantation. Though these imaginings do not fully align with modern anatomy—for instance, the belief that intelligence resides in the heart, and that stupidity stems from "blocked pores," so that swapping the heart can make one clever; or that to become beautiful, one should not undergo cosmetic surgery but simply exchange heads—these notions are somewhat like climbing a tree to catch a fish. Yet the heart transplant causes one's "literary thoughts to surge forth, never forgetting anything at a glance"; the head transplant bestows "long brows shading the temples, and dimples resting upon the cheekbones," transforming the recipient into a "figure from a painting," showcasing Pu Songling's ingenuity and richness of imagination. The description of the heart transplant, and especially the head transplant, reads: "The Judge handed the head to Zhu, who held it, then drew a white blade like a dagger from his boot, pressed it against the lady's neck, cutting with force as if through bean curd, and the blade parted the flesh; the head fell beside the pillow. Hastily, he took the beautiful head from Zhu's embrace, placed it upon the neck, examined it carefully to ensure it was aligned, and then pressed it down." "When Zhu's wife awoke, she felt a slight numbness at her neck and a roughness on her face; rubbing it, she found flakes of blood, and was greatly alarmed. She called her maid to fetch water for washing. The maid, seeing the blood all over her face, was terrified. When she washed, the basin water turned entirely red. Lifting her head, her face was completely changed, and she was even more horrified. The lady took a mirror to look at herself, stunned and unable to understand." Detailed yet concise, exquisite and vivid, even centuries later, one marvels at Pu Songling's supreme descriptive skill.
The latter half of the story's depiction of social life—the notion of many sons bringing much happiness—falls into conventional clichés, reflecting another facet of Pu Songling's worldly ideals.