Original Text
Geng Eighteen of Xincheng grew critically ill, knowing well that he could not recover, he said to his wife, "Our parting is but a matter of days. After I die, whether you remarry or remain a widow is entirely your own choice; pray tell me your intention." His wife remained silent. Geng Eighteen pressed her repeatedly, saying, "Remaining a widow is certainly good, but remarrying is also a common practice. What harm is there in speaking plainly? As I am about to bid you farewell, if you remain a widow, I shall be comforted; if you remarry, I shall have no lingering concerns." His wife then said sorrowfully, "There is not even a small jar of millet in the house; even while you were alive we could barely manage, how could I alone keep the household as a widow?" Upon hearing this, Geng Eighteen grasped his wife's arm tightly and said bitterly, "How cruel-hearted you are!" With these words he died, yet his hand remained clenched and would not release. His wife cried out, and when the family came, two people strained to pry open Geng Eighteen's fingers, and only then did they loosen.
Geng Eighteen did not realize he was dead. Stepping out of his door, he saw a dozen small carts, each carrying ten people, with a square paper pasted on each cart bearing the names of those aboard. The driver, spotting Geng Eighteen, urged him to board quickly. Geng Eighteen saw that there were already nine people on the cart, and with himself, it made exactly ten. He also noticed that on the list of names, his own was at the very end. The cart creaked and groaned as it moved, the noise deafening, and he had no idea where they were headed. Before long, they arrived at a place where someone said, "This is the Land of Longing for Home." Hearing this name, Geng Eighteen was filled with doubt. Then he overheard the driver muttering, "Today, three people were executed." Geng Eighteen was greatly startled. As he listened more closely to their talk, all of it concerned matters of the underworld, and he suddenly realized: "Could it be that I have become a ghost?" At once, his family affairs came to mind—there was nothing he truly worried about, except that his aged mother was very old, and after his wife remarried, there would be no one to care for her. At this thought, tears streamed down his face uncontrollably.
After some time, he saw a terrace several tens of feet high, crowded with many people. These people wore cangues on their necks and shackles on their feet, weeping and wailing as they ascended and descended the terrace. He heard someone say this was the Terrace of Homeward Gazing. When the carriage arrived at this place, all the passengers stepped down from the carriage shafts and scrambled eagerly to climb the high terrace. The driver treated them variously—some he struck with a whip, others he forcibly obstructed—but toward Geng Shiba, he only urged him to go up. Geng Shiba climbed several dozen steps before reaching the summit. Gazing into the distance, he saw his own home's gate and courtyard right before his eyes, though the interior was hazy and indistinct, as if shrouded in mist. Geng Shiba's heart ached with unbearable sorrow. Turning his head by chance, he saw a man in short garments standing behind him. The man asked Geng Shiba his surname, and Geng Shiba told him truthfully. The man claimed to be a craftsman from the Eastern Sea. Seeing Geng Shiba weeping, he asked, "What matter weighs on your heart?" Geng Shiba again answered truthfully. The craftsman suggested they leap from the terrace together to escape. Geng Shiba feared pursuit from the underworld, but the craftsman said it was no problem. Geng Shiba also worried that the terrace was too high and he might be injured, but the craftsman simply told him to follow. So the craftsman jumped first, and Geng Shiba followed, landing safely on the ground without harm. They rejoiced that no one had noticed. Looking back, they saw the small carriage they had ridden still beneath the terrace. The two hurried a few steps, then suddenly remembered that their names were still affixed to the carriage, and feared the underworld would track them by those names. So they turned back, ran to the carriage, moistened their fingers with saliva, smeared away their names, and then fled again. They ran panting heavily, breathless, not daring to rest even for a moment.
Before long, they reached the doorstep of his home, and the craftsman escorted Geng Shiba into the house. At that moment, Geng Shiba suddenly caught sight of his own corpse and instantly revived. He felt only exhaustion, parchedness, and a burning thirst, urgently crying out for water. His family was greatly startled and quickly brought him water, which he drank in one breath, consuming more than a dan. After drinking his fill, he abruptly stood up, bowed in thanks, and then went out to bow again in gratitude before returning. Once inside, he lay stiff and motionless once more. His family, seeing his strange behavior, suspected he had not truly come back to life, but upon observing him gradually, they found no further peculiarities. Drawing near, they asked him about his condition, and he recounted the entire affair clearly from beginning to end. His family inquired, "Why did you go out just now?" He replied, "To bid farewell to the craftsman." They asked further, "Why did you drink so much water?" He answered, "At first, it was I who drank, but later it was the craftsman drinking." His family fed him thin gruel, and after a few days, he fully recovered. From then on, Geng Shiba grew cold and indifferent toward his wife, no longer sharing the same bed with her.
Commentary
The ancients said, "In poverty and lowliness, a married couple finds every matter sorrowful." This holds true in life, and even more so in death.
When Geng Shiba was on the verge of death, he asked his wife whether she would remarry after his passing. She replied, "Our home has not even a single peck of grain; even while you lived, we could barely make ends meet. How could I possibly remain a widow?" These were words of profound sorrow. Geng Shiba "immediately seized his wife's arm and spoke with a tone of resentment, saying, 'How cruel!' Having said this, he expired, yet his hand remained clenched and would not open." Later, when Geng Shiba was restored to life, "from that time onward, he grew weary and contemptuous of his wife, and no longer shared the same bed with her."
This emotional experience was naturally deeply troubling for Geng Shiba, and readers of this tale also find it heavy-hearted. It is difficult to label Geng Shiba with the feudal expectation that his wife should remain chaste, for the desire that one's spouse remain forever loyal is a common human sentiment, especially as Geng Shiba's further worry was that his wife's departure would leave his aged mother without care, leading to the ruin of his family; nor can we blame Geng Shiba's wife for being heartless, for she spoke only the truth. In the face of life and death, whether it be emotion, morality, or abstract preaching, all are pale and powerless. If Geng Shiba had not returned from the dead, the tragedy of family destruction would have been unavoidable, yet what of the impoverished life that awaited him after his resurrection?