Original Text
Mr. Tang, whose given name was Pin, was a Jinshi of the Xinchou year. Stricken with a severe illness and on the verge of death, he suddenly felt a surge of heat rising from the lower part of his body, gradually ascending. When it reached his thighs, his calves died; when it reached his abdomen, his thighs died. When it reached his heart, the heart was the most difficult to perish. Then, memories of childhood events and countless trivial, long-forgotten matters came flooding back with the blood, passing through his heart one by one like a tide. Whenever he recalled a good deed, his heart felt pure and peaceful; whenever he thought of an evil deed, his heart was instantly filled with regret and agitation, as if being fried in a cauldron of oil—the agony was beyond words. He remembered that at the age of seven or eight, he had once raided a bird's nest, taken the fledglings, and killed them for sport. This single act caused the hot blood in his heart to surge like a tide, and it took about the time of a meal for it to slowly calm down. Only after all his deeds in life had passed through his heart like a tide did he feel that stream of heat threading through his throat, straight into his brain, and then emerging from the top of his head, rising like smoke from a cooking fire. After about an hour, his soul detached from his body and drifted away, forgetting its earthly shell.
The soul drifted aimlessly, without support or home, wandering on the road outside the city walls. At that moment, a giant approached, several zhang in height, who picked up Tang Pin's soul and placed it in his sleeve. Once inside the sleeve, the soul found it already crowded with many people, shoulders and legs pressing against each other, the air foul and stifling, utterly unbearable. Tang Pin suddenly recalled that only the Buddha could deliver him from this peril, so he began to chant "Amitabha" aloud; after only three or four recitations, the soul floated out of the giant's sleeve and fell to the ground. The giant immediately retrieved it, and this happened three times—the giant picked him up, and he fell from the sleeve three times—until at last the giant departed. Tang Pin's soul remained alone in that place, not knowing where to go. Thinking that the Buddha dwelt in the Western Paradise, he set off westward. Before long, he saw a monk seated in meditation by the roadside, and he stepped forward to bow and ask for directions. The monk said, "All matters of life and death for scholars are governed by Wenchang, the God of Literature, and Confucius, the Sage of Education; you must first go to them to have your name struck from the registers before you can leave the underworld for elsewhere." Tang Pin then inquired about the dwellings of Wenchang and Confucius, and the monk told him each in turn, whereupon Tang Pin hastened in the direction the monk had indicated.
After a short while, Tang Pin arrived at the Temple of Confucius, where he saw the sage seated facing south in solemn majesty, and he knelt and performed the rites of obeisance as if still alive. Confucius said, "The alteration of the registers of life and death still lies within the jurisdiction of the God of Literature, Wenchang." So he directed him to the path leading to that deity. Tang Pin hastened onward and soon beheld a hall as grand and magnificent as an imperial palace. Bowing low, he entered reverently, and indeed there sat a divine being whose countenance matched exactly the images of Wenchang seen in the mortal world. Tang Pin prostrated himself on the ground and prayed devoutly. The God of Literature, knowing his purpose, examined the registers and said, "You are honest in conduct and upright in character, and you deserve to return to the world of the living. But your body has already decayed, and none but the Goddess Guanyin can remedy this." He then pointed out another path and bade him go swiftly to seek Guanyin. Tang Pin obeyed and journeyed on, until suddenly he saw a dense grove of trees and bamboos, amidst which stood a splendid edifice. Entering, he beheld the Goddess Guanyin, her hair coiled in a spiral bun, her demeanor dignified, her golden face as radiant as the full moon. Before her throne stood a vase of precious stone, from which drooped a willow branch, green and misty. Tang Pin bowed reverently and recounted the words of Wenchang. Guanyin looked troubled, but Tang Pin pleaded without ceasing. A nearby Arhat interceded, saying, "O Bodhisattva, you can exercise your great supernatural power: take a pinch of earth to serve as flesh, and break a willow twig to serve as bone." Guanyin then consented to the Arhat's plea. She herself broke off a willow branch, poured water from the vase, mixed it with pure earth to form clay, and patted the willow branch and clay onto Tang Pin's body. She then ordered a celestial boy to escort him back to the place where his coffin lay, and to reunite his soul with his physical form. At that moment, groans and sounds of turning were heard from within the coffin, and Tang Pin's family, greatly alarmed, gathered around. Opening the coffin, they helped him out, and he was suddenly restored to health. It was calculated that he had been dead for forty-nine days.
Commentary
The account of Tang Pin's death and resurrection appears in multiple texts. According to Qing dynasty Liaozhai commentator Feng Zhenluan's citation of the Dan Gui Ji Zhu, it is recorded thus: 'In the eleventh year of Shunzhi, the year of Jiawu, Tang Pin of Lishui went to the provincial capital for the examinations, fell gravely ill, and died. He felt his soul emerge from the crown of his head and sought guidance from Guanyin. The Bodhisattva directed him to pay homage to Confucius, then to Wenchang, who inscribed his name in the register of official appointments. It was found that on a certain day in a certain year, Tang Pin had hired a boat to go to Rugao; the boatman's daughter was beautiful, and when he was tempted to approach her, he sternly refused, and it was declared that his future prospects were great. He was urgently commanded to return to life, and told: "Because you did not lust upon seeing beauty, I have come to save you." In the year Xinchou, he passed the metropolitan examination.' Thus it is evident that this story was composed by drawing upon and adapting contemporary records. Tang Gong's experiences in the underworld, whether the central theme of rewarding virtue and punishing lechery, or his visits to the patriarchs of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, all originate from the Dan Gui Ji Zhu; what is comparatively creative is Tang Gong's near-death experience. Its detailed depiction may be entirely imagined, or it may be the result of Pu Songling, who possessed considerable medical knowledge and practical experience, collecting related folk legends.