Original Text
Yang Yuxi moved his residence to the banks of the Sishui River. His study faced a vast expanse of desolate wilderness, and beyond the courtyard wall lay many ancient tombs. Every night, he could hear the rustling of white poplars, a sound like surging waves that never ceased. One deep night, he sat alone by candlelight, listening to the wind and trees outside his window, feeling an infinite melancholy. Suddenly, from beyond the wall, someone began to chant: "In the dark night, the chilling wind blows backward, fireflies brush the grass and cling to the curtains." These sorrowful and mournful verses were repeated over and over. Listening closely, he found the voice delicate and plaintive, as if it belonged to a woman, and Yang was filled with suspicion. The next day, he went outside the wall but saw no trace of anyone. Only a purple sash lay abandoned among the thorns, so he picked it up and placed it on the windowsill. By the second watch of the night, the same desolate chant arose from outside, just as it had the night before. Yang climbed onto a stool to peer over the wall, and the chanting immediately ceased. He suddenly realized that this must be a ghost, yet despite this, he felt a deep admiration for her.
On the second night, Yang Sheng crouched atop the wall, waiting quietly. As the first watch was nearly over, he saw a woman slowly emerge from the grass, leaning against a small tree, her head bowed, chanting that mournful poem with a desolate air. Yang Sheng gave a soft cough, and the woman instantly vanished into the wild thicket. He then hid beneath the wall, waiting until he heard her finish her recitation, before continuing from across the wall with two lines of his own: "Whose hidden sorrows and bitter thoughts are seen? In the cold moonlight, with sleeves thin and alone." After he finished, a long silence ensued, and Yang Sheng returned to his room in disappointment. No sooner had he sat down than he suddenly saw a beautiful woman enter from outside. Adjusting her robe, she stepped forward and saluted him, saying, "You are truly a refined scholar, yet I have been so timid as to hide from you." Yang Sheng was overjoyed and drew her to sit beside him. She appeared slender and frail, carrying a chill about her, so thin she seemed barely able to bear the weight of her garments. He asked her, "Where is your native place? Have you been lodging here long?" She replied, "I am from Longxi, and I wandered with my father. At seventeen, I died of a sudden illness, and now twenty years have passed. Beneath the Nine Springs, the wilds are desolate, and I am as lonely as a solitary duck. Those two lines I chanted were my own composition, meant to express my sorrow and resentment. I pondered long but could not complete the poem, and I am grateful that you deigned to continue it, bringing comfort and joy to me in the underworld." Yang Sheng wished to embrace her in intimacy, but the woman frowned deeply and said, "I am but dry bones in a tomb, not like the living. If you join with me, it will shorten your span of life. I truly cannot bear to bring disaster upon you." So he desisted. He then reached out and touched her chest, finding her breasts still like those of a virgin. He wished to see her tiny feet beneath her skirt, and she lowered her head with a smile, saying, "You mad scholar are too persistent!" He took her feet in his hands and fondled them, seeing that she wore moon-white silk stockings, with a colored thread tied on one foot and a purple garter on the other. He asked, "Why do you not wear garters on both?" She said, "Last night, when I fled in fear of you, I lost one somewhere." Yang Sheng said, "Let me replace it for you!" He took the garter from the windowsill and handed it to her. The woman asked in surprise where he had gotten it, and he told her the whole story of the previous night. She then untied the colored thread and put on the garter. Later, she casually leafed through the books on the table, and upon seeing Yuan Zhen's "Song of the Lianchang Palace" from the Tang dynasty, she sighed, "This was my favorite poem when I was alive. To see it again today is like a dream." Yang Sheng discussed poetry with her and found her intelligent and charming. They talked intimately by the lamplight beneath the window, and it felt as though he had gained a true friend.
From that time onward, every night as soon as he heard her soft chanting, she would soon arrive without fail. The young lady repeatedly cautioned Yang: "I beg you to keep this a strict secret and not speak of it to outsiders. I have been timid since childhood and fear that some unruly guests might come to bully me." Yang promised to keep the secret. Their feelings for each other were harmonious, like fish in water, and though they did not share a bed, they were as intimate as husband and wife. The lady often copied books for Yang by lamplight, her handwriting upright and delicate. She also selected a hundred palace poems on her own, copied them, and recited them. She had Yang acquire a Go board and a pipa, and every night she taught him to play Go; if not playing Go, they would strum the pipa. When she played tunes like "Rain on the Banana Window by the Zero Hour," the melody was so mournful and touching that it pierced the heart, making Yang too distressed to listen. Then she would switch to pieces like "Morning Orioles in the Garden," and Yang would immediately feel his spirits lift. They reveled by lamplight, often so lost in joy that they forgot the dawn. Whenever a glimmer of morning light appeared at the window, the lady would hastily depart.
One day, a scholar named Xue came to visit, just as Yang was sleeping with his head covered during the day. Xue noticed a pipa and a chessboard in the room, knowing Yang was not skilled in these; when he flipped through some books, he saw handwritten palace poems in a very neat and delicate script, which deepened his suspicion. When Yang awoke, Xue asked, "What are the pipa and chessboard for?" Yang replied, "I wish to learn them." Xue then inquired who had copied the poems, and Yang falsely claimed it was done by another friend. Xue examined the handwriting closely and saw a small line at the end of the last page: "Written by Liansuo on such-and-such a day and month." He laughed and said, "This is a woman's pet name—how can you deceive me like this?" Yang was deeply embarrassed and at a loss for words. Xue pressed him relentlessly, but Yang refused to speak. Xue took the poetry manuscript and prepared to leave, making Yang even more uneasy, so he finally confessed the truth. Xue demanded to meet Liansuo, and Yang told him of the woman's strict instructions to keep it secret. Yet Xue's longing to see Liansuo was so urgent that Yang, helpless, agreed. That night, when Liansuo arrived, Yang told her of Xue's wish. Liansuo grew very angry and said, "What did I warn you about? I never expected you to be so loose-tongued and spread this everywhere!" Yang explained how Xue had pressed him, pleading his own innocence. Liansuo said, "Our fate is ended!" Yang tried every means to soothe and explain, but Liansuo could not forgive him; she rose to leave, saying, "I will hide from him for a while." The next day, Xue came again, and Yang told him Liansuo had no desire to meet him. Xue suspected Yang was making excuses to deceive him, and that evening, Xue brought two fellow students to Yang's home, staying late on pretexts, deliberately causing trouble with noisy clamor all night. Yang was furious but could do nothing against them. This continued for several nights, but they never saw a trace of Liansuo, and growing bored, they began to think of leaving, so the noise gradually subsided. Suddenly, a chanting voice came from outside; everyone present listened intently, and the sound was mournful and heartrending. Xue was concentrating on it when one of his friends, a military scholar named Wang, picked up a large stone and threw it over the wall, shouting, "Hiding coyly and not coming out to meet guests—what fine poetry is that, weeping and wailing, enough to annoy anyone who hears it!" The chanting immediately ceased. Everyone blamed Wang, and Yang, his face red with anger, loudly rebuked him. The next day, these people finally left Yang's home. That night, Yang stayed alone in the empty room, hoping Liansuo would return, but he saw no trace of her. After two days, Liansuo suddenly appeared, weeping, and said, "The vicious guests you brought have nearly scared me to death!" Yang hastily apologized and begged forgiveness. Liansuo left in haste, saying before parting, "I told you long ago our fate was ended—let us part from now on." Yang tried to detain her, but she had already vanished without a trace. From then on, Yang waited bitterly for over a month, but Liansuo never came again. He thought of her day and night, lost all appetite for food and tea, until he became gaunt and haggard, consumed by regret that could never be undone.
One evening, Scholar Yang was drinking alone when Liansuo suddenly lifted the door curtain and entered. Overjoyed, he said, "Have you forgiven me?" Liansuo wept endlessly, her tears soaking her garments, yet she remained silent without a word. Yang urgently asked what was the matter, but she hesitated, on the verge of speaking yet stopping, and finally said, "I left in a fit of pique, and now, facing an urgent matter, I must come to beg for help—I cannot help but feel some shame." Under Yang's repeated questioning, she finally revealed, "I know not from where a foul and vile underling has come, who forcibly demands that I become his concubine. Yet I come from a pure and honorable family—how could I bow my head and humble myself to suffer the insult of this base ghost? Alas, I am but a frail woman; how can I resist? If you are still willing to treat me as your wife, you must not stand idly by." Upon hearing this, Yang was enraged, burning with fury to fight that ghost to the death, yet he feared that, being of different realms, his strength might prove useless. Liansuo said, "Tomorrow evening, sleep early, and I will meet you in a dream." Thus they spoke intimately as before, sitting together until dawn. As Liansuo departed, she instructed Yang not to sleep during the day, but to await the night's dream meeting. Yang agreed.
Because he had drunk a little wine in the afternoon, Scholar Yang was somewhat tipsy, so he covered himself with a robe and lay down on the bed, unknowingly falling asleep. Suddenly he saw Liansuo arrive, handing him a dagger and pulling him by the hand to leave. They came to a courtyard, and just as they closed the gate, he wanted to ask Liansuo what was happening when he heard someone pounding on the gate with a large stone. Liansuo, terrified, said, "The enemy is here!" Yang opened the gate and rushed out, only to see a runner wearing a red cap and black clothes, with a beard bristling like a hedgehog's quills around his mouth. Yang angrily rebuked the fellow. The runner glared back with equal hostility, spewing vicious and cruel words. Yang, enraged, charged forward to fight him to the death. The fellow then threw stones at him, raining down like hail, and one stone struck Yang's wrist, causing such pain that he could no longer hold the dagger. In this moment of peril, he saw from afar a man with a bow slung at his waist, out hunting. Looking more closely, he recognized him as the martial scholar Wang. Yang cried out for help. Wang swiftly drew his bow and rushed over, shooting an arrow that struck the runner's thigh, and with another shot, the fellow fell dead. Yang, overjoyed, thanked Wang profusely. Wang asked Yang what had happened, and Yang recounted the entire affair. Wang secretly rejoiced that he had atoned for his past misdeeds, and together they went to Liansuo's room. Liansuo, trembling with fear and shame, stood at a distance, shrinking back, silent. Wang noticed a small dagger on the table, only a foot long, with a hilt inlaid with gold and jade; drawing it from its sheath, he saw its blade gleam so brightly it could reflect a person's likeness. Wang praised it repeatedly, unable to put it down. He chatted idly with Yang for a while, and seeing Liansuo so shy and pitiable, he took his leave. Yang also returned home, but as he climbed over the wall, he fell to the ground, and then suddenly awoke, finding it was dawn, with village roosters crowing in confusion. He only felt a sharp pain in his wrist, and when daylight came, he saw the skin was red and swollen. At noon, Wang arrived and said he had had a strange dream the night before. Yang asked him, "Did you not dream of shooting an arrow?" Wang was astonished that Yang could know his dream in advance. Yang showed Wang his hand and recounted the whole story. Wang recalled Liansuo's appearance from his dream and regretted not being able to see her in person; he was grateful for his own service to her and asked Yang to convey a message, hoping Liansuo would agree to meet him. That night, Liansuo came to thank Yang. Yang said the credit should go to Wang and conveyed Wang's earnest wish to see her. Liansuo said, "I dare not forget Wang's saving grace, but he is a rough martial man, and I am truly afraid of him." Then she added, "I noticed Wang greatly admired my dagger. This dagger was bought by my father for a hundred taels of silver when he was sent as an envoy to Southern Yue, and I treasured it deeply, so I wrapped it in gold thread and set it with pearls. My father, pitying my untimely death, had this dagger buried with me. Today, I am willing to part with it and give it to Wang; seeing the dagger will be like seeing me." The next day, Yang conveyed Liansuo's intention to Wang, who was overjoyed. That evening, Liansuo indeed brought the dagger and said, "Please instruct Wang to treasure it well; this is not a product of China." From then on, Liansuo and Yang continued their intimate visits, just as before.
After several months, one evening, Liansuo looked up at Yang under the lamplight, as if she wished to speak, her face blushing deeply, hesitating several times as if on the verge of words. Yang embraced her and asked what she wanted to say. Liansuo said, "For so long, I have been favored by your affection, and having received the vitality of a living person and partaken of mortal food and drink, I feel as though my withered bones have suddenly gained life. Yet I still need the essence and blood of a living man to be fully revived." Yang smiled and replied, "It was you who were unwilling; do you think I would begrudge such a small offering?" Liansuo continued, "After you unite with me, you will surely fall gravely ill for over twenty days, but medicine can cure you." Then they undressed and lay together, sharing their joy. When it was over, Liansuo rose and dressed, saying, "I still need a little living blood; can you bear the pain and favor me once more?" Yang took a sharp blade and cut his arm, letting the blood flow. Liansuo lay down and let the drops fall into her navel. Then she rose and said, "I shall not come again. Remember, after a hundred days, when you see a blue bird singing in the tree before my grave, you must immediately dig open the tomb and rescue me." Yang earnestly accepted her charge. As she was leaving, Liansuo added, "Do not forget, I implore you; neither too early nor too late!" With these words, she departed.
After more than ten days, Scholar Yang indeed fell gravely ill, his belly swollen as if to burst. A physician administered medicine, and he purged filth resembling mud; after another ten days, he was fully recovered. Calculating that the hundred-day period had arrived, Yang had his family carry spades and wait before Liansuo's grave. At dusk, they indeed saw two azure birds calling. Yang joyfully exclaimed, "It is time; begin the work." So they cut away the brambles and opened the tomb. The coffin had long since rotted, but Liansuo's face was as if alive; when they reached out to touch her, she was still faintly warm. They covered her with clothes and carried her home, placing her in a warm spot, whereupon she slowly began to breathe, her breath as thin as a silk thread. The family gently fed her a little congee, and by midnight she had fully awakened. Later, she often said to Yang, "Those twenty-odd years were truly like a dream!"
Commentary
This is a tale of love between a human and a female ghost, composed of five parts: 1. The scholar Yang Yuwei hears a female ghost reciting poetry by night. 2. Through responding to her poem, Yang Yuwei and the ghost Liansuo come to know and love each other. 3. Because Yang Yuwei reveals Liansuo's whereabouts to others, she distances herself from him. 4. After Yang Yuwei rescues Liansuo from being insulted by a yamen runner, they reconcile. 5. Liansuo is revived through Yang Yuwei's donation of his vital blood and essence.
In the tale, Liansuo appears as a ghostly poetess, repeatedly reciting the verse, "In the dark night, the harsh wind blows backward, fireflies brush the grass and dampen the curtains." She is described as "thin, timid, and frozen with fear, so frail she could barely bear her garments," and especially cowardly, dreading strangers—this distinct and prominent character trait runs through the entire plot. During her conflicts with Yang Yowei, this trait finds even greater room for expression, leaving a deep impression on readers. In her interactions with Yang, she displays uncommon talents: beyond poetry, she excels in calligraphy, her "brushstrokes delicate and graceful"; she is skilled at recitation, "selecting a hundred palace poems to memorize and chant"; she plays Go, "teaching Yang the game every night"; and she plucks the pipa with such mastery that it can "pierce one's chest with sorrow" or "bring ease and joy to the heart." Such accomplishments were not typical of ordinary virtuous women of that time. Considering Pu Songling's acquaintance with the singing girl Gu Qingxia during his southern travels, Liansuo's character likely bears the shadow of Gu Qingxia.