Original Text
In Fujian there was a certain Provincial Graduate named Zeng, who had passed the metropolitan examination and become a Presented Scholar. He went with two or three fellow graduates of the same list to roam the outskirts of the city. By chance they heard that a fortune-teller was lodging in the Pilu Meditation Temple, so they rode together to consult him. After entering and exchanging courtesies, they took their seats. The fortune-teller, seeing their elated demeanor, flattered them with some clever words. Zeng, waving his folding fan and smiling slightly, began by asking, "Is there any destiny for me to wear the python robe and jade belt?" The astrologer, with a grave expression, declared that he could be a peaceful prime minister for twenty years. Zeng was overjoyed and became even more arrogant. Just then a light rain began to fall, so Zeng and his companions took shelter in the monk's quarters. There they found an old monk with deep-set eyes and a high nose, sitting on a rush mat, looking very haughty and barely acknowledging their presence. After Zeng and the others raised their hands in greeting, they sat down on the couch and began chatting among themselves. The companions congratulated Zeng on being a future prime minister. Zeng, full of pride, pointed at his companions and said, "When I become prime minister, I will recommend my senior colleague, Elder Zhang, to be the Governor of Yingtian Prefecture; my cousins on my mother's side will be made Colonels and Brigadiers; and my old family servant will become a Captain or Lieutenant. Then my wishes will be fulfilled." Everyone present burst into loud laughter.
Soon, the rain outside the door grew heavier and heavier, and Zeng, weary, slumped onto the couch. Suddenly, he saw two eunuchs dispatched from the palace, bearing an imperial edict from the Son of Heaven, summoning Grand Preceptor Zeng to decide on matters of state. Zeng's heart swelled with pride, and he hurriedly made his way to the court. As the Son of Heaven listened to his words, he unconsciously leaned forward, drawing close, and spoke with him warmly for a long time, commanding that the demotion and promotion of officials below the third rank be left entirely to Zeng's discretion. He was immediately granted a dragon-embroidered robe, a jade belt, and a fine steed. After donning the robe and fastening the belt, Zeng prostrated himself, kowtowed, and withdrew from the palace. Returning home, he found it was no longer his former residence; the painted beams and carved rafters made the mansion exceedingly magnificent. Zeng himself could not fathom how he had suddenly attained such heights. Yet, whenever he lightly stroked his beard and gave a soft command, the chorus of attendants responding shook the air like thunder. Soon, high ministers and nobles came bearing rare treasures from across the seas, and sycophants, bowing and scraping, flocked to his door in an unending stream. When the Six Ministers arrived, he hastened to greet them; when vice-ministers came, he clasped his hands in a slight bow and exchanged a few words; for lesser officials, he merely nodded. The governor of Shanxi presented him with ten singing girls, all beautiful women, among whom the most outstanding were Niao Niao and Xian Xian, who were especially favored. Whenever he relaxed at home in casual attire, he would spend the entire day watching their songs and dances.
One day, Zeng recalled that in his days of poverty and obscurity he had once received assistance from Wang Ziliang, a local squire of the county; now that he himself held high office and noble rank, while Wang remained frustrated in his official career, why not lend him a helping hand? The next morning, he submitted a memorial recommending Wang Ziliang for the post of a Supervising Secretary, which was immediately approved by imperial decree, and Wang was promptly promoted and appointed. He then remembered that Grand Servitor Guo had once borne him some petty grudge, so he summoned Supervising Secretary Lü and Censor Chen Chang, among others, and imparted his intentions to them. The following day, memorials impeaching Guo were submitted in succession, and Guo, in accordance with the imperial edict, was stripped of his post and dismissed. Having thus repaid kindness and avenged grievances one by one, Zeng felt a great sense of satisfaction. Once, as Zeng happened to pass through a suburban thoroughfare, a drunken man blundered into his procession; he ordered the man to be bound and delivered to the Prefect of the Capital, where he was immediately beaten to death under the cudgel. Those whose residences or fields adjoined his, fearing his power and influence, presented him with rich and fertile lands. From then on, his wealth rivaled that of the state itself. Before long, Niao Niao and Xian Xian passed away one after another, and Zeng pined for them day and night. Suddenly, he recalled that in earlier years he had seen the daughter of his eastern neighbor, whose beauty was unparalleled; he had repeatedly tried to purchase her as a concubine but had always been thwarted by lack of means, but now, fortunately, he could have his wish fulfilled. So he instructed several capable servants to forcibly deliver a sum of money to the eastern neighbor's house. In no time, the girl was brought in a sedan chair of wisteria, and she appeared even more radiant and captivating than when he had seen her before. Looking back over his life, he felt that he could now be fully content.
Another year passed, and court officials whispered among themselves, as if some harbored resentment against Zeng. Yet these men, like "horses standing in formation," dared not speak, and Zeng, arrogant and proud, paid them no heed. At this time, a scholar-official named Bao, from the Dragon Diagram Pavilion, submitted an impeachment memorial to the emperor. The memorial read in essence: "I humbly submit that Zeng was originally a drunken, gambling scoundrel, a base market fellow. Only because a single word of his pleased Your Majesty's intent did he gain the favor of the imperial grace, and both father and son rose to high office, receiving favor to its utmost peak. Yet he does not think to wear down his body from head to foot, to sacrifice himself for the state, to repay the imperial kindness in the slightest measure. Instead, he acts willfully, arrogating authority and dispensing favors at his whim. To count his capital crimes would be harder than counting the hairs on his head! The offices of the court he treats as rare commodities, setting high or low prices according to the fatness or leanness of the posts. Thus, from dukes and ministers down to generals and soldiers, all scurry to his gate, calculating gains and losses, seizing opportunities, just like peddlers hawking wares in the market. Those who fawn on him, sniffing his breath and bowing to his dust, are beyond counting. Some outstanding talents and virtuous ministers, unwilling to bend and echo Zeng, are either relegated to idle posts or, in severe cases, stripped of office and reduced to commoners. Even a single matter of noncompliance incites this power-monger who points at a deer and calls it a horse; a word of offense sends them into exile in distant, beast-infested lands. The hundred officials are chilled to the bone, and Your Majesty stands isolated. Moreover, he devours the fertile fields of commoners at will and forcibly takes virtuous women as concubines. Evil vapors fill the air, grievances spread everywhere, and the world is shrouded in darkness as if without sun! Wherever Zeng's servants go, prefects and magistrates watch their every expression; once his private letters are sent, provincial governors, judicial commissioners, and viceroys twist the law to suit his whims. His adopted sons and distant relatives, connected through endless chains, ride post-horses swift as wind, their noise like rolling thunder. If local supplies are delayed even slightly, they are immediately flogged and punished. They oppress the people, enslave the officials, and wherever their retinue passes, not even a blade of grass remains in the fields. Yet Zeng, his arrogance at its peak, relies on imperial favor and shows no remorse. Whenever summoned to the palace for counsel, he whispers slanderous words before Your Majesty; upon returning home with leisurely ease, the rear gardens echo with songs of entertainment. He wallows in sensual pleasures, day and night, indulging without restraint, never sparing a thought for the state's welfare or the people's livelihood. Does the realm have such a prime minister? At present, all within and without are alarmed and unsettled, the people's hearts in turmoil. If he is not swiftly executed by the axe, it will surely lead to the usurpation of the throne like that of Cao Cao or Wang Mang. I, day and night, harbor fear and caution, unable to rest in peace, risking death to list the items of Zeng's crimes and report them to Your Majesty. I beg that this treacherous man's head be cut off, his ill-gotten wealth confiscated, to appease the wrath of Heaven above and satisfy the hearts of the people below. If my words are false and absurd, may the punishment of the sword and boiling oil fall upon me."
When the memorial was presented to the throne, Zeng, upon hearing of it, was so terrified that his soul fled from his body, and a chill like ice water coursed through his veins, leaving his heart utterly cold. Fortunately, the emperor, magnanimous and broad-minded, suppressed the memorial within the palace and did not issue it. Yet the officials of the various boards, the censors of the circuits, and the chief ministers of the nine courts all submitted impeachments against Zeng in succession; even those who had once sought his patronage as disciples or called him their foster father turned against him. Thus an imperial decree was issued, ordering the confiscation of Zeng's property and his banishment to Yunnan for military service. Zeng's son, who served as the prefect of Pingyang, was also summoned for interrogation. As Zeng listened to the decree, trembling with dread, soon dozens of armed warriors, wielding swords and spears, burst into his inner chambers, stripped him of his court robes and cap, and bound him together with his wife. Shortly thereafter, several laborers were seen carrying valuables into the courtyard—gold and silver coins amounting to millions, pearls, jade, emeralds, and agates filling hundreds of bushels, curtains, screens, and beds numbering thousands, down to infants' swaddling clothes and women's embroidered slippers, all scattered upon the steps of the hall. Zeng examined each item, and every one pierced his heart with sorrow and stung his eyes with bitterness. After a while, a man dragged out Zeng's beautiful concubine, her hair disheveled, her voice soft with weeping, her countenance utterly lost. A blaze of grief and rage burned within Zeng's chest, yet he dared not utter a word.
After a short while, all the towers and storehouses were sealed with strips, and Zeng was immediately driven out with shouts. The escort held the rope end and dragged him out; the husband and wife wept bitterly as they took to the road, begging for even a broken-down cart to ride in, but to no avail. After walking over ten li, Zeng's wife's feet grew weak, and she kept stumbling, so Zeng had to support her with one hand from time to time. After another ten or more li, Zeng himself was utterly exhausted. Suddenly they saw a towering mountain piercing the clouds, and Zeng feared he could not cross it; holding his wife's hand, they wept facing each other. But the escort glared at them with fierce eyes, not allowing them to stop for a single step. Zeng saw the setting sun slanting westward, with no place to lodge for the night, and had no choice but to hobble forward, one ahead and one behind, limping with difficulty. When they reached the mountainside, Zeng's wife had used up all her strength and sat by the roadside crying; Zeng also stopped, letting the escort curse and scold as they would. Suddenly they heard a great clamor of many voices, and a band of robbers, each brandishing sharp weapons, leaped forward. The escort was greatly terrified and fled without a trace. Zeng knelt upright and said, "I am a lone exile sent to a distant place, with nothing of value in my luggage." He begged them to spare him. The robbers glared with angry eyes and declared, "We are all wronged commoners whom you have persecuted; we seek only the head of you, a treacherous villain, and nothing else." Zeng rebuked them, saying, "Though I am guilty and awaiting punishment, I am still an official appointed by the imperial court; how dare you bandits act thus!" The robbers grew furious in turn, swung a great axe, and struck at Zeng's neck. Zeng felt his head fall to the ground with a sound; just as his startled soul was unsettled, two little demons came, bound his hands behind his back, and drove him onward.
After traveling for some time, they entered a great city. Soon they saw a palace, and within it sat a king of hideous appearance, who was judging the souls of the dead, determining their sins and their rewards. Zeng approached and prostrated himself, begging for mercy. The king examined the records, and after reading only a few lines, he roared in fury: "This crime of deceiving the sovereign and ruining the state deserves to be cast into the boiling cauldron!" The assembled ghosts shouted in unison, their voices like thunder. Immediately, a giant ghost seized Zeng and dragged him to the foot of the palace steps. There stood a cauldron seven feet high, surrounded by blazing charcoal, its very legs glowing red. Zeng trembled with terror, weeping bitterly, but there was no escape. The ghost grasped him by the hair with one hand and by the feet with the other, and hurled him into the cauldron. Zeng felt his entire body tossed about in the boiling oil; his skin and flesh were scorched and split, the pain piercing his very bones. The bubbling oil poured into his mouth, searing his lungs and entrails. He wished only for a swift death, but no matter what he did, he could not die. After about the time it takes to eat a meal, the ghost fished him out with a great fork and flung him back before the throne, where he lay prostrate. The king again consulted his ledger and said angrily: "For bullying others by relying on your power, you shall suffer the torment of the Mountain of Knives!" The ghost seized Zeng once more. Before them stood a mountain, not very broad but steep and lofty, covered with sharp blades jutting out like a thicket of bamboo shoots. Several souls were already there, their bellies torn open by the knives, their entrails hanging out, their cries too pitiful to bear. The ghost urged Zeng up the mountain, but Zeng wailed and shrank back. The ghost stabbed him in the back of the head with a poisoned awl, and Zeng, enduring the pain, begged for mercy. Enraged, the ghost grabbed Zeng and hurled him high into the air. Zeng felt himself soaring into the clouds, then falling dizzily downward, where the crisscrossing blades pierced his chest, causing agony beyond description. After a while, his heavy body sank lower, the holes made by the knives grew larger, and suddenly he fell off the mountain, his limbs curled up like a caterpillar. The ghost then drove him back to see the king. The king ordered an accounting of all the money Zeng had amassed by selling offices, perverting the law, and seizing property by force. Immediately, a man with a disheveled beard appeared, holding an abacus, and announced: "Three million two hundred and ten thousand." The king said: "Since he has gathered that stuff, let him drink it all!" Soon, piles of gold coins were brought and stacked on the steps like a hill; they were gradually thrown into an iron cauldron and melted over a fierce fire. Several ghost attendants took turns ladling the molten copper into Zeng's mouth. As it flowed over his cheeks, the skin scorched and stank; when it reached his throat, his five viscera and six entrails seethed. In life, he had always thought this stuff too little; now, he found it too much! After half a day, the copper was finally all poured. The king then ordered that Zeng be sent to Ganzhou to be reborn as a woman.
As Zeng had just taken a few steps, he saw on a shelf an iron beam several spans in circumference, upon which was mounted a fiery wheel hundreds of miles in diameter, its flames blazing with five-colored radiance that shot straight up into the clouds. A demon lashed him with a whip, commanding him to mount the wheel. Closing his eyes, Zeng leaped onto it, and as the wheel spun beneath his feet, he felt himself falling, a chill spreading through his body. When he opened his eyes to look at himself, he found he had become an infant, and a girl at that. Glancing at her parents, she saw them clad in tattered rags, with a beggar's gourd and a dog-beating stick in their earthen hut, and thus she understood she was the daughter of a beggar. Each day she followed her parents, bowl in hand, begging for food; her stomach growled with hunger, yet often she could not get a single full meal. Her clothes were so threadbare they could not shield her from the biting wind. At fourteen, she was sold to Scholar Gu as a concubine, and though her food and clothing were barely sufficient, the principal wife was fiercely jealous, beating her daily with rods and whips, even branding her chest and breasts with a red-hot iron. Fortunately, Scholar Gu showed her some affection, which brought her a measure of comfort. One day, a lewd young man from the eastern neighbor suddenly climbed over the wall and tried to force himself upon her. Remembering the heavy sins of her former life and the punishments she had already suffered in the underworld, she thought, "How can I commit such a deed again?" So she cried out loudly, rousing Scholar Gu and his wife, and the scoundrel fled. Not long after, as Scholar Gu was spending the night in her chamber, she lay on the pillow, pouring out her grievances and sufferings, when suddenly a great crash sounded, the door burst open, and two bandits rushed in with swords, cutting off Scholar Gu's head and making off with all the valuables. She shrank into a ball under the covers, not daring to make a sound. Only after the bandits had gone did she run screaming to the principal wife's room. The wife, greatly alarmed, went with her, weeping, to examine the corpse. Then, suspecting that she and her lover had murdered Scholar Gu, they filed a complaint with the prefect. The prefect subjected her to harsh interrogation, applying cruel tortures until a case was made, and according to the law, she was sentenced to death by dismemberment. As she was bound and led to the execution ground, her chest filled with pent-up injustice, she stamped her feet and cried out in protest, feeling that even the eighteen levels of hell in the underworld were not as dark as this.
As he was weeping bitterly in grief, Zeng heard his traveling companion call out to him, "Old brother, have you had a nightmare?" Zeng suddenly opened his eyes and awoke, seeing the old monk still sitting cross-legged on his rush mat. His companions vied to tell him, "The sky is already dark, our stomachs are empty—how could you have slept so deeply for so long?" Zeng then stood up with a mournful expression. The old monk smiled faintly and said, "Was the divination about becoming a prime minister accurate?" Zeng was even more astonished and bowed to ask for instruction. The old monk said, "If you cultivate virtue and practice benevolence, even in a fiery pit there will be green lotuses to protect you. What does a mountain monk like me know?" Zeng had come with his head held high and his spirit proud, but when he left, he could not help feeling dejected, and his ambition to become prime minister from then on faded. Later, Zeng entered the mountains, and his whereabouts became unknown.
The Chronicler of Strange Tales remarks: Bestowing blessings upon the virtuous and calamities upon the licentious is the eternal way of Heaven. One who rejoices upon hearing that he may become a prime minister surely does not delight in the toil and devotion the office demands—this is plain to see. At that moment, in the heart of this man Zeng, palaces, chambers, wives, and concubines were all present. Yet dreams are inherently illusory, and fancies are not real. As he conjured empty imaginings, the spirits responded with empty visions. Before the millet could finish cooking, such a dream was bound to occur; thus, this tale should be regarded as a sequel to the Story of the Handan Dream.
Commentary
"Sequel to the Yellow Millet Dream," as a continuation of the Tang dynasty tale "The Story of the Pillow," shares many similarities with its predecessor. For instance, both possess a didactic and allegorical nature; both contemplate the social existence value that feudal scholars tirelessly pursued; both carry a clear admonitory tone; both employ the religious method of "awakening through the perception of emptiness in form" to provide enlightenment and liberation; and both protagonists yearn for wealth and honor, experiencing the vicissitudes of fortune and disgrace in dreams before awakening from their illusions. Thus, they can be said to share a common motif.
However, the differences between "Continued Yellow Millet Dream" and "The Story of the Pillow" far outweigh their similarities.
First, there is a difference in creative purpose. Shen Jiji wrote of Lu Sheng's disillusionment, which was also his own disillusionment, and the collapse of the social ideals of an entire generation of scholars. Because it is linked to the tragedy of human life, it is profound, lingering, and carries philosophical significance. Its influence on later generations has been enduring and deep, with "a pillow of yellow millet" becoming a popular idiom. In his "Sequel to the Yellow Millet Dream," Pu Songling does not negate the universal life path pursued by scholars; rather, he only attacks the scoundrels within the scholarly ranks. The disillusionment in the "Sequel to the Yellow Millet Dream" is merely the personal disillusionment of a corrupt official. The earnest admonitions within, though not lacking in depth and vividness, lack universality and philosophical meaning. Because the intent is to warn corrupt officials, Zeng Xiaolian in the "Sequel to the Yellow Millet Dream" loses his official position and his life, and also suffers retribution in the underworld hells and the torments of rebirth.
Shen Jiji wrote about officialdom in "The Tale of the Pillow" using historical narrative style, because Tang dynasty culture possessed a spirit of tolerance for criticism. Pu Songling wrote "Sequel to the Yellow Millet Dream" employing fictional techniques, deliberately erasing traces of reality, because the literary inquisition of the Qing dynasty compelled him to do so.
"Record of the Pillow" and "Sequel of the Yellow Millet Dream" are both influenced by religious thought, yet "Record of the Pillow" depicts the disillusionment of life's value and can be regarded as religious literature. "Sequel of the Yellow Millet Dream" overflows with Pu Songling's compassionate heart for the nation and its people, concealing beneath its cycle of reincarnation and karmic retribution the orthodox Confucian concept of officialdom that cultivates virtue and practices benevolence.