Original Text
An Youyu was a senior licentiate from Shaanxi. He was generous with his wealth, valued righteousness, and delighted in releasing captive creatures. Whenever he saw hunters capturing birds or animals, he would spare no expense to buy and set them free. Once, when his uncle's family was holding a funeral, An Youyu went to offer condolences. On his way home that evening, he passed by Mount Hua and lost his way in the valley, filling him with great fear. Suddenly, he saw a light about an arrow's flight away and hurried toward it. After taking only a few steps, he unexpectedly encountered an old man, bent and stooped, dragging a staff as he hastened along a winding path. An Youyu halted, about to ask a question, but the old man spoke first, inquiring who he was. An Youyu told the old man he had lost his way and mentioned that the light must come from a mountain village where he intended to seek lodging. The old man said, "This is no place of peace and comfort. Fortunately, I have come. You may follow me, and the thatched cottage of my home can shelter you for the night." An Youyu was overjoyed.
An Youyu followed the old man for about a li, when he saw a small village. The old man knocked on a wicker gate, and an old woman came out to open it, saying, "Has the young gentleman arrived?" The old man replied, "He has come." Entering the house, they found it low and cramped. The old man lit a lamp, drew near to sit with An Youyu, and then instructed that a meal be prepared from whatever provisions were at hand. He also said to the old woman, "This is no ordinary person; he is my benefactor. Since you cannot walk easily, call Huaguzi to pour the wine." Presently, a young woman brought dishes into the room, stood by the old man's side, and cast sidelong glances at An Youyu. An Youyu saw that she was young and beautiful, like a celestial maiden. The old man turned and ordered Huaguzi to warm the wine. In the western corner of the room, a coal stove was burning, so Huaguzi entered to stir the fire. An Youyu asked, "What relation is this young lady to you?" The old man replied, "This old man's surname is Zhang, seventy years of age, and I have only this daughter. As a farming household, we have no maids or servants. Because you are no outsider, I dared to let my wife and daughter appear before you; pray do not laugh at us." An Youyu inquired, "Where is her husband's family?" The old man answered, "She is not yet betrothed." An Youyu praised Huaguzi's intelligence and beauty without cease. As the old man was modestly disclaiming, suddenly a cry of alarm came from Huaguzi. The old man rushed into the room, and found that the wine had boiled over, causing flames to leap up. He extinguished the fire and scolded, "A girl so grown, and you do not know when the wine boils!" Turning, he saw a half-finished straw figure of Zigu, made from sorghum pith, lying by the stove, and scolded again, "Your hair is so long, yet you still act like a child!" He picked up the Zigu figure and showed it to An Youyu, saying, "She was only playing with this toy, and let the wine boil over. You praised her, but does this not put one to shame?" An Youyu examined the figure closely; its brows, eyes, and clothing were all complete, the craftsmanship exquisite, and he praised, "Though it borders on childish play, it reveals a clever mind."
After the two had been drinking for some time, Hua Guzi frequently came to refill their cups, smiling sweetly without any trace of shyness. An Youyu fixed his gaze upon her, and love welled up in his heart. Suddenly hearing the old woman's call, the old man rose and left. Seeing no one else about, An Youyu said to Hua Guzi, "Beholding your celestial beauty, my very soul has fled. I wished to send a matchmaker to propose, but feared it might fail—what is to be done?" Hua Guzi held the wine pot, facing the stove fire, remaining utterly silent as if she had heard nothing; though he asked several times, she gave no reply. An Youyu edged little by little into the room, and Hua Guzi stood up, her countenance stern, saying, "What business has this wild fellow to enter the chamber?" An Youyu knelt straight on the ground, pleading earnestly. Hua Guzi tried to rush out the door, but An Youyu suddenly rose and blocked her way, pressing his lips to hers. Hua Guzi cried out in a trembling voice, and the old man hurried into the room, asking what the outcry was about. An Youyu released Hua Guzi and stepped out, filled with shame and great fear. At this moment, Hua Guzi calmly said to her father, "The wine boiled over again; had this young gentleman not come to help, the pot would have been scorched." Hearing these words, An Youyu's heart settled, and he felt even more grateful to Hua Guzi. His senses utterly confounded, he abandoned any improper intentions. Thus, feigning drunkenness, he left the table, and Hua Guzi also withdrew. The old man came to spread the bedding, closed the door, and departed. An Youyu lay awake all night, and before dawn he called the old man out to bid farewell.
After returning home, An Youyu immediately begged a close friend to go and propose marriage on his behalf. The friend went for an entire day before returning, but had not even been able to find the location of Hua Guzi's home. So An Youyu ordered his horse saddled and, taking a servant, sought out the old road and went there himself. When he reached the place he had been before, he saw only steep cliffs and perilous crags, with no village at all. He inquired in the nearby settlements, but families named Zhang were exceedingly few. An Youyu returned in disappointment, unable to eat or sleep, and from then on fell into a state of mental confusion. He could barely force down a little gruel without feeling nauseous, and in his delirium he constantly called out for Hua Guzi. His family did not understand the cause and could only attend to him through the night, watching by his side, until he seemed on the verge of death. One night, the attendants, utterly exhausted, had all fallen asleep. An Youyu, in a daze, felt someone shaking him. Opening his eyes slightly, he saw Hua Guzi standing before the bed, and his mind cleared without his knowing how. He gazed intently at Hua Guzi, tears streaming down his face. Hua Guzi lowered her head with a smile and said, "How could a foolish boy let himself come to this?" Then she climbed onto the bed, sat on An Youyu's thighs, and pressed both hands against his temples. An Youyu suddenly felt a wondrous fragrance of musk, passing through his nostrils and penetrating to his very marrow. After pressing for some time, he suddenly felt his head covered in sweat, which gradually spread over his entire body. Hua Guzi said softly, "There are too many people in the room, so I cannot stay. In three days I will come to see you again." Then she took several steamed cakes from her embroidered sleeve, placed them at the head of the bed, and quietly departed. By midnight, An Youyu had stopped sweating and felt hungry, so he took the cakes and ate them. He did not know what filling they contained, but they tasted exceedingly delicious, and he ate three in succession. He covered the remaining cakes with his clothes, then fell into a deep, drowsy sleep, not waking until the hour of the dragon, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from him. After three days, when the cakes were finished, An Youyu felt his spirit entirely refreshed. He then ordered his family all to leave, and fearing that Hua Guzi might not find the way in when she came, he secretly left the study and opened all the door bolts.
Shortly after, Hua Guzi indeed arrived, smiling as she said, "Silly young man, will you not yet thank the physician?" An Youyu was overjoyed, embracing Hua Guzi in tender dalliance, their passion deep and boundless. Afterwards, Hua Guzi said, "I have come, risking danger and enduring shame, to repay your great kindness. In truth, we cannot be husband and wife forever, so you had best make other plans soon." An Youyu was silent for a long while, then asked, "We were strangers before; where did I form a bond with your family? I truly cannot recall." Hua Guzi made no reply, only saying, "Think for yourself." An Youyu insisted on a lasting union with Hua Guzi, but she said, "To steal away night after night for secret meetings is impossible, and to be eternal spouses is also impossible." Hearing this, An Youyu grew melancholy and deeply sorrowful. Hua Guzi said, "If you wish for harmony between us, come to my home tomorrow night." At this, An Youyu turned from grief to joy, asking, "The road is far; how could your delicate little feet have carried you here?" Hua Guzi replied, "I never went home. The deaf old woman to the east is my aunt; for your sake, I have stayed at her house until today. I fear my family will find it strange." An Youyu shared the same quilt with Hua Guzi, and found her breath and skin fragrant in every part, so he asked, "What incense have you burned, that it permeates your very flesh and marrow?" Hua Guzi said, "I was born this way; it is not from incense." An Youyu was even more astonished. Hua Guzi rose early to bid An Youyu farewell. An Youyu feared he might lose his way, but Hua Guzi said she would wait for him on the road.
An Youyu was riding his horse toward the Zhang family home at dusk when Huaguzi was indeed waiting for him, and together they went to their former dwelling. The old man and his wife cheerfully came out to welcome An Youyu. The wine and dishes were nothing rare or precious, but a medley of mountain herbs and wild vegetables set out in disarray. After the meal, they invited the guest to sleep, but Huaguzi did not even cast a glance at An Youyu, leaving him full of doubts and unable to fathom her thoughts. It was not until deep into the night, past the third watch, that Huaguzi finally came, saying, "My parents were chattering on and on, refusing to sleep, and I have kept you waiting long." They spent the night in tender embraces, and Huaguzi said to An Youyu, "This night's meeting is our lifelong farewell." Startled, An Youyu asked why she spoke thus, and Huaguzi replied, "My father thinks living in this small village is lonely and desolate, so he plans to move the family far away. Our love is but for this one night." Unwilling to let her go, An Youyu tossed and turned in sorrow and anguish. Just as they were clinging to each other in reluctant parting, the sky gradually began to lighten with the first rays of dawn. Suddenly, the old man burst into the room, cursing, "You wench have defiled the pure reputation of my family, bringing shame upon us!" Huaguzi turned pale with terror and fled hastily. The old man also left the room, cursing as he went. An Youyu, panicked and distressed, felt utterly humiliated and without a place to hide, and he stole away home in secret.
An Youyu wandered in a state of confusion for several days, his heart utterly unable to bear the torment, and he resolved to go at night to the Zhang family's home, leap over the wall, and seek another chance to meet. He thought to himself: The old man himself said that I had done his family a kindness, so even if I am discovered, I should not be severely rebuked. Thus, he set out under cover of darkness toward the Zhang residence, trudging with difficulty through the mountains, finding only a vast, bewildering gloom around him, and feeling great terror. As he sought the path back, he dimly perceived some houses in a valley, and joyfully hurried toward them, only to see that the gate of the dwelling was tall and majestic, like that of a family of generations of nobility, and the inner gates within the courtyard were not yet closed. He inquired of the gatekeeper about the Zhang family's whereabouts, when a maidservant emerged and asked: "Who is it that inquires about the Zhang family in the dead of night?" An Youyu replied: "The Zhang family are my relatives, and I have accidentally lost my way to their home." The maidservant said: "Do not ask about the Zhang family any longer. This is the home of Hua Guzi's maternal aunt, and Hua Guzi is here now; let me go and inform her." The maidservant entered and soon returned, inviting An Youyu to come inside. As soon as he stepped onto the veranda, Hua Guzi came out swiftly to greet him, and said to the maidservant: "An Lang has traveled half the night and must be exhausted; quickly prepare a bed for him to rest." In a short while, Hua Guzi and An Youyu took each other's hands and entered the bed curtains. An Youyu asked: "Why is there no one else in your aunt's home?" Hua Guzi replied: "My aunt has gone out, leaving me to watch the house for her. Fortunately, I have met you; is this not the work of fate from a former life?" Yet as they embraced, An Youyu sensed a strong odor of fishy musk, and his heart grew suspicious that something was amiss. Hua Guzi wrapped her arms around An Youyu's neck and suddenly licked his nostrils with her tongue; he felt as if pricked by a needle, a pain that shot straight to his brain. In great alarm, he tried to flee, but his body seemed bound by thick ropes, and before long, he fell into a dazed and senseless state.
An Youyu did not return home, and his family searched every place they could think of. Someone said they had seen An Youyu on a mountain path at dusk. His family went into the mountains, only to find him lying naked and dead beneath a cliff. They were all astonished, not knowing the cause, and had no choice but to carry him back home. Just as they were weeping around An Youyu, a young woman came to offer condolences, wailing loudly as she entered from outside. She caressed the corpse, pressed her hand against the deceased's nose, and her tears flowed into his nostrils. She cried out, "Heavens! Heavens! How could you be so foolish!" She wept until her voice grew hoarse, and only after a long while did she stop. She told the family, "Keep him here for seven days; do not encoffin him." No one knew who she was, and just as they were about to ask, she proudly refused to greet them, turned away with tears in her eyes, and walked straight out. The family tried to detain her, but she ignored them and left without looking back. They followed after her, but in the blink of an eye, she vanished. Suspecting she was a divine being, they followed her instructions. That night, she came again and wept just as bitterly as before.
On the seventh night, An Youyu suddenly revived, turning over and groaning, startling all his family. At that moment, Hua Guzi entered the room, and the two wept facing each other. An Youyu raised his hand and waved, signaling everyone to leave. Hua Guzi produced a bundle of green grass, boiled it into about a pint of broth, and fed it to An Youyu by the bedside; he was able to speak within moments. Sighing deeply, he said, "It was you who killed me, and you who saved me!" He then recounted his encounter. Hua Guzi replied, "That was a snake spirit impersonating me. The lamp you saw when lost earlier was this serpent." An Youyu asked, "How can you bring the dead back to life? Are you not an immortal?" Hua Guzi said, "I have long wished to tell you, but feared startling you. Five years ago, did you not buy a captured river deer on the Huashan road and set it free?" An Youyu said, "Yes, that happened." Hua Guzi said, "That river deer was my father. I mentioned before that you had shown great kindness to my family, and this is the reason. Two days ago, you were reborn into the household of Wang Zhuzheng in the western village. My father and I appealed to the King of Hell on your behalf, but he did not deem our case just. My father offered to destroy his own cultivation and die in your stead, pleading for seven days before a verdict was reached. Our meeting today is indeed a stroke of fortune. However, though you live, your body will wither and grow numb, losing all sensation; you must mix snake blood with wine and drink it to be cured." An Youyu gnashed his teeth in hatred, worrying that the snake spirit could not be captured. Hua Guzi said, "That is not difficult. But it will harm many lives and delay my ascension to immortality for a hundred years. The snake's lair is beneath the old cliff; between three and five in the afternoon, pile up grass and set it ablaze, and guard the cave mouth with bows and arrows, and the fiend can be caught." With that, she took her leave, saying, "I cannot accompany you through life, and this grieves me deeply. For your sake, my cultivation has been reduced by seven-tenths; I beg your pity and forgiveness. In the past month, I have felt a slight stirring in my belly, and I fear I am with child. Whether it be a son or daughter, I will send it to you in a year." Then, shedding tears, she departed.
After a night had passed, An Youyu found that his entire lower body had lost all sensation; scratching it brought neither pain nor itch, so he recounted Hua Guzi's words to his family. Following her instructions, they went to the snake cave and set a great fire. A massive white serpent burst forth from the flames, and several crossbows loosed their arrows simultaneously, striking the serpent dead. When the fire died down, the family entered the cave to find hundreds of serpents, large and small, all scorched, emitting a foul stench. Returning home, they presented the serpent's blood, and An Youyu consumed it for three days, after which his legs gradually regained movement; only half a year later could he walk on the ground. Subsequently, while walking alone in a mountain valley, An Youyu encountered an old woman who handed him an infant wrapped in a small quilt, saying, "My daughter sends her regards." As he was about to inquire after Hua Guzi, the old woman suddenly vanished. Opening the swaddling clothes, he saw it was a boy. He carried the child home and never took another wife thereafter.
The Chronicler of the Strange remarks: The distinction between humans and beasts is but a hair's breadth—this is no settled truth. To receive another's kindness and then repay it by binding grass or offering a ring, persisting in such gratitude unto the end of one's days, leaves humanity truly shamed when compared to the beasts. As for Hua Guzi, she first hid her wisdom within simplicity, and ultimately concealed her deep affection within aloofness. Thus it is that simplicity is the pinnacle of wisdom, and aloofness the utmost expression of deep feeling. Such is the way of the immortals! Such is the way of the immortals!
Commentary
This is a Chinese-style story of an animal repaying a kindness.
According to modern concepts, releasing animals into the wild is an act of reverence for life, protecting the natural environment and maintaining ecological balance, but in ancient China, such release was a personal act of kindness, often promoted with the notion of receiving good retribution. Therefore, ancient literary works are filled with stories of those who released animals being rewarded with good fortune, even tales of animals repaying kindness. This particular story recounts how a whole family of released river deer exhaustively repaid An Youyu, and Pu Songling remarked, "Receiving grace and repaying it with gratitude, even unto death, makes humans feel ashamed before beasts," which is, of course, an extended commentary.
Accompanying the theme of requited kindness, the tale recounts the sincere and lingering love between the scholar An Youyu and the roe-deer spirit Hua Guzi. The innocent and guileless Hua Guzi initially treats An Youyu as a benefactor, but later, moved by his genuine affection, she risks disgrace and defilement to pursue a romance with him. When a snake spirit, acting under a false name, intrudes and places An Youyu's life in grave danger, Hua Guzi and her father—he by corrupting his own path, she by sacrificing seven-tenths of her accumulated merit—save him. Passages such as "Hua Guzi warming wine," "Hua Guzi offering solace in the dead of night," and "Hua Guzi mourning the dead and inquiring after the wounded" are vivid, heartfelt, and deeply moving, no different from the tender affections of a mortal maiden. Hua Guzi's identity as a roe-deer spirit is subtly woven throughout her intimate encounters with An Youyu, marked by the persistent trait that "her breath and skin were fragrant in every place," yet this is never explicitly revealed until the story's end, leaving the reader suddenly enlightened while also clarifying the origin of the roe-deer spirit's repayment of kindness.