Original Text
Scholar Chen Bijiao, styled Mingyun, was a man from the Yan region. His family was poor, and he served as a clerk for Vice General Jia Wan, managing documents. When their boat was moored by Lake Dongting, a crocodile surfaced, and Jia Wan shot it in the back. A fish clung to the crocodile's tail, refusing to let go, and both were caught together. They were locked near the mast, gasping for breath, the crocodile's mouth opening and closing as if begging for help. Chen Bijiao, moved by compassion, asked Jia Wan to release them. He carried a wound-healing ointment for sword cuts, and playfully applied it to the wound, then set them free in the lake. They bobbed up and down for a while before disappearing into the water.
After more than a year had passed, Chen Bijiao returned northward and once again crossed Lake Dongting, where a great gale capsized his boat. Fortunately, he managed to grasp a bamboo chest and drifted for an entire night until he became entangled in some trees and came to a stop. As he climbed ashore by the bank, a corpse drifted along in the water behind him—it was his servant. He struggled to drag the servant onto the shore, but the man was already dead. Overcome with sorrow and distress, yet helpless, he sat facing the servant to rest a while. He saw only towering hills, lush and verdant, with delicate willows swaying, their branches a fresh green; there were no travelers to ask for directions. From dawn until the hour of mid-morning, his heart was filled with melancholy, with nowhere to turn. Suddenly, the servant's body stirred slightly. Chen Bijiao joyfully stroked him, and before long, the servant vomited several pecks of water and immediately revived. Together they dried their clothes on the rocks, and by nearly noon, the garments were dry enough to wear. By then, their stomachs were empty, growling with hunger, unbearable in its intensity. So they crossed the small hill and hurried along, hoping to find a village. Just as they reached the mountainside, they heard the sound of whistling arrows. As they tried to discern the direction of the shots, two young women came galloping on fine steeds, their horses' hooves clattering like scattered beans as they raced forward. Both wore thin red silk headbands, pheasant feathers in their hair, tight purple sleeves, and green brocade sashes; one carried a pellet bow, the other a blue leather armguard on her arm. When they crested the hill, Chen Bijiao saw dozens of young women hunting among the wild grass and trees, all beautiful and dressed identically. He dared not proceed further. Just then, a man came running swiftly, appearing to be a groom, and Chen Bijiao approached to ask what this spectacle was. The groom replied, "This is the Princess of West Lake hunting on First Mountain." Chen Bijiao recounted his own story and told the groom that the two of them were starving. The groom gave them some dry provisions and warned, "You had best flee far away at once; to offend the princess's presence is a capital offense!" Chen Bijiao, filled with fear, hurriedly descended the mountain.
Among the dense forest, a cluster of halls and pavilions faintly appeared, and Chen Bijiao took them for a temple. Drawing nearer, he saw a whitewashed wall encircling the grounds, a rushing stream, a vermilion gate half-open, and a stone bridge leading straight to the entrance. Peering through the gate, he beheld towers, terraces, and pavilions surrounded by drifting clouds, rivaling an imperial garden, yet seeming like the courtyard of a noble family. Hesitantly, he stepped inside, only to find green vines trailing across the path and fragrant blossoms brushing his face. Passing through several winding balustrades, he entered another courtyard, where dozens of weeping willows swayed beneath high vermilion eaves. Mountain birds chirped, and petals flew in unison; a gentle breeze stirred the deep garden, sending elm seeds scattering down. The scene was so delightful it seemed beyond the mortal realm. Crossing a small pavilion, he saw a swing soaring into the clouds, its ropes hanging still, with no trace of anyone around. Suspecting this was near the women's quarters, he grew fearful and dared not venture further. Soon, he heard horses prancing outside the gate, mingled with the sound of maidens laughing and talking. Chen Bijiao and his servant hid among the flowers. Before long, the laughter drew nearer, and a woman's voice said, "Today's hunt was lackluster; the catch is too meager." Another replied, "If not for the princess shooting down the wild goose, we would have wasted all these riders." Shortly, several maidens in red attire escorted a young lady to sit in the pavilion. She wore a short-sleeved military jacket, about fourteen or fifteen years old, with coiled hair as thick as clouds, a waist so slender it seemed fragile, and a beauty beyond the finest jade or blossoms. Some maidens offered tea, others burned incense, their colorful garments piled like brocade, dazzling and radiant. After a while, the lady rose and descended the steps. One maiden said, "The princess must be tired from riding; can she still play on the swing?" The princess smiled and said she could. Then some supported her shoulders, others held her arms, some lifted her skirt, and others took her shoes, helping her onto the swing. The princess extended her snow-white wrists, stepped into pointed, thin-soled, pearl-studded embroidered shoes, and, light as a swallow, kicked off, soaring straight into the clouds. After swinging, they helped her down, and the maidens exclaimed, "The princess is truly a celestial being!" Then they laughed and departed.
Chen Bijiao secretly watched for a long time, and unconsciously his heart wandered with longing. After the voices faded into silence, he emerged from the flower thicket and came beneath the swing, lingering there, lost in thought. He noticed a red handkerchief beneath the hedge, knew it had been dropped by the beauties, and delightedly tucked it into his sleeve. Ascending the pavilion, he saw writing implements laid out on the table, and so inscribed a poem on the handkerchief:
Who could match the celestial grace of this elegant game? Clearly, jade maidens scatter golden lotuses.
In the ranks of the Moon Palace, jealousy must surely dwell, so trust not that she who treads the waves can ascend to the highest heaven.
After finishing the poem, he chanted it aloud as he walked out of the pavilion. Retracing his steps along the path he had come, he found that all the gates were now locked. Chen Bijiao and his servant paced back and forth in hesitation, at a loss for what to do, so they turned around and toured nearly all the towers and pavilions in the area. Suddenly a woman entered, startled, and asked, "How did you manage to get here?" Chen Bijiao clasped his hands in salute and said, "I have lost my way and hope you can offer me some assistance." The woman asked, "Did you pick up a red handkerchief?" Chen Bijiao replied, "That is so, but I have already written on it—what is to be done?" He then produced the handkerchief. The woman was greatly alarmed and said, "You will have no place even to bury your bones! The princess always uses this handkerchief, and you have defaced it like this—how can there be any room for help?" Chen Bijiao turned pale with terror and begged the woman to help him escape. The woman said, "To have secretly gazed upon a lady of the palace is already an unforgivable crime. Considering you are a refined scholar, I personally wished to spare you, but now you have brought this calamity upon yourself—what more can be done?" She then took the handkerchief and hurried away in distress. Chen Bijiao's heart quaked with fear, and he only regretted that he had no wings to fly away; he could only stretch his neck and await death.
After a long while, the woman returned again and whispered in congratulation, "You have hope of living! The princess looked at the handkerchief three or four times, smiling all the while, and showed no anger at all; perhaps she will let you go. You had best be patient for now and not try to climb trees or walls, for if you are discovered, there will be no forgiveness." By then the sky was already growing dark, and Chen Bijiao could not decide whether his fate would be fortunate or disastrous, while the burning hunger in his belly and his anxiety nearly drove him to despair. Before long, the woman arrived carrying a lantern. A maidservant followed with a wine flask and a food box, bringing out wine and food for Chen to eat. Chen hastily inquired for news, and the woman said, "Just now I took the opportunity to say, 'If the scholar in the garden can be pardoned, then release him; otherwise, he will soon starve to death.' The princess mused and said, 'Where can he go in the dead of night?' Then she ordered food to be given to you. This is certainly not a bad sign." Chen paced back and forth all night, restless and anxious. As the morning hour of the dragon was drawing to a close, the woman again brought food. Chen begged her to plead on his behalf, but she said, "The princess neither says to kill nor to release. How dare we servants chatter and speak rashly?" Later, as the sun slanted westward, Chen was gazing intently when the woman rushed into the garden, panting, and said, "Disaster! A blabbermouth has leaked this to the queen consort. She looked at the handkerchief and threw it to the ground, cursing the coarse and insolent wretch. Calamity is about to strike!" Chen was terrified, his face turning ashen, and he knelt upright, begging the woman for a plan. Suddenly, a clamor of voices arose, and the woman waved her hand and slipped away. Several people burst in with ropes, looking fierce and menacing. Among them, a maidservant scrutinized Chen and said, "Who did I think it was? Is it not Master Chen?" She then signaled the rope-holders to stop, saying, "Wait, wait, let me report to the queen consort." She turned and hurried away. Soon, the woman returned and said, "The queen consort invites Master Chen to enter." Chen, trembling with fear, followed her. After passing through dozens of gates, they arrived before a palace, where silver hooks held up a green curtain. A beautiful woman immediately lifted the curtain and announced loudly, "Master Chen has arrived." Inside the hall sat a lovely lady, gorgeously and seductively dressed. Chen prostrated himself and kowtowed, saying, "A lonely subject from afar, I beg for mercy!" The queen consort quickly rose, personally pulled Chen to his feet, and said, "Without your help, I would not be here today. The maidservants know nothing and have offended a honored guest; how can this crime be forgiven?" She then ordered a sumptuous feast to be laid out, and wine was poured into finely carved cups for Chen. Chen was bewildered, not understanding the reason. The queen consort said, "The grace of giving me life again, I have been worrying about how to repay. My daughter, favored by your poem on the red handkerchief, has shown her admiration; this must be a match ordained by heaven. Tonight, let her serve you." Chen was taken aback by this unexpected turn, far beyond his hopes, and his mind was dazed and adrift.
Just as dusk fell, a maidservant came forward and said, "The princess has finished her toilette," and led Chen Bijiao to the wedding ceremony. Suddenly, pipes and strings burst forth in a clamorous din that shook the heavens; the steps were entirely carpeted with floral brocade, and lanterns hung everywhere—from the gate and the hall to the hedges and even the privy. Dozens of radiant beauties supported the princess as she and Chen Bijiao bowed to each other, and the fragrance of musk and orchids filled the entire hall. Then, hand in hand, they entered the curtained bedchamber and gave themselves over to the utmost bliss. Chen Bijiao said, "I am but a wandering stranger in these parts, unversed in the arts of courtly visits and formalities. To have sullied your fragrant kerchief and yet escaped death is already the height of fortune; that you should bestow upon me this marriage bond is truly beyond my boldest hopes." The princess replied, "My mother is the consort of the Lord of Dongting Lake and the daughter of the River Yang's king. Last year, when my mother returned to her natal home, she chanced to drift upon the lake's surface and was struck by a stray arrow. Thanks to your mercy in releasing her and applying medicine, our entire house is deeply grateful and holds you ever in our hearts. Do not harbor doubts because I am not of human kind. I have obtained from the Dragon Lord the secret of longevity and wish to share it with you." Only then did Chen Bijiao realize that the princess was a divine being, and he asked, "How did the maidservant come to know me?" The princess said, "That day on the boat upon Dongting Lake, there was a small fish that once held the tail of the alligator; that small fish is this very maidservant." Chen Bijiao asked further, "Since you did not intend to kill me, why did you delay so long in releasing me?" The princess laughed and said, "Truly, I cherished your talent, but I could not decide on my own. I tossed and turned all night long—no one else knew of it!" Chen Bijiao sighed and said, "You are my true soulmate. Who was it that brought me my meals?" The princess said, "Her name is A Nian; she is my trusted confidante." Chen Bijiao asked, "How can I ever repay your kindness?" The princess replied with a smile, "We still have some days to live together; we can take our time to consider how to fulfill our obligations." Chen Bijiao inquired, "Where is the Dragon King?" The princess answered, "He has gone with Lord Guan to campaign against Chiyou and has not yet returned."
After staying for several days, Chen Bijiao recalled that his family had no news of him and grew deeply homesick, so he wrote a letter reporting his safety and first sent his servant back with it. At home, his family had heard that the boat he took had capsized on Lake Dongting, and his wife had been wearing mourning garments for over a year. When the servant returned, the family learned that Chen Bijiao had not died, but since letters were difficult to exchange, they still worried that he was drifting in distant lands and would find it hard to return. Another half year passed, and suddenly Chen Bijiao returned home, riding a light carriage and a plump horse, in great splendor, with his luggage filled with precious jade. From then on, Chen Bijiao possessed a fortune of ten thousand strings of cash, and his enjoyments of song, dance, and female companions were lavish and extravagant, surpassing even generations of official families. In seven or eight years, he fathered five sons. He feasted guests daily, providing them with extremely sumptuous lodging and food. When someone asked about his encounters, he spoke of them without any concealment.
Chen Bijiao had a childhood friend named Liang Zijun, who served as an official in the south for over ten years. On his way home, he passed by Lake Dongting and saw a magnificent pleasure boat, with carved railings and vermilion windows, from which came the delicate and lingering sounds of flutes and songs, drifting slowly over the misty waters, while now and then a beautiful woman would push open a window to gaze out. He fixed his gaze on the boat and noticed a young man, bareheaded and sitting cross-legged with one leg over the other, attended by a maiden of about sixteen who was massaging him with both hands. Liang thought to himself that this must be some high-ranking noble from the Chu region, yet the retinue was quite small. Staring intently to discern the man's features, he realized it was none other than Chen Bijiao, and involuntarily he leaned on the railing and called out loudly. Hearing the shout, Chen stopped his boat, came to the prow, and invited him aboard. Liang saw the table covered with leftover wine and dishes, the aroma of wine still thick in the air. Chen immediately ordered the remnants cleared away. In a moment, three or five pretty maidservants poured wine, served tea, and laid out delicacies from land and sea, such as Liang had never seen before. Astonished, Liang said, "In ten years, how have you become so wealthy and noble!" Chen smiled and replied, "You underestimate a poor scholar, thinking he can never rise in the world?" Liang asked, "Who was drinking with you just now?" Chen said, "My humble wife." Liang, even more puzzled, inquired, "Where are you taking your family?" Chen answered, "I am heading westward." Liang wished to ask more, but Chen quickly ordered songs to accompany the wine. No sooner had he spoken than the music burst forth like thunder on a clear day, with singing and instruments clamoring so loudly that no words could be heard. Seeing the beauties before him, Liang, emboldened by drink, called out, "Master Mingyun, can you truly let me taste such delight?" Chen laughed and said, "You are drunk! But here is enough to buy a concubine, which I can give to an old friend." He then had a maid present a bright pearl, saying, "With this, it would not be hard to purchase a beauty like Green Pearl, to show that I am not stingy." Then he hurriedly took his leave, saying, "I have a small urgent matter to attend to and cannot stay long with an old friend." He saw Liang back to his own boat, cast off the mooring line, and sailed away directly.
After Liang Zijun returned home, he went to visit Chen Bijiao and saw him drinking with a guest, which only deepened his confusion. He asked, "Were you not just recently on Lake Dongting? How could you have returned so swiftly?" Chen Bijiao replied, "That never happened." Liang Zijun then recounted what he had witnessed, and all the guests present were astonished. Chen Bijiao laughed and said, "You must be mistaken. Could it be that I possess the art of bilocation?" Everyone found it strange, but they could never fathom the truth of the matter. Later, Chen Bijiao lived to the age of eighty-one before passing away. At his funeral, people were surprised to find the coffin unusually light; when they opened it, it was empty.
The Chronicler of Strange Tales remarks: The bamboo chest did not sink, and the poem inscribed on the red handkerchief—these were all guided by spirits and deities, yet the key thread running through them was the compassion of a tender heart. As for the splendid halls, fine chambers, wives, and concubines, Chen Bijiao enjoyed them in two separate realms, which defies explanation. In times past, some wished to possess both beautiful wives and noble sons, along with immortality, yet they only attained half of what Chen Bijiao achieved. Could it be that among the immortals there are also those as wealthy and honored as Guo Ziyi and Shi Chong?
Commentary
Like the previous tale "Hua Guzi," this story also depicts an animal repaying a kindness, interwoven with a romantic love story between human and beast. Yet the author varies his brushwork, employing a markedly different narrative approach. In "Hua Guzi," the released creature was a land animal; here, it is a water-dwelling alligator. In that tale, the repayment involved the animal risking life and limb to save its benefactor, with a thrilling snake spirit episode woven in. In this story, the repayment takes the form of the Dragon Princess granting her benefactor "a beautiful wife and concubine, noble sons and virtuous grandsons, along with immortality." As the West Lake Lord is actually the Dragon Princess of Dongting Lake, this tale bears a clear influence from the Tang dynasty romance "The Story of Liu Yi," especially in its conclusion, where Chen Bijiao meets his childhood friend Liang Zijun on Dongting Lake, mirroring the encounter between Liu Yi and his cousin Xue Gu in "The Story of Liu Yi."
The greatest narrative feature of this story is its twists and turns, creating suspense. For instance, Chen Bijiao's servant falling into Dongting Lake is described in two separate instances; Chen Bijiao encountering the Dragon Princess hunting and swinging on a swing on the immortal mountain in Dongting Lake; Chen Bijiao writing a poem on a red scarf, being confined in a courtyard, with 'several men holding ropes, bursting into the room with a fierce demeanor,' yet being summoned as the prince consort—all written with intricate twists that captivate the reader. Dan Minglun praised it as: 'When the water ends and the mountains are exhausted, a new scene suddenly unfolds.' 'Every passage is a soul-stirring, spine-chilling text, yet every stroke flows like a returning wind and drifting clouds.' Feng Zhenluan lauded it as: 'Rising and falling like a butterfly threading through flowers or a dragonfly skimming the water.'
This passage achieves a high level of artistry in its depiction of courtyards and buildings, with phrases like "several dozen weeping willows, their tops brushing the crimson eaves; at the call of a mountain bird, flower petals fly together; in the deep garden, a gentle breeze stirs elm seeds to fall of their own accord—a feast for the eyes and a delight to the heart, scarcely of this mortal world" forming a string of exquisite lines that reach the realm of poetry.