Original Text
In the year Guihai, I was teaching at the Thatched Pavilion of the Bi family estate, where the magistrate Bi resided. The gardens of Master Bi were most luxuriant in flowers and trees, and in my leisure hours I would often follow him on strolls through the grounds, enjoying the sights to the full. One day, returning from such a ramble, I was overcome with weariness and desired only to sleep, so I removed my shoes and lay down on the bed. In a dream, I saw two comely maidens in splendid attire approach me and say, "Our mistress has a matter to entrust to you, and we trouble you to accompany us." Startled, I rose and asked, "Who summons me?" They replied, "It is the Crimson Lady." In a daze, I knew not whom they spoke of, yet I followed them forthwith.
After a while, he saw a palace towering into the clouds. Below it were steps; he ascended along the stone stairs, and after climbing over a hundred steps, he reached the summit. There, the vermilion gates stood wide open, and two or three beautiful maidens hurried in to announce his arrival. Soon, he came before a grand hall, where golden curtain hooks and jade door screens gleamed dazzlingly. A woman descended from within the hall, her jade pendants and rings chiming melodiously as she moved; her appearance was that of a noble consort. Just as he was about to bow, the Crimson Lady spoke first: "To have the gentleman stoop to come here, I ought to offer my thanks first." She ordered a maid to spread a felt mat on the ground, as if to perform a ritual bow. Startled and at a loss, he said, "I am but a humble person from the wilds; to be favored with your gracious summons is already an honor beyond my worth. If I dare to exchange courtesies as an equal, it would only increase my guilt and diminish my blessings!" Hearing this, the Crimson Lady ordered the mat removed, set out a feast, and they drank face to face. After several rounds of wine, he declined, saying, "I become drunk with just a little wine, and fear I might lose decorum. If you have any command, please instruct me, so I may set aside my doubts." The Crimson Lady did not reply but urged him to drink with a large cup. He repeatedly begged for her orders, until she said, "I am the Flower Goddess. My entire family relies on this place for shelter, but we have repeatedly suffered the violent ravages of that Feng girl. Today, I wish to fight her to the bitter end, and I trouble you to draft a proclamation of war." Alarmed, he rose and said, "Your servant is shallow in learning and unskilled in writing; I fear I may fail your great trust. Yet, favored by your confidence, I dare not spare my utmost effort." The Crimson Lady was greatly pleased and bestowed paper and brush upon him in the hall. Several maidens busied themselves wiping the table and chairs, grinding ink, and moistening the brush. Another young girl folded the paper into grids and placed it under his wrist. As soon as he wrote a line or two, they crowded behind him, jostling to watch. Normally slow in literary inspiration, he now felt a sudden surge of ideas. In a short while, the draft was completed; they vied to take it and present it to the Crimson Lady. She unrolled it, read it through, praised it as excellent, and then sent him back. Upon waking, he recalled the dream as vividly as if before his eyes. But most of the proclamation's words were forgotten, so he supplemented them to complete the text: "Respectfully, concerning the Feng clan:"
I respectfully submit this indictment of the Xie family: Their nature is given to wanton indulgence and unbridled license, with jealousy and spite as the guiding principles of their hearts. Their crooked talents foster malice, and the poison of envy has seeped into their very marrow; they harm others in secret, their wickedness like the ghostly creature that spits sand from the shadows. In ancient times, the sage Emperor Shun once fell prey to your fox-like charms, and even the consorts Nüying and Ehuang could not ease his sorrows, forcing him to sing the "Song of the Southern Wind" to soothe the people's grievances; King Xiang of Chu was ensnared by your wiles, and the remonstrances of worthy men could not move his heart, leaving him only to praise the kingly wind as the heroic gale. Emperor Gaozu of Han, Liu Bang, beheld the surging clouds and longed for bold warriors; Emperor Wu of Han, Liu Che, composed the "Autumn Wind Ballad" while yearning for his beloved. From that time onward, you have relied on the favor of emperors, growing ever more insolent, until you now rage without restraint.
You howl and roar between heaven and earth, making the wind chimes in the royal palace clatter and jangle; you bellow at midnight, shaking the autumn trees until they rustle with a chilling sound. Suddenly you pounce upon the forests and wild grasslands, borrowing the tiger's might to show your power; at times you come to the turbulent shoals, stirring up sky-piercing waves. Moreover, you make the curtain hooks sway incessantly, stirring autumn winds in the lofty pavilions; the wind bells suddenly ring, startling the lingering dreams of a lovesick soul from their tender reverie. You straightaway fling open the bed curtains, acting like a guest who lodges within the chamber; you push open the door and enter the hall, rustling the pages of books, becoming a visitor who turns the leaves. Never having met in life, you barge straight through the doorway; were it not for someone clutching the skirt, you would nearly have swept away the imperial consort. You spit out a halo of colors in the sky, daring to borrow the moon's halo to manifest your omen; on the early spring fields you stir up willow waves, falsely claiming to deliver tidings for the flowers. The retired scholar, just setting foot on his homeward path, finds his robe of creeping fig fluttering in your gusts; the mountaineer, in the height of his delight, has his cornel-adorned cap lightly blown off by you. The tumbleweed rises and falls, yet the autumn whirlwind sweeps it into the high heavens; the kite with its whistling note soars into the clouds, but you snap its hundred-foot silk thread. Without receiving Empress Wu's decree, you cause the hundred flowers to bloom prematurely; before removing the hat-tassels of King Zhuang of Chu's guests, you extinguish the candlelight. You even raise dust and scatter soil, seeking to level the high mountains of Li He's verse; you summon clouds and call forth rain, tearing the thatch from Du Fu's cottage roof. Even a gentle breeze stirs the waves of the water god Feng Yi; after the soughing west wind comes a deluge of rain. When a light breeze drifts by, the grass all bends low; when a furious gale roars forth, the tiles threaten to fly. Before you can display your might to overturn rivers and seas, the river porpoises constantly surface to bow in homage to you; when you suddenly form a sky-obscuring, sun-veiling force, the wild geese in the long sky scatter in disarray. At Madang Mountain, you aided Wang Bo with a favorable wind, which was commendable; but what intention did you have in tugging at the emerald curtains of the Jasper Terrace? As for the sentient seabird, it knows to shelter by the Lu gate to avoid the storm; if only travelers may be safe, I would gladly plead for Shi Niang to summon back You Lang to quell the wind's harm. In ancient times, there were noble and heroic men who wished to ride the long wind and break through ten thousand leagues of waves; in this age, how many lofty souls, unmoved by fame and gain, ride the wind and travel free? You, the storm, can harness wild clouds and whirl flying sand and stones, thus deeming yourself as arrogant as the King of Yelang; relying on the greedy and fierce wind's power, the river overflows its banks, becoming even more presumptuous like the River Earl.
Both sisters have suffered your ravages, the entire clan has been trampled by you. Red blossoms fall in profusion, green leaves tremble in fear, shaken endlessly by your relentless force; the wind that splits willows and rustles branches, the ceaseless sound of snapping flowers and trees. Wind and rain lash the Golden Valley Garden, countless fallen petals become cushions for wanderers; white dew turns to frost in the Flowery Grove Park, willow catkins drift and turn to mud. Fallen blooms cover the ground, withered reds scatter with the wind; beside the vermilion pavilions and carved railings, scattered petals fall like jade fragments. In a single dawn, spring's splendor suddenly wanes, myriad flying reds seem like spring sorrow; searching everywhere for the lingering remnants, one can only resent the dawn wind. The graceful maidens of the rivers and lakes, with their arched slippers, vainly wander the spring gardens; the lonely beauties in jade towers, their splendid steeds neigh in vain toward the fragrant grass, denied their chance. At such a time: those who mourn spring harbor an unbearable melancholy, those who seek scenic beauty utter helpless songs. Yet you strut about arrogantly, wantonly abusing your power; destroying tender shoots, shaking jade-like blossoms, endlessly blowing the wind of decline. Alas, the green trees remain, but flowers fall rustling around the walls; too long has it been since the crimson banner against the wind god was raised, and who pities the delicate flowers shedding tears of sorrow? Fallen into the mire, caught on the fence, in a single day their fragrant souls vanish; blooming at dawn, withering at dusk, what year will they escape this harm? Complaints that the silken robes are easily blown open by the spring wind, curses that echo only in vain in the "Midnight Songs"; accusing the wind god of reckless tyranny, yet the memorial fails to reach the Heavenly Court.
Proclaim to all the neighboring blossoms, we shall learn to form a martial array of fresh flowers; among all of our kind, we shall raise the grass-and-wood soldiers. Let none say we are as weak as the supple willow and the frail cattail, for we harbor the will to weave our twigs into a defensive fence. Behold our throng of oriole mates and swallow companions, united to avenge the Wind God's theft of our beloved; let us ally with butterflies and bees, and swear a common vow of enmity. With oars of orchid and rudders of cassia, we shall practice naval battle in Kunming Pool; with mulberry leaves as chariot canopies and willow branches as banners, we shall hold a grand review in the Imperial Park. The lofty chrysanthemum shall also join the fray; the solitary great tree should righteously burn with indignation. Let us quell the arrogance of the Feng clan, wash away the ancient wrongs of the flower spirits; annihilate the Feng clan's tyranny, and dissolve the eternal regrets of the wind-blown romance!
Commentary
This story, under the guise of the Flower Goddess, praises the protection of the gentle, true, and beautiful, while under the pretext of denouncing the Wind God, it attacks and condemns the ugly, base, and vulgar ways of the world.
In "Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio," the structure of this piece is quite unique, as it is not a tale but a literary work in the form of a rhapsody. The preceding narrative plot actually resembles a preface to a rhapsody, akin to Song Yu's "Rhapsody on the Goddess" and "Rhapsody on Gaotang." The "Collected Works of Pu Songling" removes the narrative plot, placing it in the tenth volume under the category of "Miscellaneous Writings," with the title changed to "A Proclamation on Behalf of the Flower Goddess Summoning Lady Feng."
Critics of "Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio" across the ages have held this piece in high regard. Originally, in the manuscript of "Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio," this story was included in the third volume, while transcripts like those of the Zhuxue Studio placed it in the eleventh volume; however, the first printed edition, the Qingketing edition, positioned it at the very end of the entire collection. Feng Zhenluan remarked that "Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio" concludes with this piece, elevating the status of the literati and crafting a triumphant literary work, praising its ornate diction and romantic splendor from a literary perspective, noting that many of its poetic phrases were later borrowed by the verses of "Dream of the Red Chamber." He Yin and Dan Minglun, from the standpoint of content and structure, considered this story to embody the work's central theme of rewarding virtue and punishing vice, conveyed through empty words, merely as illusions of flower spirits and airy proclamations (He Yin), and as a grand narrative drawing to its close (Dan Minglun).