Original Text
Liang Youcai was originally a man from Shanxi, who drifted to Jinan Prefecture and made a living as a small peddler, without wife, children, or land. He followed some villagers to climb Mount Tai. In early April, the mountain was thronged with pilgrims. Among them were male and female devotees, leading a hundred or so men and women, who knelt in droves before the Buddha statues, remaining until a stick of incense had burned down—a practice called "incense kneeling." Liang Youcai noticed among the crowd a young woman of seventeen or eighteen, with a comely face, and his heart stirred with desire. Pretending to be a pilgrim, he knelt near her, and feigning weakness in his knees, deliberately reached out to touch her foot. The girl turned her head, a look of indignation on her face, and shifted her kneeling position to move away from him. Liang again shuffled closer on his knees, and after a moment, once more touched her foot. The girl, perceiving this, immediately rose, ceased her incense kneeling, and left the hall. Liang also stood up and followed her out, but she had vanished without a trace. His heart filled with disappointment, he walked on in dejection.
On the road, Liang Youcai saw the young woman following an old woman, seemingly mother and daughter, and quickly hurried after them. As they walked, the old woman said, "It is wonderful that you could pay homage to the goddess. Since you have no siblings, you may only seek her silent blessings to find a suitable husband. As long as he is filial to his elders, there is no need to marry a prince or noble." Liang Youcai, hearing this, felt secretly pleased and gradually edged closer to strike up a conversation, asking the old woman various questions. She called herself Yun, and the girl was named Cuixian, her daughter. Their home was west of the mountain, some forty li away. Liang said, "The mountain paths are rugged and difficult; with your slow steps, good mother, and your daughter's delicate feet, how can you reach home quickly?" The old woman replied, "It is getting late; we will first stay at her uncle's house for the night." Liang said, "I heard you speak of choosing a son-in-law, not minding poverty or lowliness. I am unmarried—am I not suited to your wishes?" The old woman asked her daughter, who did not answer. After several inquiries, the girl said, "He has scant fortune, is dissolute and untrustworthy, frivolous in nature, and prone to fickleness. I cannot be a wife to a wastrel." Hearing this, Liang quickly protested his honesty and sincerity, earnestly swearing by the sun. The old woman was delighted and agreed to the match. The daughter was displeased, showing only anger. Her mother half-forced, half-soothed her, patting her back. Liang hastened to ingratiate himself, pulling out coins from his pocket to hire two mountain sedan chairs, carrying the mother and daughter along the road, while he followed on foot like a servant. At treacherous spots, he shouted at the bearers, forbidding any jolting, attending to them with great care. Soon they reached a village, and the old woman invited Liang to accompany them to the girl's uncle's house. The uncle came out, an old man, and his wife an old woman. Yun called them brother and sister-in-law, saying, "Youcai is my son-in-law. Today is an auspicious day; no need to choose another. Let them marry tonight." The uncle was pleased and brought out wine and food to entertain Liang. After the meal, Cuixian was dressed in finery and brought out; they smoothed the bed and urged them to retire early. Cuixian said, "I knew you were a heartless man, but forced by my mother's command, I have recklessly followed you. If you are a man, you need not worry about making a living together." Liang nodded in assent. The next morning at dawn, Cuixian's mother said to Liang, "You go back first; I will bring my daughter along shortly."
Liang Youcai returned home and cleaned the house. Old Mrs. Yun indeed brought Yun Cuixian to him. When she entered the room and saw nothing but bare walls, she said, "How can you live like this? I will go back quickly and relieve your difficulties a little." With that, she left. The next day, several men and women came, each carrying clothes, food, and household utensils, filling the room to the brim. Without even eating a meal, they all departed, leaving only a maidservant. From then on, Liang Youcai enjoyed warmth and plenty without lifting a finger, but he daily invited local idlers to drink and gamble, gradually going so far as to steal Yun Cuixian's hairpins and earrings to use as gambling stakes. Yun Cuixian tried to dissuade him, but he would not listen; she grew tired of arguing with him and merely guarded her own chest tightly, as if warding off a thief. One day, a gambling friend came to visit Liang Youcai and secretly caught sight of Yun Cuixian; he was greatly astonished. He teased Liang Youcai, saying, "You have the capital for great wealth and honor—why worry about poverty?" When Liang Youcai asked what he meant, the friend replied, "Earlier I saw your wife; she is truly as beautiful as a celestial being. But she is ill-suited to your humble circumstances. If you sell her as a concubine, you could get a hundred gold pieces; if you sell her as a courtesan, you could get a thousand. With a thousand gold in hand, why fear having no money for drink and gambling?" Liang Youcai said nothing, but in his heart he approved. Returning home, he sighed and wept before Yun Cuixian, and from time to time muttered that life was too hard to bear. Yun Cuixian paid him no heed, so Liang Youcai repeatedly pounded the table, threw down spoons and chopsticks, cursed the maidservant, and made all sorts of ugly scenes.
One evening, Yun Cuixian bought wine and drank with her husband, then suddenly said, "Sir, because of our poverty, you worry daily. I cannot relieve this hardship, and my heart is not without shame. But I have nothing extra—only this maidservant. If we sell her, we might slightly supplement our household expenses." Liang Youcai shook his head and said, "She is worth but a few coins!" After drinking a while longer, Yun Cuixian said, "For you, sir, is there anything I would not bear? It is only that I lack the means. Thinking of our dire straits, even if I follow you to death, we would only suffer together for a lifetime—where is the hope of emergence? It would be better to sell me to a wealthy family, benefiting us both, and the money gained might be more than from selling the maidservant." Liang Youcai feigned shock and said, "How could it come to this!" Yun Cuixian insisted repeatedly, her expression very solemn. Liang Youcai said happily, "Let us discuss it further." So through a favored eunuch, he sold Yun Cuixian to the official quarters as a singing girl. The eunuch himself came to Liang Youcai's home, and upon seeing Yun Cuixian, he was greatly pleased, fearing only that he could not obtain her immediately, so he drew up a contract for eight hundred strings of cash, and the matter was nearly settled. Yun Cuixian said, "My mother daily worries because her son-in-law is poor. Now that our bond is to be severed, I wish to return home for a few days to visit her. Moreover, since you and I are already cut off, how can we not inform my mother?" Liang Youcai feared his mother-in-law would obstruct the matter, but Yun Cuixian said, "This is my own wish; I guarantee there will be no mistake." Liang Youcai complied. Near midnight, they arrived at his mother-in-law's home. Knocking and entering, they saw that the towers and halls were all splendid, with maids and servants coming and going without end. Liang Youcai had lived with Yun Cuixian ordinarily, and whenever he wished to visit his mother-in-law, she prevented him, so after more than a year as a son-in-law, he had never set foot in her door. Now, he was greatly alarmed, fearing that since Yun Cuixian's family was immensely wealthy, they would surely be unwilling to let her become a concubine or singing girl. Yun Cuixian led him upstairs. Her mother asked in surprise why the couple had come, and Yun Cuixian complained, "I always said he was heartless and ungrateful, and now it is indeed so!" Then from her clothes she took out two ingots of gold and placed them on the table, saying, "Fortunately, this petty man did not swindle them away; now I return them to you, Mother." The mother asked in astonishment what had happened, and Yun Cuixian said, "He wants to sell me, so hiding the gold is useless." Then she pointed at Liang Youcai and cursed, "You beast! In the past, you carried a pole on your shoulder, your face covered with dust like a ghost. When you first approached me, your body stank of sweat, the grime on your skin was thick enough to crumble, the calluses on your hands and feet an inch thick, making me nauseous all night. Since I married you, you have eaten your fill in comfort, and only then shed that ghostly skin. Now my mother is here—am I slandering you?" Liang Youcai hung his head, not daring to breathe. Yun Cuixian continued, "I know I have no beauty to topple cities or kingdoms, and cannot serve a nobleman, but for a man like you, I dare say I am a match. How have I wronged you, that you have not a shred of marital affection? Could I not build towers and buy good fields? But thinking of your frivolous bones and beggar's face, you are ultimately no companion for a lifetime." As she spoke, maids and servants joined hands, surrounding Liang Youcai in a circle. Hearing Yun Cuixian's reproaches, they joined in spitting and cursing, crying out in unison, "Better to kill him—why waste words with him!" Liang Youcai was terrified, kowtowing on the ground and endlessly confessing his faults. Yun Cuixian said angrily, "Selling one's wife is evil enough, but not yet the worst—how could you bear to make the wife who shared your bed and pillow into a prostitute!" Before her words faded, the crowd's eyes nearly split with rage, and they stabbed Liang Youcai's chest and ribs with hairpins and scissors. Liang Youcai wailed and begged for mercy. Yun Cuixian stopped them, saying, "Let him go for now. Though he is heartless and ungrateful, I cannot bear to see him tremble so pitifully." Then she led the crowd downstairs.
Liang Youcai sat listening for a long while, until all sounds of human activity around him had fallen silent, and he thought to steal away. Suddenly he looked up and saw the stars twinkling, the east already growing pale, the wilderness vast and desolate; then the lamplight within the room went out, and the house vanished, leaving him seated on a sheer cliff. Gazing down into the valley, he could see no bottom, and Liang Youcai was terrified, fearing he might fall. The moment he shifted his body, there was a thunderous crash as the rocks gave way. Halfway down the cliff face, a withered tree jutted out, catching him by the belly and preventing his fall. The dead tree supported only his stomach, leaving his hands and feet dangling in the air with no purchase. Below, all was a boundless blur, countless fathoms deep. He dared not turn around, and his cries for help, like the wailing of ghosts and howling of wolves, were both dreadful and hoarse; his whole body swelled up, and his eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and every limb were utterly drained of strength. As the sun gradually rose, he was discovered by a woodcutter, who fetched a rope, lowered it down, and hauled him to the cliff top, where he lay barely breathing. The woodcutter carried Liang Youcai home, only to find the door wide open and the house as dilapidated as a ruined temple; the bed, trunks, and furniture were all gone, leaving only the broken bed and rickety table—his own old possessions—scattered here and there. Liang Youcai lay listlessly on the bed, and when hungry, he would beg a meal from a neighbor once a day. Soon, the swollen parts of his body festered into foul sores. The villagers despised his character and all spat upon him. Having no other recourse, he sold his house and took up residence in a cave, begging along the streets, always carrying a knife. Someone advised him to trade the knife for food, but he refused, saying, "Living in the wild, I must guard against tigers and wolves; this knife serves for self-defense." Later, on the road, he encountered the man who had previously persuaded him to sell his wife. Liang Youcai approached him, speaking sorrowfully, then suddenly drew the knife and slew him, whereupon he was taken into custody by the authorities. The magistrate, having investigated the reason for the killing, could not bear to subject him to harsh torture, but merely confined him in prison, where he died not long after.
The Chronicler of Strange Tales remarks: To marry a wife with brows like distant mountains and a face like a lotus, and share with her a life of poverty—would one exchange such a state for the rank of a southern king? If a man himself is not upright, yet resents the evil companions who abet his misdeeds, then those who act as friends must be ever mindful of caution. Whenever a dissolute rogue lures others into gambling and debauchery, committing all manner of wickedness, before these deeds are exposed, they may not incur hatred, but neither do they earn gratitude. When the one led astray has lost his clothes and his wife lacks a skirt, suffering the scorn of a thousand, dying without illness, then thoughts of poverty and ruin haunt him day and night, and the bitterness of such ruin gnaws at his teeth. On a cold night, lying beneath a coarse blanket of straw, he tosses and turns, unable to sleep. Then he recalls, one by one, the days before his fall, the moments just before his fall, and the reasons that led to his fall, thus thinking of the one who caused the calamity and brought him to ruin. At that moment, the timid rise, wrap themselves in tattered quilts, and curse; the fierce endure the cold, go naked, light a fire, draw a knife, and whet it with a rasping sound—the thought of vengeance will not let them wait until dawn. Therefore, to admonish with good intent is like offering an olive; to tempt with evil thoughts is like feeding someone spoiled dried meat. The listener should indeed reflect, but should not the speaker also be wary?
Commentary
In a certain sense, "Yun Cuixian" is also a tale of betrayal and broken faith. However, while "The Filial Martial Candidate" deals with an official and "The Lady Dou" with a landlord, this story concerns a petty peddler, a scoundrel of a small trader who swindles his way into a marriage and then sells his wife, a tragedy born of base deceit.
Yun Cuixian was a shrewd and virtuous maiden who, at the very outset of Liang Youcai's courtship, saw through his unreliability and refused to marry him, yet compelled by her mother's command, she reluctantly wedded Liang Youcai. After their marriage, she adhered strictly to womanly virtues, observing the three obediences and four virtues, but could not prevent the gambling and drunken Liang Youcai from selling her off, and only when her endurance was exhausted did she resolutely part ways with him. When Yun Cuixian denounced Liang Youcai in her final severance, she spoke entirely in plain speech, pouring forth her grievances and wrath with such unrestrained vehemence that it stirred boundless sympathy and pity in all who heard.
In this tale, Pu Songling had no intention of criticizing feudal arranged marriages, yet the story itself reveals that arranged marriage is the root cause of Yun Cuixian's tragic fate. During the 1950s, when the Marriage Law was promoted and free love was advocated, "Yun Cuixian" was widely circulated as a storytelling piece.
Although it remains uncertain whether Yun Cuixian is an immortal, a ghost, or a fox spirit, this tale is steeped in the rustic atmosphere of rural life. Scenes such as the "kneeling incense" ritual at Mount Tai and the neighbors' "convivial drinking and gambling" unfold like a scroll of local customs. The admonition in the "Historian of the Strange's Commentary" at the tale's end also conveys Pu Songling's earnest and heartfelt counsel, much like a village elder offering wise advice.