Original Text
In Suzhou there was a painter, whose name has been forgotten. He delighted in painting Lü Dongbin, and often communed with him in spirit through his imagination, hoping for the fortune of a meeting. This devout longing congealed in his heart, and hope never left him day or night. One day, the painter encountered a band of beggars drinking wine in the outskirts of the city. Among them was one man whose tattered garments exposed his elbows, yet his bearing was lofty and unrestrained. The painter's heart stirred at the sight, and he suspected this man might be Lü Dongbin himself. Gazing intently, he grew ever more certain, and seizing the man's arm, he cried, "You are the Patriarch Lü!" The beggar burst into laughter. The painter insisted he was Lü Dongbin, and prostrating himself, he knelt and would not rise. The beggar said, "I am indeed the Patriarch Lü. What would you have of me?" The painter kowtowed, begging only for instruction. The beggar replied, "That you can recognize me shows there is some affinity between us. Yet this is no place for discourse; we shall meet tonight." The painter tried to detain him with further questions, but in the blink of an eye, the man had vanished without a trace. The painter returned home, marveling and sighing.
When night fell, he indeed dreamed that Lü Dongbin arrived and said, "Considering your steadfast dedication, I have come especially to meet you. However, your nature is fundamentally greedy and miserly, so you cannot attain immortality. I can, however, allow you to see one person." Thereupon he waved his hand toward the void, and a beautiful woman descended from the air, her attire and adornments like those of a noble consort, her radiant countenance and garments illuminating the entire chamber. Lü Dongbin said, "This is Consort Dong. Observe her carefully." Then he asked, "Do you remember?" The painter replied, "I have already remembered." Lü Dongbin added, "Do not forget." After a moment, the beauty departed, and Lü Dongbin also left. The painter awoke, finding this dream extraordinary, and he painted the beauty he had seen in the dream, preserving it well, yet he never understood the meaning of Lü Dongbin's words.
Several years later, the painter happened to travel to the capital. It coincided with the death of Consort Dong, and the emperor, recalling her virtue, wished to have her portrait painted. Many painters gathered together; some described the consort's features by word of mouth, while others tried to imagine her likeness in their minds, yet none could capture her true appearance. This Suzhou painter suddenly felt a stirring in his heart, recalling the beautiful woman who had appeared in his dream—could she be Consort Dong? He then presented that portrait to the court. When the palace attendants passed it around for viewing, they all declared it remarkably lifelike and similar. Thereupon, the emperor granted him the official post of Zhongshu Sheren, but the painter declined the appointment; instead, he was bestowed with ten thousand taels of silver. Thus, his fame spread far and wide. The families of imperial relatives and nobles vied to offer him generous sums, begging him to paint portraits of their deceased ancestors. The painter merely sketched from imagination, yet each portrait was rendered with perfect fidelity. Within a span of ten days, he had amassed a fortune of ten thousand in wealth.
Zhu Gongkui of Laiwu once met this man.
Commentary
On the surface, this tale recounts the miraculous deeds of Lü Dongbin, one of the legendary Eight Immortals, but in truth it reflects a political rumor from the early Qing dynasty—the folk tale of Emperor Shunzhi’s consort, Lady Dong’e, and her death.
Consort Dong'e was the favored consort of Emperor Shunzhi, and her death exerted great influence on the court at that time. According to the "Drafts of Biographies of Empresses and Consorts of the Qing Dynasty," it is recorded: "After the consort passed away, the emperor was listless and unhappy... He personally composed a eulogy, recounting the consort's virtues, to express his grief. Upon his own death, in his posthumous edict he blamed himself, beginning with regret for exceeding proper rites in mourning and sacrifice." The phrase "exceeding proper rites in mourning and sacrifice" became a subject of the emperor's self-reflection, indicating the grand scale of the mourning and sacrificial ceremonies. "The emperor, mindful of her virtue, intended to have her portrait painted, and many artisans gathered," might have been one of those planned projects; of course, it could also have been entirely unsubstantiated rumors among the people.
Precisely because "The Wu Gate Painter" involved political matters, the Qingke Pavilion edition of "Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio" excised this tale.