Original Text
There was a Taoist named Gong, whose given name was unknown, nor did anyone know whence he came. Once, he sought an audience with the Prince of Lu at his palace, but the gatekeeper refused to announce him. Just then, a eunuch emerged from within, and Gong bowed to him, requesting that he deliver his message. The eunuch, seeing his coarse and rustic appearance, drove him away. Shortly thereafter, Gong returned, and the eunuch, now enraged, ordered his men to chase him off with blows. When they reached a secluded spot, Gong smiled and produced two hundred taels of gold, asking his pursuers to tell the eunuch: "Say to him that I do not seek an audience with the prince; I merely wish to behold the flowers, trees, pavilions, and terraces of the rear garden, which are said to be unmatched in the mortal world. If he would but lead me there for a look, my life's desire would be fulfilled." He also gave silver to his pursuers. Delighted, the man returned and relayed this to the eunuch, who was equally pleased and led Gong through the rear gate into the garden, showing him every sight. Then he guided him up a tower. As the eunuch approached the window, Gong gave him a push, and the eunuch felt himself fall from the tower, a slender rattan vine cinched around his waist, leaving him suspended in midair. Looking down, he saw the ground far below, his head spinning and his eyes dazed, while the vine emitted a sound as if about to snap. Terrified, the eunuch cried out loudly. Soon, several other eunuchs arrived, all struck with horror. Seeing how far he was from the ground, they hastily ascended the tower and found the vine's end tied to the window lattice. They wished to untie it to rescue him, but the vine was too slender to risk force. They searched everywhere for Gong, but he had vanished. At their wits' end, they reported the matter to the Prince of Lu. When the prince came and saw, he too found it strange. He ordered that straw and cotton be spread beneath the tower before cutting the vine. No sooner had the straw and cotton been laid than the vine snapped with a loud crack, and the eunuch fell to the ground—only to find himself no more than a foot above it. All present looked at one another and burst into laughter.
The Prince of Lu ordered an inquiry into where the Daoist priest Gong resided, and upon hearing that he was staying at the home of Scholar Shang, sent someone to ask; Gong had gone out traveling and had not yet returned. Subsequently, the messenger encountered Gong on the road back to the residence and led him to see the Prince of Lu. The Prince set up a banquet, invited Gong to take a seat, and asked him to perform some magic tricks. Gong said, "I am but a rustic commoner with no great abilities. Since Your Highness has graciously favored me, I dare to offer a humble performance to celebrate your birthday." So he drew a beautiful woman from his sleeve, placed her on the ground, and she kowtowed to the Prince. Gong ordered her to perform the Banquet of the Jasper Pool, wishing the Prince boundless longevity. The woman recited a few opening lines. Gong then produced another woman from his sleeve, who called herself "Queen Mother of the West." In a short while, Dong Shuangcheng, Xu Feiqiong, and many other immortals appeared one by one. Finally, the Weaving Maiden came forth, offering a celestial robe, dazzling with golden light that illuminated the entire hall. The Prince suspected it was fake and wanted to take it for inspection. Gong hastily said, "You must not." But the Prince paid no heed and eventually took it to examine; indeed, it was a seamless heavenly garment, not something human hands could sew. Gong said displeasedly, "I exhausted my sincerity to serve Your Highness, temporarily borrowing this robe from the Weaving Maiden, but now it has been defiled by worldly vapors—how can I return it to its owner?" The Prince then thought that the singing and acting women must be celestial maidens and wished to keep one or two by his side, but upon close inspection, they turned out to be all the courtesans from his own palace. He also suspected that the tunes they sang were not originally known to them, and upon questioning, they indeed were utterly ignorant. Gong placed the celestial robe over a fire to burn it, then put it back into his sleeve; when he looked again, the robe was gone from his sleeve. The Prince therefore held Gong in high regard and had him reside within the palace. Gong said, "My rustic nature finds this palace as confining as a cage; I would rather dwell in the scholar's home, where I am free." Often at midnight, he would inevitably return to the scholar's house; sometimes the Prince insisted on keeping him, and he would stay, but always at the banquet he would produce out-of-season flowers and plants as a diversion. The Prince asked, "I have heard that immortals cannot forget the passions of men and women—is that so?" Gong replied, "Perhaps immortals are like that. But I am no immortal, so my heart is like withered wood." One night, Gong stayed in the Prince's residence, and the Prince sent a young courtesan to test him. The courtesan entered Gong's room and called out several times without response; lighting a lamp, she saw Gong sitting on the bed with eyes closed. She shook him, and he opened his eyes briefly before closing them again; when she shook him again, he began to snore. She pushed him, and he fell over, lying on the bed snoring like thunder; when she tapped his forehead, it made a sound like striking an iron pot. The courtesan returned and reported to the Prince. The Prince had someone prick him with a needle, but it would not penetrate. When they tried to push him, he was too heavy to move; ten or more men lifted him and threw him off the bed, and he landed like a thousand-pound boulder hitting the ground. At dawn, they looked and saw Gong still sleeping on the floor. He woke up and laughed, saying, "What a deep sleep—I fell off the bed and didn't even know it!" Later, whenever women pressed him in jest while he was sitting or lying down, at first his body was soft, but upon further pressing, it became as hard as iron and stone.
The Taoist Gong resided at Scholar Shang's residence, often not returning until midnight. Scholar Shang would lock the door, but when he opened it at dawn, Gong was already asleep in the bedroom. Initially, Scholar Shang had been intimate with a singing girl named Huige, and they vowed to marry. Huige excelled in singing and her musical skills were unmatched. Prince Lu heard of her fame, summoned her into his mansion to serve him, thus separating her from Scholar Shang. Scholar Shang constantly missed her, distressed by the lack of a messenger. One evening, Scholar Shang asked Gong, "Have you seen Huige?" Gong replied, "I have seen all the singing girls in the prince's mansion, but I do not know which one is Huige." Scholar Shang described her appearance and age, and Gong then recalled her. Scholar Shang begged Gong to convey a message, but Gong laughed and said, "I am a man beyond the mundane world; I cannot act as a carrier pigeon for you." Scholar Shang persisted in his pleas. Gong spread his sleeve and said, "If you must see Huige, please enter my sleeve." Scholar Shang looked into the sleeve, which was as vast as a room; he stooped and entered, finding it bright and spacious like a hall, complete with tables, chairs, beds, and stools, without any sense of confinement. Gong entered the prince's mansion and played chess with Prince Lu. When he saw Huige approaching, he pretended to dust with his robe sleeve; with a flick, Huige was drawn into the sleeve, unnoticed by those around. As Scholar Shang sat lost in thought, a beautiful woman suddenly descended from the eaves; it was Huige. Overjoyed, they embraced affectionately. Scholar Shang said, "This extraordinary encounter today must be recorded. Let us compose a poem together." Scholar Shang took up a brush and wrote on the wall: "Long lost in the marquis's gate, no trace remains." Huige continued: "Who would know that Xiao Lang now meets again?" Scholar Shang added: "Within the sleeve, vast as heaven and earth." Huige finished: "Parted lovers and yearning wives are all contained." Just as they finished writing, five men suddenly entered, wearing eight-cornered hats and pale red robes; upon close inspection, they were unrecognizable. Without a word, they seized Huige and left. Scholar Shang, startled and frightened, did not understand what had happened. When Gong returned to Scholar Shang's residence, he called Scholar Shang out of his sleeve and asked about his meeting with Huige; Scholar Shang concealed some details and did not reveal everything. Gong smiled, took off his Taoist robe, and turned the sleeve inside out for Scholar Shang to examine. Scholar Shang looked closely and saw faint traces of writing, as tiny as lice eggs; they were the very verses they had inscribed.
After another ten or so days, Scholar Shang again requested to enter the sleeve to meet with Hui Ge. In total, they had met three times. Hui Ge said to Scholar Shang, "The child in my womb has already begun to move. I am deeply worried and often bind my waist with a sash. The prince's mansion is full of watchful eyes and ears; once labor begins, how could the cries of an infant be tolerated? Quickly consult with Immortal Gong, and when you see that my waist has grown as thick as three spans, beg him to rescue me." Scholar Shang agreed. Returning home, he saw Daoist Gong and knelt on the ground, refusing to rise. The Daoist pulled him up and said, "I already know all that you have spoken. Do not worry. The continuation of your family line depends on this child; how dare I not exert my utmost efforts? But from now on, you must not enter again. The reason I repay you lies not in matters of private affection." Several months later, Daoist Gong returned from outside and said with a smile, "I have brought the young master. Quickly fetch a swaddling cloth!" Scholar Shang's wife was very virtuous, nearly thirty years of age, and had borne several children, only one son surviving. She had just given birth to a daughter who died after a month. Hearing from her husband that there was a son, she came out in joyful surprise. The Daoist took an infant from his sleeve; the child was still sound asleep, its umbilical cord not yet severed. Shang's wife took the child, and it began to cry loudly. The Daoist removed his robe and said, "Birthing blood staining the garment is the greatest taboo for Daoists. Today, for your sake, I must discard this robe I have worn for twenty years." Scholar Shang exchanged it for another garment. The Daoist instructed, "Do not throw away the old robe. Burn a pinch of its ashes and take it; it can cure difficult childbirth and expel stillborn fetuses." Scholar Shang heeded his words and stored the robe away.
Gong the Taoist had stayed at Scholar Shang's house for a long time, when suddenly he told Scholar Shang, "The Taoist robe you have kept, you must reserve a little for your own use; after I die, do not forget this matter." Scholar Shang thought Gong the Taoist's words were inauspicious. Gong the Taoist said nothing more and left, going to the prince's mansion to tell Prince Lu, "Your servant is about to die!" The prince asked in surprise what had happened, and Gong the Taoist said, "This is a matter of fixed destiny; there is nothing more to be said." The prince did not believe him and insisted on keeping him; they had just played a game of chess when Gong the Taoist hurriedly stood up to leave, but the prince again would not let him go. Gong the Taoist begged to go to an outer room, and the prince agreed. Gong the Taoist ran into the room and lay down; when they looked, he was already dead. The prince prepared a coffin for him and buried him with proper rites. Scholar Shang went to the grave and wept bitterly, deeply sorrowful; only then did he realize that Gong the Taoist's earlier words had been a foretelling. The Taoist robe left by Gong the Taoist was used to hasten childbirth and proved extremely effective; people came to the Shang household seeking the remedy one after another. At first, Scholar Shang gave them the sleeve stained with blood, then later cut off the hem and collar, which worked just as well. Scholar Shang, heeding Gong the Taoist's instructions and suspecting that his wife might suffer difficult labor in the future, cut off a piece of the blood-stained robe the size of a palm and treasured it away.
It happened that the Prince of Lu's beloved consort was in labor, but after three days the child had not been born, and the physicians were at their wit's end. Someone reported Scholar Shang's matter to the Prince, who immediately summoned him. The consort took but a single dose of the robe's ashes, and the child was delivered. The Prince was overjoyed and bestowed upon Scholar Shang much silver and fine silks, but he declined them all. When the Prince pressed him to name his desire, Shang said, "Your subject dares not speak." Urged repeatedly, he knelt and kowtowed, saying, "If Your Highness would be so gracious as to bestow upon me the former singing girl Huige, I would be content." The Prince summoned Huige and asked her age; she replied, "Your handmaid entered the palace at eighteen, and fourteen years have passed since." The Prince, deeming her somewhat advanced in years, summoned all the singing girls and bade Scholar Shang choose as he pleased, but he fancied none. The Prince laughed and said, "What a stubborn scholar you are! Was a marriage contract made between you ten years ago?" Scholar Shang then told him the truth. The Prince grandly prepared a carriage for him and bestowed the silver and silks he had refused as Huige's dowry, sending them home. The son Huige had borne, named Xiusheng, meaning 'sleeve-born,' was now eleven years old. Scholar Shang often recalled the kindness of the Taoist Gong and went to sweep his grave every Qingming Festival.
A traveler who had long resided in Sichuan encountered the Daoist Gong on the road, who handed him a scroll, saying, "This is a book from the Prince of Lu's mansion. When I came to Sichuan, I was in such haste that I had no time to return it, so I trouble you to take it back for me." The traveler returned and, hearing that Gong had already died, dared not report the matter to the Prince; but Scholar Shang submitted a memorial on his behalf. When the Prince opened the scroll, it was indeed the very book the Daoist had borrowed. Suspecting Gong's death, they opened his grave, only to find the coffin empty. Later, Scholar Shang's eldest son died young, but fortunately Xiucheng survived to carry on the line, and thus they admired Gong's prescience all the more.
The Chronicler of Strange Tales remarks: The universe within a sleeve is but an ancient allegory—could such a thing truly exist? How extraordinary this is! Within a sleeve, there are heavens and earth, sun and moon; one may even take a wife and beget children there, free from the vexations of taxes and corvée labor, and untroubled by the entanglements of human affairs. Thus, the lice and nits within that sleeve are like the chickens and dogs of the Peach Blossom Spring! If one were permitted to dwell there forever, it would be acceptable to live out one's days until death.
Commentary
This tale contains two narrative threads: the first unfolds between the Daoist Gong and Prince Lu, while the second transpires between the Daoist Gong and Scholar Shang, with the former serving as the primary storyline.
Gong Daoist's magical arts could be called "a universe within a sleeve"—all his illusions emerged from within his sleeve. The sleeve also served as the adhesive that mended the plot, not only conjuring up all manner of strange and wondrous illusions, but after Gong Daoist ascended to immortality, the sleeve he left behind could even cure difficult childbirths. At the story's conclusion, Magistrate Shang's son was named "Xiusheng," where "xiu" means "sleeve"; using the sleeve left by Gong Daoist, Magistrate Shang saved the beloved consort of Prince Lu and her child. Prince Lu, having come to know Magistrate Shang, returned the singing girl whom Magistrate Shang cherished. Thus, although this tale depicts Gong Daoist's scattered and abundant magical arts, they are threaded through by a single line and never appear fragmented. The universe within a sleeve embodies Pu Songling's romantic imagination, as well as a political yearning akin to that in "The Peach Blossom Spring": "Within it there are heavens and earth, sun and moon; one may take a wife and bear children, yet suffer no torment of tax collection or the vexations of worldly affairs—so how are the lice within a sleeve any different from the chickens and dogs of the Peach Blossom Spring?"