Original Text
An Daye was a native of Lulong County. He could speak as soon as he was born, and his mother fed him dog's blood to stop it. As he grew up, he was surpassingly handsome and elegant, unmatched by anyone, intelligent and fond of reading, so that all the great families vied to form a marriage alliance with him. His mother once had a dream in which a figure told her, "Your son is fated to marry a princess." She believed this. By the time he was fifteen or sixteen, the dream had not yet come true, and his mother gradually began to regret it. One day, An Daye was sitting alone in his room when he suddenly smelled a strange, exquisite fragrance. Shortly after, a beautiful maidservant ran in and announced, "The princess is coming." Immediately, she spread a long woolen carpet on the ground, from the door all the way to the bed. While An Daye was still startled and puzzled, a young lady entered, leaning on the maidservant's shoulder. Her lovely face and bright attire instantly illuminated the entire room. The maidservant placed an embroidered cushion on the bed and helped the lady sit down. In his confusion, An Daye did not know what to do; he bowed and asked, "What celestial being from afar has graced this humble place?" The lady smiled, covering her mouth with her sleeve. The maidservant said, "This is the Cloud-Rose Princess from the Palace of the Holy Empress. The Holy Empress has taken a liking to you and wishes to bestow the princess upon you in marriage, so she has sent the princess to see your dwelling for herself."
An Daye was both startled and overjoyed, not knowing what to say, while the princess also hung her head, and the two remained silent together. An Daye had always loved playing Go, and the board was often placed by his seat. A maid wiped away the dust with a red handkerchief, moved the board to the table, and said, "The princess is very fond of Go in her daily life; I wonder who would win if she played against the Imperial Son-in-Law?" An Daye moved to sit by the table, and the princess followed with a smile. They had just played over thirty moves when the maid deliberately scrambled the pieces, declaring, "The Imperial Son-in-Law has lost!" She then gathered the pieces into the box, saying, "The Imperial Son-in-Law must be a master of Go among mortals; the princess can only yield six stones." So she placed six black stones on the board, and the princess complied. When the princess sat, she had a maid crouch beneath her seat, resting her foot on the maid's back; if her left foot touched the ground, she would switch to another maid crouching on the right to support her right foot. Two young maids attended on either side, and whenever An Daye was deep in thought, the princess would rest her elbow on the shoulder of a young maid. When the game ended without a clear tally of victory, a young maid laughed and said, "The Imperial Son-in-Law has lost by one stone." Another maid stepped forward and said, "The princess is tired; it is time to return." The princess leaned aside and whispered a few words to the maid. The maid then left, returning shortly to place a thousand taels of silver on the bed, telling An Daye, "The princess just said that this residence is low and damp, and she requests that you use this silver to make some slight repairs; after it is finished, she will come again for a meeting." Another maid added, "This month is afflicted by a celestial punishment, unsuitable for building; next month is an auspicious day." The princess rose, but An Daye blocked her way, closing the door, unwilling to let her go. Then a maid produced something like a leather bellows, puffing it on the ground, and soon clouds of vapor rose, instantly filling the room with darkness so that no one could be seen; when they looked again, the princess had vanished. When his mother learned of this, she suspected it was a demon. But An Daye thought of her day and night, unable to let go. He hastened to repair the house, disregarding all taboos, setting a deadline and urging the work day and night, until the residence was completely renovated and made new.
Previously, there was a scholar from Luanzhou named Yuan Dayong, who temporarily lodged on the street adjacent to An Daye's home. He had repeatedly sent his name card to visit An Daye. An Daye, who seldom associated with others, excused himself by claiming to be away and did not receive him, but took the opportunity to return the visit when Yuan Dayong was not at home. After another month or so, the two happened to meet outside the gate. Yuan Dayong was a youth of about twenty, dressed in palace silk garments, with a silk sash tied around his waist and black shoes on his feet, his demeanor exceedingly elegant. An Daye exchanged a few words with him and found him to be very cultivated. Delighted, An Daye invited him inside. They played several games of chess, each winning and losing in turn. Then An Daye set out wine and a feast to entertain him, and the two conversed most amiably. The next day, Yuan Dayong invited An Daye to his home, where he served rare delicacies from land and sea, attending to him with great thoroughness. Yuan's household had a young lad of twelve or thirteen, who, during the feast, struck a clapper and sang clearly, then leaped about in performance to enliven the drinking. An Daye became thoroughly intoxicated and could not return home on his own, so Yuan Dayong instructed the lad to carry An Daye back. An Daye, seeing the lad slender and frail, feared he could not bear the burden, but Yuan Dayong insisted. The lad lifted him up with strength to spare and carried him home. An Daye was greatly astonished. The next day, An Daye offered the lad a reward, but the lad declined repeatedly before finally accepting it. From then on, the friendship between An Daye and Yuan Dayong grew ever closer, with visits every two or three days. Yuan Dayong was quiet and reserved by nature, yet generous and fond of giving alms. Once, seeing a man in the market selling his daughter to pay a debt, Yuan ungrudgingly brought out money to settle the debt on his behalf. Thus, An Daye esteemed him even more. After a few days, Yuan Dayong came to An Daye's home to bid farewell, presenting An Daye with over a dozen valuable gifts, such as ivory chopsticks and nanmu beads, and also offered five hundred taels of silver to aid in the renovation of An Daye's residence. An Daye accepted the gifts but returned the silver, while giving silk fabrics in return as a token of thanks.
After more than a month had passed, a high official in Leting County, having retired from office and returned home, brought with him a vast amount of ill-gotten gold and silver. One night, bandits broke into his home, seized the official, tortured him with red-hot iron pincers, and plundered all his wealth. A servant in that household recognized Yuan Dayong, and the authorities issued a warrant for his arrest. A neighbor of the An family, a man named Tu, who had long been at odds with them, grew secretly suspicious and envious when he saw the An family undertaking grand construction and repairs to their residence. Just then, a young servant of the An family stole a pair of ivory chopsticks and sold them to the Tu household. Upon learning that these chopsticks had been a gift from Yuan Dayong, Tu reported An Daye to the authorities. The county magistrate dispatched soldiers to surround the An residence, but as it happened, An Daye was away with a servant, so the soldiers arrested his mother instead. An's mother, elderly and frail, was so terrified by this ordeal that she fell gravely ill, barely clinging to life, and for two or three days could neither eat nor drink. Seeing her condition, the magistrate released her and sent her home. When An Daye heard the dire news of his mother's arrest, he rushed back, only to find her already gravely ill; she passed away the following night. He had just finished encoffining her when the constables arrived and arrested him. The magistrate, noting that An Daye was young and refined, suspected he might have been falsely accused and intimidated him into confessing the truth. An Daye then honestly recounted his dealings with Yuan Dayong. The magistrate asked further, "How did your family suddenly become so wealthy?" An Daye replied, "My mother had some savings, and because I was about to marry, she brought them out to build a wedding chamber." The magistrate believed his words, recorded the confession, and ordered him to be sent to the prefectural court. When Tu learned that An Daye had escaped trouble, he bribed the escorting officers with a large sum of money to murder An Daye along the way.
They passed by a great mountain, where the yamen runners dragged An Daye to a steep cliff, preparing to push him down. At this moment of extreme peril, a tiger suddenly burst forth from the thicket, mauled the two runners to death, and carried An Daye away in its jaws. They arrived at a place with tiered pavilions and towers; the tiger entered and set An Daye down within. There, Princess Yunluo emerged, leaning on a maidservant, and said to him with sorrowful consolation: "I wished to keep you here, but your mother has passed away and is not yet buried. You may take the official dispatch that escorted you here and surrender yourself to the prefectural court; it will ensure your safety." Then she removed the sash from An Daye's chest, tied more than a dozen knots in it, and instructed him: "When you appear before the magistrate, take up these knots and untie them one by one; this will dispel the calamity." An Daye followed the princess's instructions and surrendered at the prefectural court. The prefect was well pleased with his honesty, and upon examining the dispatch, realized he was innocent, so he quashed the charges and released him. On his way home, An Daye happened to meet Yuan Dayong; he dismounted and clasped Yuan's hand, recounting his misfortunes in detail. Yuan was greatly incensed but remained silent. An Daye said, "With your bearing and talent, why would you debase yourself by such deeds?" Yuan replied, "Those I have slain were all unjust men, and what I have taken was all ill-gotten wealth. Otherwise, even if coins lay scattered on the road, I would not pick them up. Your admonition is kindly meant, but how can a man like your neighbor, that butcher surnamed Tu, be allowed to remain in this world?" With these words, he leaped onto his horse and rode away. An Daye returned home, buried his mother, and then closed his gates to all visitors. Suddenly, one night, thieves broke into the neighbor's house; the entire family of over ten people, father and sons alike, were all slaughtered, leaving only a maidservant alive. The thieves swept up the Tu family's valuables and divided them equally with a young boy. Before leaving, the bandit raised a lantern to the maidservant and said, "Mark this well: the killer is I, and no one else is involved." Then, without opening the door, he scaled the walls and vanished. The next day, the maidservant reported the matter to the authorities. The county magistrate suspected An Daye of complicity and arrested him again. He interrogated An Daye with great severity. When An Daye entered the court, he held the sash in his hand, defending himself while untying the knots; the magistrate could extract nothing from him and was forced to release him once more.
Upon returning home, An Daye became even more disciplined, closing his door and devoting himself diligently to his studies, keeping only a lame old woman to prepare his meals. After the mourning period for his mother ended, he swept the courtyard daily, awaiting good news of the princess's arrival. One day, a strange, fragrant scent filled the entire courtyard. Ascending to the pavilion, An Daye saw that the furnishings inside and out had been completely renewed. He quietly parted the painted curtain and beheld the princess seated there in full ceremonial attire; he hastened forward to pay his respects. The princess took his hand and said, "You refused to believe in fate and insisted on building, which brought disaster upon yourself; then, due to your mourning for your mother, our happy union was delayed by three years. This is a case of seeking haste only to find slowness—most matters in the world are like this." An Daye prepared to spend money to arrange a banquet, but the princess said, "There is no need for trouble." She then saw a maidservant reach into a cabinet and bring out dishes and soups, all steaming hot as if freshly cooked, while the wine was also fragrant and clear. They drank for a while, and as the sun set, the maidservants who had been attending the princess gradually withdrew. The princess grew languid, stretching and flexing her legs as if she could find no comfortable position. An Daye affectionately embraced her. The princess said, "First, release your hand. Now there are two paths before you; please choose one." An Daye, holding her neck, asked what these paths were. The princess replied, "If we become friends over chess and wine, we may have thirty years together; if we indulge in the pleasures of the bedchamber, we will have only six years of joy. Which do you choose?" An Daye said, "Let us discuss it again after six years." The princess then fell silent and became his wife. She said, "I knew from the start that you could not escape worldly desires; this too is fate." The princess had An Daye keep maidservants and serving women, lodging them in the southern courtyard, and each day they cooked and wove to sustain their livelihood. In the northern courtyard where the princess lived, no smoke from cooking fires was ever seen; only items like a chessboard and wine vessels were kept there. The gate to the northern courtyard was often closed, but when An Daye came, it would open of its own accord at his push; no one else could enter. Yet the princess knew whether the people in the southern courtyard were diligent or lazy, and whenever she summoned An Daye to rebuke them, none dared to contradict her.
The princess spoke little and never laughed loudly; when An Daye said something to her, she would always lower her head and smile. Whenever they sat shoulder to shoulder, she liked to lean against An Daye. He would lift her onto his lap, and she was as light as holding an infant. An Daye said, "You are so light, you could dance on a palm." The princess replied, "What difficulty is there in that? But such things are for maidservants to do, and I disdain them. The Flying Swallow was originally a handmaiden to my ninth elder sister, and she often offended with her frivolity. My sister grew angry and banished her to the mortal realm, yet she failed to keep a woman's chastity, and now she has been confined." The princess's tower was filled with brocade curtains; it was not cold in winter nor hot in summer. Even in the depths of winter, she wore only a thin gauze robe. An Daye made her a bright and ornate garment and forced her to wear it, but after a short while she would take it off, saying, "These filthy things from the dusty world press upon my bones, nearly causing illness." One day, as he held her on his knee, he suddenly felt she was twice as heavy as before and found it strange. She smiled, pointed at her belly, and said, "There is a mortal seed within." After a few days, she frowned and refused to eat, saying, "Lately I suffer from morning sickness and quite crave the flavors of smoke and fire." An Daye then prepared delicacies for her, and from then on her diet was no different from ordinary people.
One day, An Daye held the princess on his knee and suddenly felt she was twice as heavy as usual, greatly startling him. The princess smiled and pointed to her belly, saying, "There is a common seed within." A few days later, the princess frowned, lost her appetite, and said, "Lately I have grown weary of food and long to taste some mortal fare." An Daye then prepared fine dishes for her, and from then on she ate and drank like an ordinary person. One day, the princess said, "My body is too frail to bear childbirth. The maid Fanying is robust and can take my place." So she removed her undergarment, dressed Fanying in it, and shut her in a room. Soon, the cry of an infant was heard; opening the door, they saw a boy had been born. The princess joyfully said, "This child bears a blessed countenance and will surely achieve great things!" Thus she named him Daqi. She wrapped the child, placed him in An Daye's arms, and told him to give him to a wet nurse to be raised in the southern courtyard. After childbirth, the princess's waist was as slender as before, and she no longer ate mortal food. One day, the princess suddenly bid An Daye farewell, saying she wished to visit her natal home for a time. When asked when she would return, she replied, "Three days." Then, as before, she inflated a leather pouch, rose into the clouds, and vanished. The appointed day passed, yet she did not return. Over a year went by with no word, and An Daye fell into despair. He closed his doors, devoted himself to study, and eventually passed the provincial examination to become a juren. Yet he steadfastly refused to remarry, sleeping each night alone in the northern courtyard, as if to bask in the lingering fragrance of the princess. One evening, as An Daye tossed and turned sleepless on his bed, he suddenly saw lamplight shining on the window, the door opened of its own accord, and a throng of maids ushered the princess inside. An Daye rose in delight and reproached her for breaking her promise. The princess said, "I did not break my word; in heaven, only two and a half days have passed." An Daye proudly boasted to her of his success in the autumn provincial examination, expecting her to be pleased. But the princess said sorrowfully, "Why must you pursue such trifles? This matter brings neither glory nor shame, only a shortening of one's lifespan. In three days' absence, you have sunk deeper into the mire of worldly ambition." From then on, An Daye ceased to seek fame and rank. After a few months, the princess wished to return to her home again, and An Daye was deeply grieved and reluctant to part. She said, "This time I will return early; you need not wait long in longing. Moreover, the meetings and partings of human life are all fated; if used sparingly, they last long; if squandered, they are brief." The princess departed and returned after just over a month.
From then on, the princess would return once every year or half a year, often staying for several months before leaving again. An Daye grew accustomed to this and found it no longer strange. She bore another son, and holding him up, said, "This one is a jackal!" She immediately ordered him to be cast away. An Daye could not bear to do so, so he kept and raised the child, naming him Keqi. When Keqi was just one year old, the princess urgently arranged a betrothal for him. Many matchmakers came in succession, but when the princess inquired into the children's birth dates and horoscopes, all were deemed incompatible. The princess said, "I wish to find a deep pit for this little wolf, yet I cannot. He is destined to ruin the family for six or seven years—this too is the will of heaven." She then instructed An Daye, saying, "You must remember this: four years from now, a daughter will be born into the Hou family, with a small wart on her left side. She will be Keqi's wife. You must take her as his bride, regardless of the family's social standing." Having said this, she made An Daye write it down to remember. Later, the princess returned to her maternal home and never came back again.
An Daye often told his relatives and friends about the princess's instructions. Sure enough, there was a family named Hou whose daughter was born with a wart; the Hou family was poor, lowly, and of bad character, and everyone looked down on them, yet An Daye ultimately settled on this marriage. Daqi passed the provincial examination at seventeen and married a daughter of the Yun family; both husband and wife were filial to their father and fraternal to their younger brother, which greatly pleased their father. Keqi gradually grew up, but he did not love studying and secretly gambled with some idle ruffians, often stealing things from home to pay his gambling debts. His father was very angry and beat him, but he never reformed. The whole family warned each other to be wary of him, preventing him from stealing anything at home. So he would run out at night to steal from others' houses. When the owner discovered him, he was tied up and sent to the authorities. The magistrate, upon questioning his name, sent him back home with his own calling card. His father and elder brother tied him up together, and Daye gave him a severe beating, nearly killing him. His elder brother begged for mercy on his behalf, and his father finally let him go. Because of this incident, his father fell ill from anger and his appetite greatly diminished. So he drew up a deed dividing the property between the two sons, giving the fine buildings and good fields to Daqi. Keqi, resentful and angry, took a knife at night and entered his elder brother's room, intending to kill him, but mistakenly struck his sister-in-law instead. Earlier, the princess had left a pair of trousers, extremely light and soft, which Yun had made into a nightgown. When Keqi struck with the knife, sparks flew, frightening him into fleeing. When his father learned of this, his illness worsened, and he died after a few months. Hearing of his father's death, Keqi finally returned home. His elder brother treated him well, but he became even more reckless. Within a year, he had nearly squandered all the fields allotted to him, and he went to the authorities to sue his elder brother. The magistrate, well aware of Keqi's character, reprimanded him and drove him out of the court. From then on, the brothers cut off relations. Another year passed, and Keqi was twenty-three, while the Hou girl was fifteen. Remembering his mother's words, his elder brother prepared to hasten Keqi's marriage. He summoned Keqi to his home, cleaned out a fine room for him to stay in, and after the new bride was welcomed, Daqi registered all the good fields left by their father and handed them over to her, saying, "These few acres of poor land are what I struggled to preserve; now I give them all to you. My younger brother's conduct is bad—even an inch of grass given to him would be wasted. From now on, the rise or fall of the family depends on you. If you can make him reform, you will not lack food or clothing; otherwise, I, as his elder brother, cannot fill this bottomless pit."
Although Hou was the daughter of a humble family, she was both virtuous and beautiful. Keqi both loved and feared her, never daring to defy her commands. Whenever Keqi went out, she would set a time limit for his return; if he failed to come back on time, she would berate him harshly and deny him food, so Keqi gradually restrained his behavior. A little over a year after their marriage, Hou gave birth to a son. She said, "From now on, I need not beg others. With several acres of good land, my son and I will never lack food or clothing; we can do without a husband." One day, Keqi stole grain to gamble, and when Hou learned of it, she drew a bow and stood at the door, refusing to let him enter. Terrified, Keqi fled in haste. Peeking to see that his wife had gone inside, he crept back timidly. Hou seized a knife, and Keqi turned to run, but she chased after him and slashed him, cutting through his clothes and wounding his buttocks, so that blood soaked his stockings and shoes. Furious, Keqi went to his elder brother to complain, but his brother ignored him, and he had to leave in shame. The next day, he returned to his brother's house, knelt before his sister-in-law, and wept bitterly, begging her to mediate and let him go home, but Hou steadfastly refused to take him back. In a rage, Keqi declared he would go home and kill Hou, and his brother did not dissuade him. Seizing a spear, Keqi rushed out in fury. His sister-in-law was terrified and wanted to stop him, but his brother gave her a look to let him go. After Keqi left, his brother said, "He is only putting on a show for us; he dare not go home." Uneasy, his sister-in-law sent someone to spy on him, and the spy reported that Keqi had already entered his house. Now alarmed, his brother prepared to go at once, but just then Keqi returned, panting heavily. It turned out that when Keqi entered the house, Hou was playing with their son; as soon as she saw him, she threw the child onto the bed and grabbed a kitchen knife. At the sight, Keqi dropped his spear and fled, with Hou chasing him all the way out the door before she went back. The elder brother, already aware of what had happened, deliberately questioned him. Keqi said nothing, only wept facing the corner until his eyes were swollen. Taking pity on him, his brother personally led him home, and only then did Hou accept him back. As soon as his brother left, Hou made Keqi kneel for a long time, forced him to swear a solemn oath, and then fed him from a clay pot. From then on, Keqi reformed his ways. Hou managed the household, and the family's fortunes grew daily more prosperous, while Keqi merely enjoyed the fruits of their labor. In the end, he lived to be over seventy, with children and grandchildren all around, yet Hou would still often grab his white beard and make him crawl on his knees.
The Chronicler of Strange Tales remarks: A fierce wife and a jealous woman, when encountered, are like a malignant sore growing on the bone—only death can bring release; is this not too cruel! Yet arsenic and aconite are the most poisonous things under heaven, but if used with perfect precision, though they may dizzy and daze a person, they can cure grave illnesses—an efficacy that ginseng and poria cannot match. Were it not for an immortal's clear and penetrating insight, how would one dare to bequeath such poison to one's descendants!
Li Xiaolian of Zhangqiu, named Shanqian, was in his youth a dashing and unrestrained man who paid no heed to trivial conventions, excelling in all manner of music, song, and verse. His two younger brothers both passed the imperial examinations and became jinshi, yet he only grew more dissolute and unbridled. He married a woman surnamed Xie, who imposed some restraint upon him, but he fled from home and did not return for three years, his family searching everywhere in vain. Later, they found him in a brothel in Linqing; when his family entered, they saw him seated facing south, with a dozen young women attending him on all sides, all of them disciples learning the arts of singing and storytelling from him. When he was about to return home, his clothes filled several large trunks, all gifts from these courtesans. After returning home, Lady Xie confined him to a single room, set out a table of books, and tied a long rope to the leg of the bed, threading the other end through the window lattice to fasten a large bell in the kitchen. Whenever he needed anything, he would tug the rope, causing the bell to ring, and a servant would answer his call. Lady Xie herself managed a pawnshop, appraising items from behind a curtain, holding an abacus in her left hand and a brush in her right, with an old servant running errands between them. In this way, they amassed wealth. Yet she often felt ashamed that she was not as honored as her sisters-in-law. After confining Li Shanqian for three years, he finally passed the examinations and became a jinshi. Lady Xie said joyfully, "Three eggs hatched two; I thought you were an egg that would never hatch a bird, but today you have become one."
Geng Song was a jinshi from Zhangqiu. His wife would use the lamp for spinning to light his reading; the spinner never stopped, and the reader dared not rest. When friends came to visit, she would eavesdrop: if they discussed essays, she would serve tea and prepare meals; if they engaged in idle chatter, she would drive them away with harsh words. Whenever Geng received a middling grade in examinations, he dared not enter his home; only when he surpassed the standard would his wife greet him with a smile. The money he earned teaching outside was all handed over to his wife, not a single coin hidden. Thus, when his employer paid him, he always counted the sum clearly in their presence. Some laughed at him, unaware of the difficulty he faced in reporting accounts. Later, his father-in-law invited him to teach his younger brother-in-law. That year, the brother-in-law passed the county examination, and the father-in-law rewarded him with ten taels of silver. Geng accepted the money box but returned the silver. When his wife learned of this, she said, "Though they are close kin, what is our purpose in teaching?" She sent him back to retrieve the money. Geng dared not argue, but felt deeply ashamed and resolved to secretly repay his father-in-law. Thus, each year he underreported his teaching fees to his wife. After accumulating for over two years, he had some money. Suddenly, he dreamed of a man telling him, "Tomorrow, go climb a height, and the sum will be complete." The next day, he tried climbing a high place and indeed found a sum of money, exactly the amount he lacked, which he then returned to his father-in-law. Later, Geng became a jinshi, yet his wife still scolded him. Geng said, "Now that I am an official, why do you still treat me thus?" His wife replied, "As the saying goes: 'When the water rises, the boat rises too.' Even if you become a chancellor, could you be greater than I?"
Commentary
This tale is composed of two parts. As Feng Zhenluan remarked: "The first half depicts celestial beings and transcendent figures, while the second half portrays rakshasas and worldly redemption. It is both elegant and vulgar, yet the vulgarity does not harm the elegance."
The first half of the story recounts the marriage of An Daye and Princess Yunluo, encompassing many episodes such as the princess playing chess, drinking wine, managing the household, bearing a child through a surrogate, returning to her natal home, An Daye's dealings with Yuan Dayong, his false accusation and imprisonment, and his success in the provincial examination; the princess, as a noble young lady from an upper-class family, is portrayed with considerable distinctiveness, yet the central idea conveyed is that 'haste leads to delay, and so it is with most matters under heaven,' and 'the union and separation of human lives are all predetermined; if one restrains oneself, it lasts longer, but if one indulges freely, it becomes shorter.'
The latter part describes the lives of Princess Yunluo's two children. Daqi passed the imperial examinations and was known for his filial piety and brotherly kindness, while Keqi was a gambler and a scoundrel. Because Princess Yunluo had prearranged for Keqi to marry the sharp-tongued and capable Hou girl to keep him in check, Keqi, after enduring many hardships, finally repented and reformed his ways. The domestic brawls between Hou and Keqi are vividly depicted, until Keqi, at seventy years old with grandchildren all around, was still made by his wife to crawl on his knees while she tugged at his white beard, a scene that cannot help but provoke laughter. The two appended tales also describe women who managed their husbands and households with fierce and assertive behavior. Pu Songling, in his "Historian of the Strange's commentary," exclaims with admiration: "A shrewish wife or a jealous woman, encountering them is like a carbuncle clinging to the bone, ceasing only with death—how venomous! Yet arsenic and aconite are the most poisonous things under heaven; if used correctly, they can induce dizziness and bring about a great cure, something that ginseng and poria cannot achieve."
The use of fiction to express philosophical ideas and worldly wisdom is the outstanding feature of this tale, and in these respects it can be seen as the inheritance and development of the fictional elements found in the prose of the pre-Qin philosophers within "Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio."