Original Text
In Gaoyuan County there lived a man named Wang Shi, who once carried salt on his back from Boxing County to his home. By nightfall, two men seized him. Wang Shi, thinking they were patrolmen hired by local merchants, abandoned his salt and tried to flee, but his feet would not move forward, and he was bound. He begged them to release him. The two men said, "We are not men of the salt market; we are ghostly attendants." Wang Shi, terrified, begged to return home once more to bid farewell to his wife and children. The two refused, saying, "This journey does not mean you will die immediately; you are merely to serve temporarily." Wang Shi asked, "What service?" They replied, "In the underworld, a new King of Hell has taken office, and seeing that the Nai River has been silted up and the privies of the eighteen hells are all full, he has ordered that thieves, counterfeiters, and salt smugglers be seized to dredge the river; additionally, courtesans are to be sent to clean the latrines."
Wang Shi followed them, entering a city wall and arriving at a government office, where he saw the King of Yama seated above, examining a register. A minor demon reported, "We have captured a private salt dealer, Wang Shi." The King of Yama looked down and, enraged, said, "Those called private salt dealers are the ones who, above, evade national taxes and, below, harm the common people. Those whom violent officials and cunning merchants in the mortal world accuse as private salt dealers are all good citizens of the realm. These poor souls invest a meager capital, only seeking to earn enough to buy grain—how can they be called private salt dealers!" With that, he punished the two demons by making them carry four bushels of salt, along with what Wang Shi originally carried, to deliver it home for him. The King of Yama kept Wang Shi and granted him a thorny mace, ordering him to join the other demons in supervising river work. The demons led Wang Shi out to the Nai River, where he saw laborers in the river, all linked by ropes, as numerous as ants. The river water was turbid and crimson, stinking unbearably. The dredgers were naked, carrying bamboo baskets and iron shovels, emerging and submerging in the water. They filled baskets with decayed bones and carried them out; in deep water, they dove to dig. For those who slacked, the thorny mace was used to jab their backs and thighs. A demon working alongside Wang Shi gave him a fragrant pill the size of a grain, telling him to hold it in his mouth, and only then could he approach the bank. Wang Shi spotted a salt merchant from Gaoyuan among the laborers. He alone treated him harshly, striking his back when he entered the river and beating his thighs when he came ashore. The merchant, terrified, often submerged himself in the water, and only then did Wang Shi desist. After three days and nights, half the dredgers had died, and the work was completed. The two earlier demons escorted Wang Shi home, and he suddenly revived. It turned out that Wang Shi had not returned from carrying salt; at dawn, his wife opened the door to find two bags of salt in the courtyard, but Wang Shi did not arrive for a long time. She sent people to search everywhere and found him dead on the road. They carried him home, where he still had a faint breath, and his wife did not understand what had happened. When Wang Shi regained consciousness, he recounted the events. The salt merchant had also died the day before and only revived at this time. The places where Wang Shi had struck him with the thorny mace all grew into huge, festering sores, his whole body rotting and stinking, so foul that no one could approach. Wang Shi deliberately went to see him; when the merchant saw Wang Shi, he shrank his head into the blanket, just as he had done in the Nai River. After a year, his illness healed, and from then on, he never engaged in the salt trade again.
The Chronicler of Strange Tales remarks: The transport and sale of salt—what the court calls "private salt" refers to actions that do not comply with national laws and regulations; but what officials and salt merchants call "private salt" refers to actions that do not serve their personal interests. In recent times, new regulations in the Qi and Lu regions have allowed local salt merchants to set up shops everywhere, each confining their business to a designated territory. Not only are the people of one county forbidden from buying salt in another county, but even the residents within a given merchant's territory are prohibited from purchasing salt from any other shop. The merchants secretly set traps to lure people from other counties to buy salt: they sell salt to outsiders at a low price, while charging locals double the rate. Moreover, they station patrols on the roads to ensure that no one within their domain escapes their snare. If someone within the territory pretends to be from another county to buy salt, they are severely punished according to the law. The merchants entice each other's customers, and so the number of those who buy salt from other shops or impersonate outsiders grows ever larger. Once caught by the patrols, the offenders are first beaten with clubs and knives until their legs are crippled, then sent to the authorities, who imprison them under the charge of "private salt." Alas! What injustice! Those who evade taxes by tens of thousands are not called private salt dealers, while those who carry a single peck or pint of salt are branded as such; selling salt within one's own territory to outsiders is not deemed private salt, but a local buying salt from his own district is instead called private salt. What a travesty! Among the nation's laws, the salt code is the most severe, yet it does not forbid poor soldiers or civilians from carrying salt to exchange for grain. Now, however, other private salt dealers are left unpunished, while these destitute soldiers and civilians are singled out for slaughter! Moreover, these poor souls have wives and children crying out for food; they abide by the law above and refrain from theft, and maintain their integrity below by not turning to prostitution. Driven by necessity, they take up the trade of seeking a single profit from ten investments. If all city dwellers were such people, doors could be left unlocked at night—are these not the finest subjects under heaven? As for the salt merchants, they should not only be made to dredge the River Nai, but also to scrub the latrines of hell! Yet the officials, accepting a few temporary favors from the merchants at festivals and holidays, use the law to help them murder our good people. Thus, for the sake of the poor, I would advise them to become bandits or counterfeiters instead: bandits rob and kill in broad daylight, and the officials turn a deaf ear; the furnaces of counterfeiters light up the sky, and the officials turn a blind eye. Even if they later descend to hell to dredge the River Nai, they would not suffer the immediate harsh punishment meted out to those who carry a little salt. Alas! When the court lacks benevolent and merciful men, and allows the cunning schemes of wicked merchants to grow more treacherous by the day, how can we prevent the wicked from multiplying and the good from dwindling?
In every town and city, the salt merchants, following established custom, would each year contribute a certain number of piculs of salt money to support the local magistrate, a practice termed "salt tribute." Additionally, during festivals and holidays, they would present lavish gifts. When a salt merchant had business to see the magistrate, the magistrate would receive him courteously, seat him and converse, sometimes even offering tea. But if any common salt peddler was caught, he would be severely punished without leniency. When Zhang Shigong served as magistrate of Zichuan, a salt merchant came to call, and following the old protocol, merely bowed without kneeling. Zhang, enraged, declared: "The previous magistrate accepted your bribes, thus he had to treat you with such ceremony; I buy my own salt to eat. What sort of creature are you, a merchant, to presume to stand as an equal in the court of law?" With that, he ordered the merchant's trousers removed for a flogging. The merchant hastily kowtowed and begged forgiveness, and only then did Zhang release him. Later, two men caught illegally selling salt were brought in from the market; one escaped, and the other was delivered to the yamen. Zhang asked: "There were two salt sellers; where is the other?" The man replied: "He fled." Zhang inquired: "Are your legs too lame to run?" The man answered: "I can run." Zhang said: "Since you were caught, you must not be able to run. If indeed you can run, rise and try a few steps to see if you truly can." The man ran a few paces and was about to stop, but Zhang commanded: "Run, do not stop!" The man dashed off and actually fled out of the yamen gate. All who witnessed this laughed. Zhang's benevolent deeds toward the people were not limited to this; this was but a minor affair, yet the townsfolk still delight in recounting it to this day.
Commentary
Purely from the perspective of narrative technique, "Wang Shi" is not a highly successful tale. It follows the characteristic allegorical approach of "Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio," taking the small salt peddler Wang Shi on a journey through the underworld, where through his observations and encounters, Pu Songling expresses his discontent with the early Qing policy of protecting large salt merchants while "specifically persecuting these impoverished soldiers and commoners." Yet, viewed from another angle, this story possesses a unique structural feature, being composed of three parts: the "Main Text," the "Commentary by the Historian of Strange Tales," and the "Appendix." The main text narrates the tale, the commentary offers reflections, and the appendix provides supplementary explanation—this tripartite unity is not only typical within "Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio" but also innovative in the stylistic conventions of classical Chinese literary tales. Furthermore, using fiction to engage with national economic policy and voice opinions is a rare occurrence in the history of Chinese fiction.