Original Text
Zhou Sheng was a private secretary in the county yamen of Zichuan. The magistrate had gone out on official business, and his wife, née Xu, had long harbored a wish to pay homage to the Goddess Bixia Yuanjun. Because the journey was far, she planned to send a servant with sacrificial offerings to fulfill her vow on her behalf, and she asked Zhou Sheng to compose a prayer text for her. Zhou wrote a piece in parallel prose, with four- and six-character couplets, narrating Xu's entire life in a tone that was frivolous and jesting. Among the lines, he wrote: "To plant all the flowers of Banyang County, yet favor only the severed sleeve; to set the vast grasses of Jiagu Mountain, yet love only the leftover peach." These words expressed Xu's inner resentment, and there were many such phrases. After Zhou finished the draft, he showed it to his colleague Ling Sheng. Ling thought it too flippant and advised him not to use it. But Zhou ignored the warning, handed the prayer to the servant, and sent him off. Soon after, Zhou died in the yamen; then the servant also died; and Lady Xu, after giving birth, died of illness as well. No one found this strange at first. Zhou's son came from the capital to fetch his father's coffin, and one night, while sleeping beside Ling Sheng, he heard his father admonish him: "One cannot be careless in writing! I did not heed Mr. Ling's advice, and because of my frivolous words, I offended the spirits, angering them, and thus met an early death. Moreover, I implicated Lady Xu and brought disaster upon the servant who burned the prayer. I fear that punishment in the underworld is unavoidable!" The son woke and told Ling Sheng, who had also dreamed the same dream, and then Ling recounted Zhou's parallel prose to him. After hearing it, Zhou's son felt a lingering dread.
The Chronicler of Strange Tales remarks: To indulge one's emotions and write freely, feeling a sense of unrestrained exuberance and great satisfaction, is a common inclination among scholars. Yet how dare one use lewd and irreverent words to address the gods! The reckless scholar, in his ignorance, deserved the punishment meted out in the underworld. But to cause the virtuous Lady Xu and the servant who traveled a thousand li to die without knowing their offense—does this not, compared to the law that distinguishes principal from accessory, seem even more bewildering? Truly, it is an injustice!
Commentary
This story tells of how Scholar Zhou was punished for blaspheming against the gods.
On the surface, this chapter seems to criticize Scholar Zhou, who wrote licentious and irreverent words in his sacrificial prayer to the gods, thus deserving divine punishment, while also obliquely satirizing the magistrate's fondness for male beauty. Yet from another perspective, this tale may indirectly reflect the terror of the early Qing literary inquisition. For instance, in 1663, the case of Zhuang Tinglong privately printing the Ming history occurred: Zhuang was exhumed and his corpse mutilated, his family slain. All who wrote prefaces, collated, or printed the book, even those who sold or bought it, were also killed. In this great purge, over seventy died, and countless were exiled. In 1711, the case of Dai Mingshi arose, where his book recorded many Ming dynasty events, offending taboos; not only was Dai's entire family executed, but those who funded, prefaced, or distributed the book were implicated, resulting in a hundred deaths and hundreds exiled. These incidents occurred during the creation of "Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio" and could not but shake Pu Songling. The chapter condemns so-called divine punishment, saying, "Causing a virtuous wife and a servant from a thousand li away to die together, ignorant of their crime—is this not more confused than the law's distinction between principal and accessory? How unjust!" Pu Songling's indignation at the breadth of implication surely carries hidden meaning, referring not merely to divine retribution; his warning to "indulge in unrestrained writing, freely expressing oneself, which is common among literati" is not only a caution for scholars composing sacrificial texts to be vigilant and self-disciplined, but also a general admonition to be careful with all writings, lest they invite disaster.