Kong Xueli, styled Xueli, was a descendant of Confucius. He was refined in manner and skilled in poetry. A close friend who was magistrate of Tiantai wrote summoning him; when Kong arrived, the magistrate had just died, and he fell on hard times, unable to return home. He lodged at Putuo Temple, employed by the monks to copy scriptures. A hundred paces west of the temple stood the house of Mr. Shan, a former gentleman's son who, ruined by a great lawsuit and having few dependents, had moved to the countryside, leaving the house empty.
One day, as a great snow was driving down and no traveler was on the road, Kong happened to pass the gate. A young man came out, of very handsome bearing. Seeing Kong, he hastened forward, greeted him, and after a few words of courtesy pressed him to come in. Kong took a liking to him and entered readily. The rooms were not very large, but everywhere hung embroidered curtains, and on the walls were many ancient paintings and calligraphies. On the desk lay a book whose label read "Random Records of Langhuan." Turning the pages, Kong saw things he had never encountered. Taking the house to be the young man's own, he did not inquire into his rank. The young man asked closely about his wanderings and, pitying him, advised him to set up a school. Kong sighed, "A stranger in these parts—who would act as my patron?" The young man said, "If you will not disdain my dullness, I should like to enroll as your pupil." Kong was pleased, yet dared not take the role of teacher and begged rather to be friends. He asked, "Why has this house been shut up so long?" "This is Mr. Shan's," replied the youth. "Because the gentleman has gone to live in the country, it has long stood empty. I am of the Huangfu family, from Shaanxi. My own house was burned by wildfire, and I am lodged here for a time." Only then did Kong learn he was not the master of the house. That evening they talked and laughed very pleasantly and slept on one couch.
At dawn a boy kindled a charcoal fire in the room. The young man rose first and went within, while Kong still sat wrapped in his quilt. A boy came in to announce, "The old gentleman has come." Kong started up. An old man entered, with snowy hair, who thanked Kong earnestly: "Sir has not disdained my foolish son, and has consented to instruct him. The boy is but a beginner daubing; do not, for friendship's sake, treat him as an equal." Then he presented a suit of brocade robes, and a sable cap, socks, and shoes. When Kong had washed and combed his hair, the old man called for wine and set out dishes. The tables, couches, robes, and gowns—of names Kong knew not—dazzled the eye with their splendor. After a few rounds of wine the old man rose, took leave, and went off leaning on his staff. After the meal the young man brought out his lessons, all in ancient prose and verse, with nothing of the examination style. Asked about this, he smiled and said, "I seek no advancement." At dusk they drank again, and he said, "Tonight we make merry to the full; tomorrow it will not be permitted." He called a boy, saying, "See whether the old gentleman has gone to bed. If he has, you may quietly summon Xiangnu." The boy went, and first brought a pipa in an embroidered bag. Presently a maid came in, brightly rouged and lovely. The young man bade her play the tune "The Princess of Xiang." With an ivory pick she struck the strings, and the notes rose fierce and plaintive, in a measure unlike any Kong had heard. Then he bade her serve wine in great cups, and they drank until the third watch. The next morning they rose early and studied together. The young man was the most clever; he could recite a page at a glance, and after two or three months he wrote with startling excellence. They agreed to drink together once every five days, and at every feast Xiangnu was summoned. One night, flushed with wine, Kong's eyes rested upon her. The young man understood his meaning and said, "This maid is kept by my father. You, brother, are a wanderer without a home; I have long been thinking on your behalf, and will presently find you a good match." Kong said, "If you would indeed be so kind, she must be one like Xiangnu." The young man laughed, "Truly you have seen little and marvel much! If you think her a beauty, your wish is easily fulfilled." After half a year Kong wished to ramble in the outskirts; but at the gate he found both doors barred from without, and when he asked, the young man said, "My father fears that too much society would disturb your thoughts, and so has refused visitors." Kong was content.
Now, at the height of summer heat, they moved their study to a garden pavilion. A swelling rose on Kong's chest like a peach, and in one night grew as big as a bowl, causing him to moan in agony. The young man tended him morning and evening, neglecting sleep and food. In a few days the sore grew worse, and Kong gave up eating altogether. The old gentleman also came, and they sighed over him together. The young man said, "I was thinking last night of your illness, brother; my younger sister Jiaona can cure it. I have sent to my grandmother's house to summon her. Why has she not come?" Presently a boy announced, "Miss Na has come, and her aunt with Miss Song." Father and son hurried within. After a little they brought the sister to see Kong. She was about thirteen or fourteen, with eyes sparkling with intelligence and the grace of a slender willow. At the sight of such beauty, Kong's groaning ceased at once and his spirits revived. The young man said, "This elder brother is my good friend, no less than my own kin; sister, heal him well." The girl put off her shy look, drew up her long sleeves, and came to the bed to examine him. As she took his pulse, he felt a fragrance surpassing orchids. The girl smiled and said, "You have indeed reason to be ill—your heart-pulse is stirred. But though the case is grave, it can be cured. Only the swelling has congealed, and nothing short of cutting away skin and flesh will do." So she took a gold bracelet from her arm and laid it on the sore, pressing it down slowly. The tumor rose an inch or so above the bracelet, while the remaining swelling at the root was all bound within, no longer broad as a bowl. Then with one hand she opened the lapel of her gauze robe and drew out a dagger, its blade thinner than paper. Grasping the bracelet and holding the blade, she gently cut around the root, and purple blood gushed forth, staining the bed-mat. Kong, greedy to be near so lovely a creature, not only felt no pain but feared the operation would be done too soon and his nearness to her too brief. Before long the rotten flesh was cut away, round as a lump cut from a tree. She called for water and washed the wound. Then from her mouth she took a red pellet the size of a pellet, laid it on the flesh, and pressed it to spin. With the first turn, he felt heat steaming; with the second, a pleasant itching; after the third, a coolness ran through all his body and into his very marrow. She took the pellet back into her throat and said, "It is cured!" and walked quickly out.
Kong leapt up and went to thank her, as if his long illness were gone. But his thoughts hung upon her beauty, and he could not master himself. From then on he set aside his books and sat in a daze, listless. The young man, seeing this, said, "I have found you, brother, a good match." "Who is it?" asked Kong. "A kinswoman of mine," replied the youth. Kong mused long, then said only, "I have no need of one!" and, facing the wall, intoned: "One who has crossed the sea finds no other water; one who has seen Wu Mountain has no use for any other cloud." The young man caught his meaning and said, "My father, admiring your talent, has long wished to unite our families. But I have but one young sister, and she is too young. There is my aunt's daughter A Song, who is eighteen and by no means coarse. If you doubt me, Sister Song strolls daily in the garden; if you wait in the front wing you may see her." Kong followed his advice and saw Jiaona indeed come walking with a beauty—painted brows arched like moth-antennae, tiny "lotus" feet in phoenix slippers, the peer of Jiaona herself. Kong was overjoyed and begged the young man to arrange the match. One day the youth came in from within and congratulated him, "It is settled." He set apart another courtyard, and there Kong was married. That night the music blared and dust flew thick; that the immortal he had beheld in his longing should suddenly share his quilt made him doubt whether the palace of the moon itself lay beyond the clouds. After the nuptial cup, his heart was wholly satisfied.
One night the young man said to Kong, "The benefit of your teaching I can never forget. Lately Mr. Shan, having settled his lawsuit, has returned and presses urgently for his house. I intend to abandon this place and go west. It is hard to be together much longer, and thoughts of parting weigh upon me." Kong was willing to go with him. The youth advised him to return to his native village, but Kong demurred. "Do not worry," said the youth. "I can send you home at once." Presently the old gentleman led in Song Niang and gave Kong a hundred taels of gold. The young man took the hands of Kong and his wife in his own two hands and bade them shut their eyes and look not. They floated in the air, with only the sound of wind in their ears, and after a long while he said, "We have arrived." Opening their eyes, they saw indeed their old home. Only then did Kong know the youth was not human. Joyfully he knocked at the door; his mother came out, amazed and overjoyed to see him, and yet more delighted at the beautiful bride. But when they turned, the young man was gone. Song Niang served her mother-in-law with filial piety, and her beauty and virtue were renowned far and near. Later Kong passed the examinations and was appointed judge at Yan'an, and took his family with him to his post. His mother, because of the distance, did not go. Song Niang bore a son named Xiaohuan. Kong, having offended the censor in chief, was dismissed from office and detained, unable to return. Happening to hunt in the countryside, he met a handsome youth on a dappled steed who eyed him again and again. Looking closely, it was Huangfu. He reined in his horse and they met, with mingled grief and joy. He invited Kong to a village where the trees grew thick and dark, shading the sky. Entering his house, they found the nails of the gates plated with gold—a great house indeed. Kong asked after his sister: she was married; his mother-in-law: dead. They mourned together deeply. After a night he parted and returned with his wife. Jiaona too came, and taking up the infant, played with it, saying, "Sister, you have mixed up my lineage!" Kong bowed and thanked her for past kindness. She laughed, "Brother-in-law has risen high! The wound is healed—do you not yet forget the pain?" Her husband, Mr. Wu, also came to pay his respects. They stayed two nights and then left.
One day the young man wore a troubled look and said to Kong, "Heaven is sending a dire calamity; can you save us?" Kong, not knowing what it was, at once pledged himself. The youth hurried out and summoned the whole household, who ranged themselves in worship in the hall. Kong, alarmed, pressed for an answer. The youth said, "I am not human—I am a fox. Now the tribulation of thunder is upon us. If you will risk your body in the danger, our whole family may hope to live. If not, take the child and go, and do not be involved." Kong swore to share life and death with them. So he was made to stand at the door with a sword, and charged, "When the thunder hurls its blows, do not move!" Kong did as he was told. Presently dark clouds darkened the very day, black as night. Looking back at the old house, there were no gates or halls, only a towering mound with a bottomless cavern. While he stood aghast, a thunderclap burst, rocking the very mountains; rain lashed and wind howled, and ancient trees were torn up by the roots. Kong, dazed and deafened, stood unmoved. Suddenly, amid the thick smoke and black wisps, he saw a demon with a sharp beak and long claws snatch a person from the cave and soar up with the smoke. Catching a glimpse of the clothes and shoes, he thought it resembled Jiaona. He leapt from the ground and struck with his sword, and the thing dropped at once. Then a mighty thunderclap burst, and Kong fell and died.
After a while the sky cleared, and Jiaona, able to revive of herself, saw Kong lying dead beside her and wailed, "Kong-lang died for me—why should I live!" Song Niang came out too, and together they carried Kong home. Jiaona bade Song Niang hold up his head; first she parted his teeth with a gold pin, then, pinching his chin, she passed the red pellet into him with her tongue and blew upon him mouth to mouth. The pellet went down his throat with a gurgle, and after a while he revived with a start. Seeing his family, he felt as if waking from a dream. Then the whole household was reunited, and fear gave way to joy. Kong, thinking the wild and lonely place unfit for dwelling, proposed they return together to his village. All approved, save Jiaona, who was sad. Kong asked that she come with her husband Wu, but feared the old couple would not part from their young son. All day they deliberated without result. Suddenly a young slave of the Wu family came running, dripping with sweat and gasping for breath. Questioned in alarm, he told that the Wu house had that very day been visited by the same calamity, and the whole family was wiped out. Jiaona stamped her feet in grief, her tears unending. They all comforted her, and the resolve to return together was settled.
Kong went into the city, arranged matters for a few days, and packed in haste through the night. On returning, he lodged Huangfu in a quiet garden, keeping the gate barred; only when he and Song Niang came was it opened. Kong and the brother and sister drank, played chess, and feasted like one family. Xiaohuan grew up handsome, with something of the fox about him. When he went about the town, all knew he was the child of a fox.
The Historian of the Strange says: "What I envy in Kong is not his beautiful wife, but his dear friend. To look on her countenance is to cure hunger; to hear her voice is to make one smile. With such a friend, to sit now and then in talk and feasting—that 'the look gives the soul' is better far than 'the turning of garments upside down.'"