Zhou of Wendeng and Cheng had studied at the same desk in youth and sworn a firm friendship. Cheng was poor, and so through the year depended upon Zhou. By age Zhou was the elder, and Cheng called Zhou's wife his sister-in-law. At festivals he went to their house like one of the family. Zhou's wife bore a son and died soon after childbirth; he then married a Miss Wang, whom Cheng, being young, had never asked to meet. One day Wang's younger brother came to visit his sister, and a feast was laid in the inner chamber. Cheng happened to arrive; the family announced him, and Zhou, seated, bade them invite him in, but Cheng would not enter and went away. Zhou pursued and brought him back, moving the feast to the outer room.
Scarcely had they sat down when someone reported that a servant of his estate had been severely beaten by the county magistrate. It appeared that a herdsman of the Household of Huang, Minister of Personnel, had let a cow trample Zhou's field, and the two had fallen to cursing. The herdsman ran and told his master, who seized the servant and sent him to the magistrate, where he was beaten. Zhou, learning the reason, flew into a rage: "Dare that swineherd of the Huang family behave so! His forefathers served my grandfather; once raised to fortune, they think no one is left!" His anger choked him; he rose in fury to go and find Huang. Cheng held him back, saying, "It is a world of the strong, where there is no black or white. And are not the magistrates of today half of them strong robbers who have laid aside their spears?" Zhou would not listen. Cheng urged and stopped him again and again, till tears fell, and only then Zhou desisted. Yet his anger never left him; he tossed all night till dawn, and said to his household, "The Huang family has wronged me; they are my enemies, and I will let it pass for now. But the magistrate is an officer of the court, not of a powerful house. Even in a dispute, both parties must be heard—why should he be like a dog that runs at a whistle? I shall also bring a suit against his servant and see what he does." His family all egged him on, and the resolve was made. He took his plaint to the magistrate, who tore it up and flung it down. Zhou grew angry and spoke insultingly to the magistrate. The magistrate, ashamed and enraged, had him arrested and cast into prison.
After the hour of the dragon, Cheng went to visit Zhou and learned that he had gone into the city to sue. He hurried to dissuade him, but Zhou was already in gaol. He stamped his feet, at a loss. Now three pirates had lately been captured, and the magistrate and Huang bribed them to accuse Zhou falsely of being their accomplice. On their testimony he was stripped of his rank and cruelly tortured. Cheng entered the prison, and they looked at each other in bitter grief, plotting to appeal to the throne. Zhou said, "I am bound in a heavy cell, like a bird in a cage; though I have a younger brother, he can only bring me prison fare." Cheng shouldered the task himself. "This is my duty," he said. "If in your distress I were not eager, what use would a friend be?" And he set out. Zhou's brother came to give him money, but he had already been gone long. At the capital there was no gate through which to present a plaint. Word spread that the emperor would go out to hunt; Cheng hid himself beforehand in the timber market. Presently the emperor's procession passed, and Cheng prostrated himself, wailing, and so gained a hearing. He was escorted by relay post down, with orders that the ministry and censorate should try the case. By then more than ten months had passed, and Zhou had been forced to confess and condemned to death. The tribunal, receiving the imperial reply, was greatly startled and summoned him for a fresh trial. Huang too was alarmed and plotted to kill Zhou. So he bribed the jailer to cut off his food, and when the brother came with presents of food, was cruelly prevented. Cheng again went to the tribunal and cried out his grievance; only then was Zhou brought out for questioning, but he was already too weak from hunger to rise. The tribunal, enraged, had the jailer beaten to death. Huang, terrified, offered several thousand gold pieces and begged for a commutation, and by such means obtained a vague recommendation of mercy. The magistrate was exiled for perverting the law.
Zhou, set free, was closer than ever to Cheng. But Cheng, since his imprisonment, had grown cold toward the world and urged Zhou to retire with him into seclusion. Zhou doted on his young wife and laughed at his friend's advice. Cheng said nothing, but his mind was made up. Several days after parting he did not come again. Zhou sent to his house to ask; his family thought he was at Zhou's, and neither knew where he was. Zhou, knowing it was strange, sent men to trace him, searching temples, monasteries, cliffs, and ravines almost everywhere, while from time to time he sent money and cloth to Cheng's son.
Eight or nine years later, Cheng suddenly appeared of his own accord, in a yellow cap and a Taoist's wide-sleeved robe, with a lofty air. Zhou, overjoyed, clasped his arm and said, "Where have you been, that I have sought you everywhere?" Cheng smiled and said, "A lone cloud and a wild crane, I rest nowhere fixed. Since parting I have happily kept in rude health." Zhou ordered wine and, after exchanging greetings, wished to change his friend's Taoist robes. Cheng smiled and said nothing. Zhou said, "Fool that you are! Why do you cast off wife and children like a worn-out shoe?" Cheng smiled, "Not so. Men are about to cast me off; whom then can I cast off?" Asked where he lodged, he answered, at the Shangqing Palace on Mount Lao. That night they slept with feet together, and Zhou dreamed that Cheng lay naked upon his chest, so that he could not breathe. Startled, he asked what he was doing, but got no answer. Suddenly he awoke with a start and called Cheng, who did not answer. He sat up and sought him, but he was nowhere. After a long moment he realized he was lying in Cheng's bed, and cried in alarm, "I was not drunk yesterday—how have I been turned about like this!" He called his family. They brought a light and saw—it was plainly Cheng. Zhou had always been thick-bearded; he passed his hand over his chin and found only a few sparse hairs. Taking up a mirror, he started, saying, "Cheng is here—where have I gone?" Then he understood at once that Cheng had summoned him into retirement by an illusion. He wanted to go back within, but his brother, seeing his altered face, forbade him to come forward. Zhou could not explain himself, and so ordered horse and servant and went in search of Cheng.
After several days he entered Mount Lao. His horse went fast, and the servant could not keep up. He rested beneath a tree and saw many Taoists coming and going. One of them eyed Zhou, who asked him about Cheng. The Taoist smiled and said, "I have heard his name; he seems to be at Shangqing." So saying he went straight on. Zhou watched him, and at the distance of a bow-shot the man spoke with another, then after a few words went on. The one he had spoken with drew near—it was a fellow student of his own society. Seeing Zhou, he said in surprise, "We have not met for years; people said you were studying the Way on the famous mountain—are you still sporting in the world of men?" Zhou told him the wonder. The friend said in astonishment, "I met him just now and took him for you! He cannot be far." Zhou was greatly amazed. "Strange!" he cried. "How could I not know my own face when it was before me!" The servant came up, and he galloped off at once, but there was no trace. One glance showed a boundless waste, and he could not decide whether to go on or back. Thinking he had no home to return to, he resolved to pursue to the end. But the weird and perilous ways could no longer be ridden, so he gave the horse to his servant to take home and went on alone, winding along. Far off he saw a boy standing alone; he drew near to ask the way and told his errand. The boy said he was a disciple of Cheng, and offering to carry his clothes and provisions, guided him along. They ate by starlight and slept in the open, hurrying over a great distance. On the third day they arrived—yet it was not what men call Shangqing. It was the middle of the tenth month, but mountain flowers lined the road, unlike early winter. The boy went in to announce him, and Cheng came out; only then did Zhou recognize his own form. Taking him by the hand, Cheng led him in, set wine, and talked over the feast. He saw birds of strange, brilliant plumage, tame and unalarmed, with voices like flutes, that came from time to time to sing on the seat; he marveled at this. But his thoughts of the dusty world were urgent, and he had no mind to linger. On the ground were two rush cushions; Cheng drew him to sit upon one beside him. After the second watch, when a thousand cares were still, Zhou suddenly seemed to doze for an instant and felt that he and Cheng had changed places. Doubting, he felt his chin—his bushy beard was as before. At dawn he felt a mighty longing to return. Cheng pressed him to stay. After three days Cheng said, "Now you have had a little rest; I will send you on your way early." The moment he closed his eyes he heard Cheng call, "Your traveling things are ready." He rose and followed. The way was not the old road. Before he knew it, his own village was in sight. Cheng sat waiting by the roadside and bade him go home alone. Zhou could not persuade him to come, and so trudged alone to his gate. He knocked but none answered; thinking to climb the wall, he felt his body float light as a leaf, and leapt over at a bound. Crossing several walls, he came at last to his bedroom. A lamp glimmered; his wife, not yet asleep, was murmuring in talk with someone. He licked the window-paper and peered through—his wife was drinking from one cup with a serving-man, in a most familiar posture. His fury blazed like fire. He meant to catch them by surprise, but feared his single strength was unequal. So he slipped out and unbarred the door, ran to Cheng, and begged his aid. Cheng readily agreed and went straight to the inner chamber. Zhou flung a stone against the door; those within were greatly flustered. The louder he beat, the more firmly it was held. Cheng pushed with his sword, and it flew open with a crack. Zhou rushed in, and the serving-man fled through the door. Cheng, standing outside, struck him with his sword and severed his shoulder and arm. Zhou seized his wife and tortured her for confession; he learned that she had committed adultery with the servant ever since the time of his imprisonment. Zhou took the sword and cut off her head, hanging her entrails on a tree in the courtyard. Then he went out with Cheng and found his way back.
Suddenly he woke with a start, and found himself lying on his own bed. He cried in alarm, "What a strange and jumbled dream—it frightens one!" Cheng laughed, "What you dreamed, brother, you took for real; and what is real you take for a dream." Zhou, startled, asked him. Cheng drew his sword and showed it to him—the blood was still wet upon it. Zhou was stupefied and half dead with fear, secretly suspecting Cheng of conjuring an illusion. Cheng, seeing his thought, hurriedly packed and sent him home, and when they had slowly come to the village gate, said, "Was it not here that on that former night I stood sword in hand waiting for you! I am weary of the foul and turbid world, and shall return here to wait for you. If you are not come by sunset, I shall go on alone." Zhou went home to find the gate desolate, as if no one lived there. He went to his brother's house. His brother, seeing him, wept, both tears falling, and said, "After you left, robbers came by night and killed your wife, ripping out her entrails—a cruel and piteous death. To this day the officers have not caught them." Zhou, as if waking from a dream, told him the truth and warned him not to press the matter. His brother was dumbfounded for a long while. Zhou asked after his son, and bade the old nurse bring him. Zhou said, "This babe in swaddling clothes is the hope of our line; brother, look well to him. I am about to leave the world of men." He rose and went straight out. His brother, weeping, tried to hold him back, but he went on laughing, without turning. In the fields he met Cheng, and they went on together. Looking far back, he said, "To endure things is the greatest joy." His brother would have spoken, but Cheng raised his broad sleeve once, and was gone. The brother stood grieving for a while, then returned weeping. Zhou's brother was simple and clumsy, no hand at managing family and estate; after a few years the house grew poorer, and Zhou's son, as he grew older, could not afford a tutor, so the uncle taught him himself. One morning he came early to the study and found on the desk a letter, firmly sealed, addressed "For my younger brother"; examining it, he saw it was in his brother's hand. Opening it, he found nothing at all but a single fingernail, two fingers long, at which he wondered. He laid the nail on the inkstone and went out to ask the family where it had come from—none knew. Returning, he saw the inkstone gleaming, turned to gold! Greatly startled, he tried it on brass and iron, and all turned to gold. From this he became very rich. He gave a thousand gold pieces to Cheng's son, and so it is said the two families possessed the art of turning things to gold.