Wang Cheng was a son of an old family of Pingyuan. He was the laziest of men; his fortune had dwindled day by day until only a few broken rooms remained, where he and his wife lay wrapped in their clothes, scolding each other past endurance.
It was then the height of summer heat. Outside the village stood the old Zhou family garden, its walls and houses all fallen, leaving only one pavilion. Many of the villagers lodged there, and Wang among them. At dawn the sleepers all left, and Wang did not rise until the sun was three poles high; then, lingering, he made to go home. He saw on the grass a hairpin, and picking it up, found it engraved with fine characters: "Made in the household of an imperial son-in-law." Wang's grandfather had been a son-in-law of the Prince of Heng, and many of the family's old things bore this mark, so he held the pin and hesitated. Suddenly an old woman came seeking her hairpin. Wang, though poor, was of an upright nature, and at once gave it back to her. The old woman was delighted and praised his virtue highly. "The pin is worth little," she said, "but it is a relic of my late husband." Asked who her husband was, she answered, "The former son-in-law Wang Jianzhi." Wang started, "He was my grandfather—how is it we meet?" The old woman started too. "Are you indeed the grandson of Wang Jianzhi? I am a fox-fairy! A hundred years ago I was intimate with your grandfather; when he died, I retired from the world. Passing this way I dropped the pin, and it has fallen into your hand—is this not fate!" Wang had indeed heard that his grandfather had a fox-wife, and believed her; he invited her to visit. The old woman went with him.
Wang called his wife out to meet her—she was wrapped in tattered wadding, with a famished look. The old woman sighed, "Alas! That a grandson of Wang Jianzhi should be so poor!" Looking at the broken stove with no fire, she said, "With the household in such a state, how do you make a living?" The wife then told in detail of their poverty, weeping. The old woman gave the hairpin to the wife, telling her to pawn it for rice, and to come again in three days. Wang pressed her to stay, but she said, "With one wife you cannot even keep her alive; were I to stay, dwelling idle with my eyes on the roof, what good would it do?" And she went straight off. Wang told his wife the reason, and she was much afraid. Wang praised the woman's kindness and bade his wife serve her as an aunt; his wife agreed. In three days the old woman indeed came, and with some gold bought a stone each of grain and wheat. At night she slept with the wife on the short couch. The wife at first feared her, but finding her heart most sincere, came to trust her.
The next day she said to Wang, "Grandson, do not be lazy; you should take up some small trade. How can you live sitting and eating forever!" Wang said he had no capital. The old woman said, "In your grandfather's day money came as he pleased. As one outside the world I had no need of such things and never took much; but I have saved forty taels from cosmetics, and they are still there. Stored so long, they are of no use—take them and buy all the hempen cloth you can, and go at once to the capital, where you may make a small profit." Wang did so, buying more than fifty bolts and returning. The old woman bade him pack, reckoning that in six or seven days he could reach the capital. She charged him, "Be diligent, not idle; be quick, not slow. Delay a single day, and you will repent when it is too late!" Wang promised and set out with his goods. On the way he was caught in rain, his clothes and shoes soaked through. He had never in his life known wind and weather, and was utterly spent, so he rested for a while at an inn. But the rain poured all evening, the eaves streaming like ropes, and after the night the mud was worse. He saw travelers wading through the mire to their shins and dreaded the toil. He waited until noon before it dried a little, but the clouds closed in again and the rain came down in sheets. Only after two nights did he set out. Near the capital he heard that the price of hempen cloth had soared, and secretly rejoiced. Entering the city, he unpacked at a hostel, and the host was much grieved that he had come so late. For the southern route had but lately been opened, and hemp was very scarce; the prince's mansion had been buying it urgently, and the price had suddenly risen threefold. Only the day before, enough had been bought, and all who came after were disappointed. The host told Wang this, and Wang was downcast. The next day more cloth arrived and the price fell; Wang, unwilling to sell at a loss, would not part with his goods. After more than ten days, reckoning his food and expenses had grown heavy, he was doubly vexed. The host urged him to sell cheap and turn to something else. He followed this advice, losing more than ten taels and disposing of all. Rising early to plan his return, he looked in his pouch and found the money gone. In alarm he told the host, who was at a loss. Someone advised him to sue and make the host answer for it. Wang sighed, "This is my fate—what has it to do with the host?" The host, hearing this, was grateful and gave him five taels of gold, comforting him and sending him home.
Reflecting that he had nothing to show his grandmother, he hovered about, at a loss which way to turn. Just then he saw some quail-fighters, where men staked several thousand on a match, and each quail cost upwards of a hundred cash. His heart was moved. He reckoned his pouch held just enough to deal in quail, and took counsel with the host, who eagerly urged him on and agreed to lodge and feed him free. Wang was pleased and went, buying quails till his pole was full and returning to the capital. The host was glad and congratulated him on selling so fast. That night rain fell until dawn; at daybreak the streets were like rivers, and the drizzle had not yet stopped. He waited for fair weather, but it rained on for several days without ceasing. When he rose and looked into his cages, the quails were dying off. Wang was much alarmed and knew not what to do. The next day more died, till only a few remained, and he put them all in one cage. The night after, he peeped in and found but a single quail left. He told the host, and could not keep from tears; the host too wrung his hands. Wang, reckoning that his money was spent and he could not return, thought only of death, but the host comforted him. They went together to look at the quail, and the host, examining it, said, "This looks like a champion. It may well be that the deaths of the others were caused by this one fighting and killing them. You have nothing else to do—take it up; if it is good, you can even make a living by betting." Wang followed his advice.
When the quail was tamed, the host bade him take it into the streets and stake it for wine and food. The quail was very strong and always won. The host was pleased and gave Wang money to bet again with the young men; three bouts, three victories. In half a year he had saved twenty gold pieces, which comforted his heart, and he valued the quail as his very life.
Before this, a great prince of the blood was fond of quails, and every Lantern Festival he let the quail-keepers of the people into his mansion to match them. The host said to Wang, "Now you may gain great wealth at once; the only unknown is your fate." So he told him the plan and led him along. He charged him, "If you lose, it is but a matter of coming away crestfallen. But if by a thousandth chance your quail wins, the prince will surely want to buy it; you must not consent. If he presses hard, watch me; only when I nod may you agree." Wang said, "Very well." At the mansion, the quail-keepers crowded shoulder to shoulder beneath the steps. Presently the prince came out and sat in the hall. His attendants proclaimed, "Let those who wish to contend come forward." A man came up with his quail. The prince bade the quails be released, and the guest loosed his. After a single flutter, the guest's quail was beaten. The prince laughed aloud. In a while several more mounted and were beaten. The host said, "It is time." And they went up together. The prince looked at Wang's quail and said, "There is a vein of anger in its eye; this is a fighting bird, not to be met lightly." He ordered a quail with an iron beak to be set against it. After one or two leaps, the prince's quail lost its feathers. He chose a better, and again it was beaten. Impatiently the prince ordered the imperial jade quail to be brought. In a moment it was carried out—with plumes white as a heron's and a most spirited air. Wang Cheng's heart failed him; he knelt and begged to desist, saying, "Your Highness's quail is a divine bird; I fear it will hurt mine and ruin my trade." The prince laughed, "Let it loose! If it dies in the fight, I will pay you well." Wang released his quail. The jade quail flew straight at it; but as it came, Wang's quail crouched like an angry hen, waiting. When the jade quail pecked fiercely, his rose like a soaring crane and struck. They advanced and retreated, grappling for about the space of a meal. The jade quail grew weary, while the other's rage only blazed the more and its fighting grew the more eager. Before long the snow-white plumes fell, and the jade quail drooped its wings and fled. The thousand onlookers all sighed in admiration. The prince then took up Wang's quail, and examining it from beak to claws, asked Wang, "Is the quail for sale?" "Your servant has no fixed estate," he answered, "and lives with this bird as with life itself. I would rather not sell it." The prince said, "I will give you a good price—enough for a middling family's estate. Will you?" Wang bowed his head and thought long, then said, "I was loath to sell; but since Your Highness is fond of it, if I could but gain a living thereby, what more could I ask?" Asked the price, he answered a thousand gold pieces. The prince laughed, "Foolish fellow! What treasure is this worth a thousand gold?" Wang said, "Your Highness does not hold it precious, but your servant counts it worth no less than the jade that was worth a dozen cities." "How so?" asked the prince. Wang said, "I take it into the market and earn a few gold a day, exchanging them for rice and millet, and my family of ten mouths is never hungry or cold. What treasure can equal that?" The prince said, "I will not cheat you; I will give you two hundred gold." Wang shook his head. The prince raised it by a hundred or more. Wang looked at the host, whose face was unmoved, and then said, "By Your Highness's command, I beg to take a hundred less." The prince said, "Enough! Who would give nine hundred for one quail?" Wang put the quail in its bag and made to go. The prince called, "Quail-man, I will really give six hundred. If you will sell, it is yours; if not, let it be." Wang again looked at the host, who remained unmoved. Wang's heart was full of desire, and fearing only to lose the chance, he said, "To sell at this sum, my heart is grieved. But if the bargain fails, my fault will be the greater. Since it must be so, let it be as Your Highness commands." The prince was pleased and weighed out the gold. Wang bagged the money, bowed, and went out. The host scolded him, "What did I say? You were in such haste to sell! Had you held out a little longer, eight hundred gold would have been in your hand." Wang returned, flung the gold on the table, and begged the host to take it; but the host would not, and only after much pressing reckoned up the cost of his board and took that. Wang packed and went home. On arriving, he told all that had passed and, bringing out the gold, made merry. The old woman bade him buy three hundred mu of good land, build houses and make implements, until he lived like a great house. At dawn she made Wang oversee the ploughing and his wife the weaving, chiding them if they were at all remiss. The couple lived in harmony and dared not complain. After three years the family grew richer, and the old woman took her leave. Husband and wife begged her to stay, till they wept; and so she stayed. At dawn they waited for her, but she had vanished. The Historian of the Strange says: "Wealth is always gained by diligence; that this man gained it by idleness is a novelty unheard of. But he did not know that one poor to the bone yet steadfast in nature—this is why Heaven first cast him off and at last pitied him. Is there truly wealth to be found in idleness?"