The Geng family of Taiyuan had been a great house, with spacious mansions. Later it declined, and of its linked towers and halls more than half lay waste; strange things arose there, the doors of the halls opening and closing of themselves, and the household often cried out in alarm at midnight. The Gengs, troubled by this, moved to a villa, leaving one old servant to keep the gate. From then on the place grew more desolate, and sometimes sounds of laughter, song, and music were heard.
Geng had a nephew, Qubing by name, wild and unrestrained. He bade the old man, if he saw or heard aught, come running to tell him. At night the old man saw the light in the tower flickering and ran to report to the young master. Qubing wished to go in and see the wonder, and would not be stopped. The gates and doors he had long known, and pushing through the wormwood, he made his winding way in. He climbed the tower and at first found nothing strange. Passing through it, he heard voices murmuring. Peeping, he saw two great candles burning, bright as day. An old man in a scholar's cap sat facing south, with an old woman opposite; both were past forty. Facing east sat a youth of about twenty, and on the right a girl just of marriageable age. Wine and meats filled the table, and they sat round laughing and talking. Qubing burst in, crying with a laugh, "Here comes an unbidden guest!" The company started up and fled to hide. Only the old man asked in surprise, "Who intrudes into these inner rooms?" Qubing said, "This is my house; you occupy it. You drink good wine alone without inviting the master—is that not too niggardly?" The old man looked at him closely and said, "You are not the master." Qubing said, "I am the mad scholar Geng Qubing, the master's nephew." The old man made a respectful bow, saying, "I have long admired your fame as I do a mountain!" And he bowed Qubing in and bade the family change the dishes; Qubing stopped him. The old man then poured wine for his guest. Qubing said, "Our families are as one; your guests need not hide. I pray you ask them to come and drink." The old man called, "Xiao'er!" and presently the youth came in from without. "This is my son," said the old man. He bowed and sat, and they asked each other's rank. The old man said of himself, "My family name is Hu." Qubing was always a lively talker, and Xiao'er was a free and easy youth; as they talked, they took a great liking to each other. Qubing was twenty-one, two years older than Xiao'er, and so treated him as a younger brother. The old man asked, "I hear your grandfather compiled the Outer Traditions of Tu Shan; do you know of it?" "Yes," answered Qubing. "I am a descendant of the Tu Shan clan," said the old man. "After the Tang dynasty I can still recall the genealogy, but before the Five Dynasties it is lost. I am fortunate that you, young sir, may instruct me." Qubing told in brief of the daughter of Tu Shan who aided Yu the Great, embellishing his tale with many words and pouring forth a spring of wit. The old man was delighted and said to his son, "Today I am lucky to hear what I never heard before. The young gentleman is no stranger; you may ask your mother and Qing Feng to come and listen too, that they may know the virtue of our ancestors." Xiao'er went within the curtain, and after a while the old woman came out with the girl. Looking at her closely, Qubing saw a delicate charm and a glance of intelligence—no beauty in the world equaled her. The old man pointed to the woman and said, "This is my old wife," and to the girl, "This is Qing Feng, my niece. She is clever, and never forgets what she sees or hears, so I have called her to listen." Qubing finished his tale and drank, gazing at the girl with fixed eyes. She felt it and lowered her head. Qubing secretly trod on her tiny slipper; she quickly drew back her foot, but showed no anger. Qubing's spirit soared, no longer master of itself; he struck the table and cried, "Could I win such a wife, I would not exchange her for a kingdom!" The old woman, seeing Qubing growing drunk and bolder, went away with the girl. Qubing, disappointed, took leave of the old man and came out. But his heart was tangled, and he could not forget Qing Feng.
The next night he went again; the scent of musk and orchids still lingered, and he waited through the whole night, but not a sound or cough came. He went home and proposed to his wife that they move into the house, hoping to meet her once; but his wife would not. So Qubing went alone and read by night in the lower story. One night, as he leaned on the table, a ghost with streaming hair came in, its face black as lacquer, staring at him. Qubing laughed, dipped a finger in ink, and smeared his own face, gazing back at it steadily; the ghost, ashamed, went away. The next night, at a deeper hour, he put out the candle and was about to sleep when he heard the bolt drawn behind the tower and the door flung open. He rose hastily to peep and saw the door half open. Presently he heard light, pattering footsteps, and a candle-light came out from within. Looking, it was Qing Feng. Seeing Qubing suddenly, she started back in fright and shut the two doors at once. Qubing knelt at length and spoke: "I, your humble servant, have not feared peril, and all for your sake. Since there is no one else here, if I might but grasp your hand and smile, I should die without regret." The girl answered from afar, "That deep affection of yours—do I not know it? But my uncle's rules are strict, and I dare not obey." Qubing begged her the more, saying, "I do not presume to hope for the touch of your skin; only to see your face would be enough." The girl seemed to consent and, opening the door, came out, took him by the arm, and drew him in. Qubing, wild with joy, went with her below and, embracing her, set her on his knee. The girl said, "We are lucky to have some predestined bond. Past this one night, longing will avail nothing." Asked why, she said, "My uncle fears your wildness and so turned himself into a fierce ghost to frighten you; but you did not stir. Now he has chosen another dwelling, and the whole family has moved its goods to the new home; I stay behind to watch, and tomorrow I set out." So saying she was about to leave, saying, "I fear my uncle will return." Qubing held her back by force and wished to make love to her. While they were still debating, the old man slipped in. The girl, ashamed and afraid, had nowhere to hide; holding his hand, she leaned against the bed, twisting her girdle in silence. The old man cried in anger, "Vile creature, you dishonor my house! Unless you go at once, a flogging will follow!" The girl bowed her head and went out in haste, and the old man too came out. Qubing followed and listened, hearing a storm of abuse, and Qing Feng's sobbing. His heart was torn; he cried aloud, "The fault is mine—what has Qing Feng to do with it! If you will forgive Qing Feng, let me suffer the knife and axe!" After a long while all was still, and he went back to bed. From that time no sound came from the house. Qubing's uncle heard of it and, marveling, was willing to sell the house to him, without haggling over price. Qubing, pleased, moved his family in. He lived there well for more than a year, yet never forgot Qing Feng for an instant.
It chanced that at the Qingming festival, as he returned from the ancestral grave, he saw two little foxes chased by a dog. One fled into the wilds; the other, in frantic haste upon the road, caught sight of Qubing and clung to him with pitiful cries, flattening its ears and tucking in its head, as if begging his help. Qubing, pitying it, opened his robe, took it up, and carried it home. Closing the door, he set it on the bed—and it was Qing Feng. Overjoyed, he comforted and questioned her. She said, "Just now I was playing with the maids and met this great peril. But for you, sir, I must have died in the dog's belly. I hope you will not loathe me for being of another kind." Qubing said, "My thoughts of you have been day and night, bound up with my very dreams. To see you is to gain a rare treasure—how could I loathe you!" The girl said, "This is fate. Had it not been for this disaster, how could we have come together? Yet it is well—the maids will surely say I am dead, and so we may pledge ourselves to each other for good." Qubing was overjoyed and lodged her in another room.
More than two years passed. One night, as Qubing was reading, Xiao'er suddenly came in. Qubing put down his book and asked in surprise whence he came; Xiao'er knelt on the ground and said mournfully, "My father is in sudden danger, and none but you can save him. He would have come himself to entreat you, but feared he would not be received, and so has sent me." Asked what the matter was, he said, "Does the young gentleman know Mo Sanlang?" "He is a friend of my own year," said Qubing. Xiao'er said, "He will pass this way tomorrow; if he carries any foxes he has hunted, I beg you to keep them." Qubing said, "The shame of that night beneath the tower rankles in my heart; of other matters I would rather not hear. If you must have my small aid, only Qing Feng's coming will do!" Xiao'er, weeping, said, "Sister Feng has lain dead in the wilds these three years." Qubing shook out his robe and said, "If that is so, my hatred is the deeper!" And taking up his book, he intoned aloud, without a glance. Xiao'er rose, wept aloud, and went out covering his face. Qubing went to Qing Feng and told her. She changed countenance and asked, "Will you indeed save him?" "Save him, yes," said Qubing. "My refusal just now was but to repay his former rudeness." The girl was glad and said, "I was left an orphan young and was raised by my uncle. Though I offended before, it was but the law of the house." Qubing said, "True; yet it leaves one with a grudge. Had you truly died, I would not have helped him." The girl laughed, "How cruel you are!" The next day Mo Sanlang indeed came, with harness and trappings and a great train of attendants. Qubing met him at the gate. He saw many captured beasts, and among them a black fox, its fur drenched with blood. He felt it—the skin and flesh were still warm. Pretending his own fur coat was worn out, he begged it for patching. Mo readily took it off and gave it him, and Qubing handed it at once to Qing Feng, then drank with the guest. When the guest was gone, the girl held the fox in her arms, and after three days it revived and, turning about, became the old man again. Lifting his eyes and seeing Qing Feng, he thought it was no human world; but she told him all. The old man bowed to the ground, ashamed and thanking her for past wrongs, and said gladly to the girl, "I always said you were not dead—and so it proves." The girl said to Qubing, "If you think of me, I pray you lend us this tower and house, that I may fulfill the duty of a child who feeds its parent." Qubing agreed. The old man, blushing, thanked him and took his leave; at night the whole family indeed came, and from then on they lived like father and son, with no more suspicion. Qubing dwelt apart in his study, and Xiao'er often came to talk and feast with him. As Qubing's son by his lawful wife grew older, he was put in Xiao'er's charge as tutor, for Xiao'er was a patient and good teacher, with a scholar's grace.