Ding Qianxi, a man of Zhucheng, was wealthy in money and grain, and in the manner of a knight-errant was fond of deeds of generosity, admiring the character of Guo Xie. When the imperial censor came to investigate him, Ding fled, and was overtaken by rain at Anqiu, where he took shelter in a hostel. The rain continued till noon. A young man came who entertained him richly, and when evening fell put him up in his house, chopping straw and beans for his beast and serving him with great attention. Asked his name, the young man said, "My host's surname is Yang; I am his nephew by marriage. My host is fond of company and has gone abroad; at home there is only his wife. We are too poor to entertain a guest richly, but I hope you will excuse it." Asked what business his host followed, he said the family had no substance at all, and that the man kept a gambling-house by day to earn a scanty living. The next day the rain still fell, and the hospitality never flagged. Toward evening straw was chopped, but the bundles were wet and very uneven. Ding wondered at it. The young man said frankly, "To tell you the truth, sir, we are too poor to feed the beast, and the lady just now pulled off the thatch from the roof." Ding was the more surprised, and thought she must be angling for a reward. At daybreak he offered her money, which she refused; he made the young man take it in, but he soon brought it out again and returned it to the guest, saying, "My lady says: I do not earn my living this way. My husband is often away from home for days without a penny in his pocket, and when a guest comes to our house, how can we demand payment?" Ding praised her and took his leave, charging him, "I am Ding of Zhucheng. When your master returns, tell him of me. If he has leisure, I hope he will favor me with a visit." For years there was no news of him.
At length a year of great famine came, and Yang was in sore straits, not knowing what to do. His wife idly urged him to go to Ding; he obeyed. When he reached Zhucheng and sent in his name at the gate, Ding could not at first remember him; only when the name was repeated did he recall. He came out with slippers not properly on, bowed the guest in, and seeing his tattered clothes and burst shoes, lodged him in a warm room, spread a feast for him, and treated him with extraordinary honor. The next day he had a hat and clothes made for him, lined and outer both warm. Yang was grateful, but his heart sank the more, and in his narrow mind he could not help a certain disappointment; for some days no word of a parting gift was said. Yang grew anxious and told Ding, "I will not hide it; when I set out I had not a pint of rice in the house. Now that I am so kindly treated I am happy enough; but what of my wife and children?" "That is not a thing to trouble yourself about," said Ding. "I have already made provision for them. Pray be at ease and stay a while; I will help you on your way." He sent a man to summon the local gamblers, and made Yang sit by to take his share of the winnings; in a single night he gained a hundred ounces of silver, and then Ding sent him home. When Yang came to his house he found his wife neatly dressed and a maid in attendance. Astonished, he asked how it was. "Since you went away," she said, "the next day carts and horses came bringing cloth and silk, rice and grain, and piled them up till the house was full, saying they were gifts from the guest Ding. They also gave me a maid for my service." Yang could not contain his gratitude. From this time he was comfortably off and thought no more of his old calling.
The Historian of the Strange remarks: "To be poor and fond of guests is easy enough for the roistering set; the wonder is his wife. To receive a bounty and make no return is not the way of men. Yet Ding did not forget a single meal of kindness—that was worthy of him."