Wang Zifu, of Luodian in Ju County, lost his father early and was extraordinarily clever, entering the district school at fourteen. His mother doted on him and seldom allowed him to roam the countryside. A daughter of the Xiao family had been betrothed to him but died before the wedding, so his search for a mate had come to nothing.
At the Lantern Festival his maternal cousin, a young man named Wu, invited him out to look at the sights. They had just reached the edge of the village when a servant of Wu's family came to summon Wu away. Seeing the crowd of strolling girls, Wang went on alone in high spirits. Among them was a girl attended by a maid, holding a spray of plum blossom; her beauty was without peer and her smile beaming. Wang stared at her without moving, quite forgetting all reserve. The girl, after passing a few paces, turned and said to her maid with a laugh, "That young fellow has eyes as sharp as a thief's!" She dropped the flower on the ground and went off laughing. Wang picked up the blossom, lost in melancholy, his very soul gone, and returned dispirited. At home he hid the flower beneath his pillow and lay with bowed head, speaking not a word and eating nothing. His mother was anxious and made offerings and prayed, but he grew worse, wasting away day by day. A physician was called, who gave him medicines to throw off the ailment, but he remained in a daze. His mother questioned him gently, but he answered nothing. Just then Wu came, and she charged him to sound the boy privately. Wu came to his couch, and Wang burst into tears at the sight of him. Wu sat by the bed and comforted him, gradually drawing out the truth, and Wang told him everything, begging for some plan. Wu laughed. "Your mind is indeed foolish! What is so hard in this wish? Let me seek her out for you. A girl walking in the fields on foot can hardly be of a great house. If she is not yet betrothed, all is well; if she is, I will spare no cost, and the matter will surely be arranged. Only get well, and leave the rest to me." Wang brightened at this. Wu went out and told his mother, and set about tracing the girl's home. But he searched in vain and could find no trace of her. His mother was greatly troubled and knew not what to do. After Wu left, however, Wang's face cleared and he began to eat a little. A few days later Wu came again, and Wang asked what he had done. Wu deceived him: "I have found her. Who do you think she is? She is my aunt's daughter, your own cousin; she is still unwed. Though there is the old objection to marriage between relatives, if you tell the truth there is no reason it should not be arranged." Wang's delight showed in his face. "Where does she live?" he asked. "In the southwestern hills," Wu lied, "some thirty li from here." Wang made him repeat his promises again and again, and Wu shouldered the task and went off.
From then on Wang's appetite returned and he mended day by day. He would look under his pillow and, though the flower was withered, it had not yet fallen to pieces; he would gaze at it and fondle it as if he saw the girl. Wondering why Wu did not come, he sent him a note, but Wu made excuses and would not come. Wang was angry and out of spirits. His mother, fearing a relapse, hastened to arrange a match for him; but whatever match she proposed he shook his head at, caring only for Wu's return. But Wu still brought no news, and he grew more and more resentful. Then he thought that thirty li was no great distance—why depend on another? He put the plum blossom in his sleeve and set off alone, in a fit of pique, unknown to his household. He trudged on solitary, with none to ask the way, but walked toward the southern hills. After some thirty li, the wild mountains rose on every side; the clear green of the empty hills cooled his flesh, no man was to be seen, and only a track for birds. Far off in the valley, among thick flowers and tangled trees, a little hamlet appeared faintly. He went down the hill and entered the village, where the houses were few and all of thatch, but neat and refined. Facing north was one house, before whose gate stood rows of willows, while within the wall peach and apricot trees grew thickly, mingled with tall bamboos, and wild birds chattered among them. Taking it for a garden, he dared not go in at once. Turning, he saw opposite a great smooth stone, and sat down to rest. Presently he heard a girl's clear voice within the wall calling, "Xiao Rong!" in a sweet and delicate tone. As he stood listening, a girl came from east to west, holding a spray of apricot blossom and bending her head to put it in her hair; but seeing Wang she stopped and, smiling, went in with the flower in her hand. He looked at her closely—it was the girl he had met on the road at the Lantern Festival. His heart leaped with joy, but he thought there was no way in. He would have called to his aunt, but he remembered they had never exchanged visits, and feared some error. There was no one in the gateway to ask; he sat and paced, from morning till the sun went down, gazing till his eyes ached, forgetting hunger and thirst. From time to time he saw the girl peeping out, half her face showing, as if surprised that he did not go. Suddenly an old woman, leaning on a staff, came out and looked at him. "What young gentleman is this," she asked, "who has been here since early morning and is still here now? What do you want? Are you not hungry?" Wang rose hastily and bowed. "I have come to visit a relative," he said. The old woman was deaf and did not hear. He spoke again, more loudly. "What is the name of your honored relative?" she asked. Wang could not answer. The old woman laughed. "Strange! You do not even know the name—what relative can you visit? I think you must be a bookworm. Come in with me and take some coarse fare; there is a short couch where you can sleep. Tomorrow you can go home, and when you have learned the name, come back to make your call." Wang, who was hungry and wished for food, and also hoped to come nearer the lovely girl, was delighted and followed her in. Within the gate he saw a path paved with white stones, red blossoms falling in flakes on either side; turning west through another gate, bean-trellises and flower-stands filled the courtyard. He was led into a house whose whitewashed walls shone like mirrors; sprays of begonia thrust through the window into the room, and mats, tables, and couches were all spotless. He had barely sat down when someone peeped at him from behind the window. The old woman called, "Xiao Rong, make haste with the millet!" A maid's voice answered from outside. When he was seated the old woman asked after his family. "Is not your maternal grandfather surnamed Wu?" she asked. "He was," said Wang. The old woman started. "Then you are my nephew! Your mother is my younger sister. In these years our family has been poor and without a man, so that we lost all news of one another. You have grown up like this and we never knew each other." "I came for no other purpose than to see you," said Wang, "and in my haste forgot to give my name." "I am of the Qin family," said the old woman, "and had no children of my own; the little girl is my adopted daughter. Her mother married again and left her to my care. She is not dull, but she has had little bringing up—she plays and does not know what care means. Presently I will call her to make your acquaintance." Before long the maid brought in the meal, a fine fat chicken. After the old woman had pressed food upon him and the maid had cleared away, the old woman said, "Call Miss Ning." The maid went out. After a long while, from outside the door came the faint sound of suppressed laughter. The old woman called again, "Ying Ning, your cousin is here." The giggling outside grew louder. The maid pushed the girl in, but she still covered her mouth and could not stop laughing. The old woman frowned at her. "There is a guest here," she said; "what a sight this is, chattering and giggling!" The girl stood mastering her mirth, while Wang bowed to her. "This is Wang," said the old woman, "your cousin. We are all of one family and do not know one another—how absurd!" "How old is my little cousin?" asked Wang. The old woman did not understand; he repeated the question. The girl laughed again, unable to raise her head. The old woman said to Wang, "I told you she has had little bringing up; you see it now. She is sixteen already, and as simple as a baby." "A year younger than I," said Wang. "My nephew is seventeen," said the old woman; "were you not born in the year of the Horse?" Wang nodded. "And who is your wife?" she asked. "I have none," he answered. "With such talents and looks, why have you not been betrothed at seventeen? Ying Ning has no betrothed either; you would be well matched. It is a pity there is the old objection to marrying one's own kin." Wang said nothing, but kept his eyes fixed on Ying Ning, unable to turn them elsewhere. The maid whispered to the girl, "Those sharp eyes of a thief are unchanged!" The girl burst into laughter again and, turning to the maid, said, "See if the peach-blossom is open yet?" and rose abruptly, covering her mouth with her sleeve and tripping out with quick little steps. Once outside she gave way to laughter. The old woman rose too, and calling the maid, had bedding laid for Wang. "My nephew's coming has not been easy," she said; "you must stay three or four days, and I will send you home later. If you find it dull, there is a little garden behind the house for you to amuse yourself in; and there are books to read."
The next day he went behind the house and found indeed a garden of half a mou, its fine grass like a carpet and willow-catkins strewing the paths. There were three thatched huts among flowers and trees. Walking slowly among the flowers, he heard a rustling in the treetops, and looking up saw Ying Ning perched there; seeing him come she laughed wildly, as if about to fall. "Don't do that," he cried, "you will fall!" Still laughing, she came down, unable to stop herself. Just as she was about to reach the ground she slipped and fell, and then her laughter ceased. Wang helped her up and secretly squeezed her wrist. She laughed again and could not walk, leaning against the tree for a long time. When she had stopped laughing, Wang took the flower from his sleeve and showed it to her. She took it. "It is withered," she said. "Why do you keep it?" "This is what my cousin dropped at the Lantern Festival," he said, "so I kept it." "What is the use of keeping it?" she asked. "To show that I love you and have not forgotten you," he said. "Since we met at the Lantern Festival I have been lovesick, thinking I should become a thing of no account; little did I think I should see your face again. I beg you to take pity on me." "This is a very small matter," said the girl. "Between such close kin what should be grudged? When you go, I will tell the old servant to gather a great armful of flowers and carry them for you." "Is my cousin simple?" asked Wang. "How am I simple?" she said. "It is not the flowers I love," he said, "but her who held them." "When one is of the same blood," she said, "of course one loves—what need to say it?" "What I mean by love," he said, "is not the love of cousins, but the love of husband and wife." "Is there any difference?" she asked. "We share one pillow and one mat at night," he said. The girl bent her head and thought a long while. "I am not used to sleeping with strangers," she said. Before she had finished speaking, the maid slipped in, and Wang fled in confusion. Presently they met at the old woman's, who asked, "Where have you been?" The girl answered that she had been talking in the garden. "Your dinner has been ready a long time," said the old woman. "What long talk was there, to go on so?" "Big brother wants to sleep with me," said the girl. Wang was covered with confusion and shot a fierce look at her. She smiled and stopped. Fortunately the old woman had not heard, but went on questioning. Wang hastened to change the subject, and rebuked the girl in a low voice. "Was that not the thing to say?" she asked. "That is a private matter," he said. "Can one keep a thing private from one's old mother?" she said. "And sleeping together is an everyday affair—why hide it?" Wang was vexed at her simplicity, but could find no way to make her understand.
The meal was barely over when some men of Wang's family arrived leading two donkeys in search of him. His mother, finding he did not return, had grown uneasy and searched the whole village, but no trace of him was found, so she went to Wu. Wu, recalling his own words, told them to search the southwestern hills. Passing through several villages, they had at last come here. Wang came out and met them, then went in to tell the old woman and asked leave to take the girl home with him. The old woman was delighted. "It has been my wish," she said, "not for a day only. But my old bones cannot travel far. To have my nephew carry my little daughter off to meet her aunt—nothing could be better!" She called Ying Ning, who came laughing. "Big brother wants to take you with him," said the old woman; "go and make ready." She feasted the servants and sent them off, saying, "Your aunt's family is rich and can well support a spare mouth. When you get there do not hurry back. Learn a little of the rites and the poets, and serve your new father and mother well. I will ask your aunt to find you a good match." The two set off. When they reached the mountain hollow they looked back, and still saw the old woman faintly, leaning against the gate and gazing northward.
When they reached home, his mother, seeing the beautiful girl, asked in surprise who she was. Wang answered that she was his aunt's daughter. "What Wu told you the other day was a lie," said his mother. "I have no sister—how could there be a nephew?" She questioned the girl, who said, "I am not my mother's child. My father was of the Qin family; he died when I was in swaddling clothes and I cannot remember." "I had a sister who married into the Qin family, that is certain," said his mother. "But she died long ago—how can there be one still living?" She then asked closely about the girl's features and birthmarks, and they all tallied. "It is so," she said doubtfully; "but she has been dead many years—how can there be one now?" While she wondered, Wu arrived, and the girl slipped into an inner room. When Wu learned the story he was lost in thought for a long time, then suddenly cried, "Is this girl called Ying Ning?" Wang said she was. Wu declared it a most strange thing. Asked how he knew, he said, "After the Qin aunt died, her husband lived as a widower and was haunted by a fox, of which he wasted away and died. The fox had a daughter named Ying Ning, who lay wrapped in swaddling clothes on the bed, and all the family saw her. When the aunt's husband died the fox still came sometimes. Then they pasted up a Taoist charm, and the fox carried the child away. Can this be she?" They wondered to and fro, but heard only the giggling of Ying Ning from the inner room. "The girl is a little simpleton," said his mother. Wu asked to see her. His mother went in, but the girl was still laughing loudly, paying no heed. When urged to come out, she forced back her laughter, and after turning to the wall for some time came out. She made one bow and at once ran in again, bursting into loud laughter. All the women of the house were amused.
Wu asked to go and spy out her strange origin, and to act as matchmaker as well. When he reached the hamlet, there was no trace of any house—only the scattered mountain flowers. Wu thought the burial place was not far off, but the mound was lost and could not be made out; he marveled and turned back. His mother, suspecting the girl was a ghost, went in and told them what Wu had said; but the girl showed no sign of alarm. When they condoled with her on having no home, she showed no sign of grief either, but only went on laughing innocently. None could make her out. His mother made her share a room with the younger girls, and at dawn she would come to pay her respects, doing needlework with wonderful skill. She was always laughing, and could not be stopped even by forbidding; yet her laughter was lovely, and its wildness did not take from her charm, so that all were fond of her. The neighbor girls and young wives vied in welcoming her. His mother chose an auspicious day for her wedding; but fearing she was a ghostly thing, she peeped at her by daylight and could see nothing different in her form and shadow.
On the day the girl was arrayed in splendor to perform the rites of a bride, but she laughed so much that she could not bend or straighten, and the ceremony was abandoned. Wang, because of her simple-mindedness, feared she would betray the secrets of the bedchamber; but the girl kept strict silence and would not speak a word. Whenever his mother was angry or anxious, one smile from the girl dissolved it. When servants had done some small fault and feared a beating, they would beg her to go and talk to their mistress, and the culprit always escaped punishment. She was so fond of flowers that she sought them out among all her relatives, and even secretly pawned a gold hairpin to buy choice seeds. In a few months, steps, borders, and even privies were all a mass of flowers. Behind the court stood a trellis of banksia-rose belonging to the western neighbor, and the girl often climbed it to gather the blooms for her hair. His mother scolded her when she saw it, but she would not change. One day the son of the western neighbor saw her, and stood staring, quite overcome. The girl did not run away but laughed. The young man thought she looked kindly on him, and his heart swelled. The girl pointed at the foot of the wall and, laughing, came down. He took it for a signal to a trysting-place and was overjoyed. At dusk he went there and found the girl indeed; but when he lay with her, something pricked him like an awl, piercing him to the heart; he cried out and fell. On looking close he found it was not the girl but a withered tree-trunk lying by the wall, and what he had embraced was a water-soaked hollow in it. The neighbor, hearing his cry, ran up to question him, but he only groaned and could not answer; it was his wife who, coming, learned the truth. When they brought a torch and looked, they found in the trunk a huge scorpion as big as a small crab. The old man split the wood and killed it. He carried his son home, but at midnight the young man died. The neighbor sued Wang, denouncing Ying Ning as a demon. The magistrate, who had always respected Wang's talents and knew him for a man of virtue, said the neighbor was bringing a false charge and would have flogged him; but Wang begged him off, and he was let go. His mother said to the girl, "So mad is your folly! I always knew that too much mirth would bring sorrow. The magistrate is discerning and has saved us from trouble; but if he had been a stupid official, he would have summoned women to the court, and how could my son have faced his kin and neighbors?" The girl, with a grave face, swore she would laugh no more. His mother said, "There is no one who does not laugh; but one should laugh at the proper times." From that day the girl indeed never laughed again; even when teased she would not laugh, yet all day long there was no cloud of care upon her face.
One evening she wept before Wang. Astonished, he asked why. Choking with sobs, she said, "Formerly, as I had been with you so short a time, I feared to alarm you by telling you the truth. Now that I see how my mother-in-law and you have always loved me and shown no difference, I may perhaps speak plainly. I am the daughter of a fox. When my mother went away she left me in charge of my ghost-mother, with whom I lived for more than ten years, and only now am I what I am. I have no brothers; my only stay is you. My old mother lies lonely in the mountain hollow, and no one has compassion to bring her remains to a decent burial; in the underworld she grieves over it. If you will not grudge the trouble and cost, so that she beneath the earth may be freed from her sorrow, perhaps those who rear daughters will be less ready to drown or abandon them." Wang agreed, but feared the tomb was lost among the weeds. She said there was no danger. On a set day the couple took a coffin and went. The girl pointed out the spot among the mists and tangled bushes, and there indeed they found the old woman's body, the skin and flesh still whole. The girl wept over it in bitter grief. They brought it back, found the Qin tomb, and buried the two together. That night Wang dreamed the old woman came to thank him, and told of it when he woke. "I saw her in the night," said the girl; "she bade me not to alarm you." Wang was sorry they had not asked her to stay. "She is a ghost," said the girl. "With so many living people and so much vital spirit, how could she stay long?" Wang asked about Xiao Rong. "She too is a fox," said the girl, "and very cunning. The fox-mother left her to look after me; she used to bring me food, so I have never forgotten her kindness. Yesterday I asked my mother, who said Xiao Rong was already married." From that time, at every Cold Food festival, the couple went to the Qin tomb and paid their respects, never failing. The next year the girl bore a son, who in his cradle was unafraid of strangers, laughing at every face—very much in his mother's way.
The Historian of the Strange remarks: "Watching her laugh so innocently, one would think she had no heart at all; yet that malicious trick at the wall shows a cunning beyond compare. And when she grieved for her ghost-mother, turning laughter into tears, how could my Ying Ning be called simple-minded? I have heard that in the hills there is a herb called 'laugh-forever,' at the scent of which one cannot stop laughing. If one planted it in one's garden, the joy-plant and the forget-care flower would pale beside it. As for the flower that can speak, one finds it too full of airs."