In Guangdong there was a gentleman of the Fu family, over sixty, who had a son named Lian, very clever, but impotent from birth, his organ at seventeen no bigger than a silkworm. All the country round knew of it, and no one would give him a daughter in marriage. He thought the family line was ended, and grieved day and night, not knowing what to do.
Lian went to study under a tutor. Once, when the tutor happened to be out and a monkey-show passed the gate, Lian watched it and missed his lesson; then, fearing the tutor's return, he ran away. After some li from home, he saw a girl in white, with a little maid, walking ahead of him. The girl turned her head—she was of rare beauty—and walked with slow, lagging steps, so that Lian overtook her. The girl turned to her maid. "Ask the young gentleman," she said, "whether he is not going to Qiongzhou." The maid did so, and Lian asked why she wanted to know. "If you go to Qiongzhou," said the girl, "I have a letter which I would ask you to deliver at my gate by the way. My old mother is at home and can play the host to you." Lian had no fixed destination; thinking a sea-voyage would do as well, he agreed. The girl gave the letter to her maid, who handed it to the young man. Asked her name and dwelling, she said, "My surname is Hua, and I live at Qin's Daughter Village, three or four li north of the northern suburb." Lian took a boat and went. When he reached the northern suburb of Qiongzhou, the day was already dark; he asked for Qin's Daughter Village, but no one had heard of it. He walked four or five li north, under the bright stars and moon, through grass that confused the eyes, in a wilderness with no inn; and he was at his wits' end. Seeing a grave by the roadside, he thought of resting by it, but feared tigers and wolves, so he climbed a tree like a monkey and crouched in its branches. He heard the soughing of the pines and the sad chirping of the night insects, and his heart beat fast; repentance burned within him.
Suddenly he heard voices below, and, looking down, saw a courtyard as plain as day, with a lovely woman sitting on a rock and two serving-maids holding painted candles on either side. The woman looked to the left and said, "The night is bright with moon and stars; the cake-tea that Hua Gu has given me might be brewed to enjoy this lovely night." Lian thought them demons and his hair stood on end; he dared not breathe. Suddenly a maid looked up and cried, "There is someone in the tree!" The woman started up. "What bold fellow is this, come secretly to spy on us!" Lian, in terror, with no place to hide, slid down and, throwing himself on the ground, begged for mercy. The woman came near, looked at him, and her anger turned to joy; she drew him up to sit beside her. He glanced at her—she was seventeen or eighteen, of exquisite beauty, and she spoke the local tongue. "Where are you going?" she asked. "I am carrying a letter for someone," he answered. "The open country is full of wild men," she said, "and it is not safe to sleep in the open. If you do not despise our poor hut, pray come and rest." She invited him in. The room had but one bed, on which she made the maids spread two quilts. Lian, ashamed of his defect, asked to sleep on the floor. The woman laughed. "When a fine guest comes," she said, "how dare the lady of the house lie high?" So Lian, helpless, shared the bed with her, but in his fear he did not dare stir. Before long the woman slipped her slender hand under the coverlet and lightly pinched his thigh; Lian feigned sleep. After a while she crept under the quilt and shook him, but he would not move; so she felt lower down for his secret part. Then she stopped, disappointed, and slipped quietly out of bed; and presently he heard sobbing. Lian, ashamed and mortified beyond measure, cursed the defect that Heaven had given him. The woman called her maid for a light. The maid, seeing her tears, asked in alarm what was the matter. The woman shook her head. "I am grieving over my own fate," she said. The maid stood by the bed, watching her face. "Wake the young man," said the woman, "and let him go." Lian, hearing this, was the more ashamed and abashed, and feared the dead of night with nowhere to go.
As he pondered, a woman pushed open the door and came in. "Hua Gu is here," said the maid. He peeped at her—she was about fifty, but still handsome. Seeing the girl not yet asleep, she asked what was the matter, but the girl did not answer. Then she noticed someone lying on the bed and asked, "Who is this sharing your bed?" "A young gentleman," said the maid, "who came to stay the night." The woman laughed. "So Qiaoniang is having her wedding!" But seeing the girl's tears still wet, she asked in alarm, "On one's wedding night to weep so—surely the young man was not rough with you?" The girl was silent and wept the more. The woman would have raised Lian's clothes to look at him; but as she shook the garment a letter fell on the bed. The woman picked it up and started. "This is my daughter's handwriting!" she said, and, unsealing it, read it with sighs and exclamations. Asked what it was, she said, "It is a letter from Sanjie, saying that Mr. Wu is dead and she is left without support—what is to be done?" "He said he was carrying a letter for someone," said the girl; "luckily we did not send him away." The woman called Lian to rise and asked him closely whence the letter came, and he told all. "So far have you been troubled for a letter," she said; "how shall we requite you?" And she looked at him closely, and asked, laughing, "How did you offend Qiaoniang?" "I do not know my fault," said Lian. She asked the girl, who sighed, "I grieve that in life I was married to a eunuch, and in death must meet a gelding—that is why I weep." The woman turned to Lian. "A clever lad," she said, "but with the parts of a woman! Yet you are my guest, and must not be kept too long among strangers." So she led him to the eastern room and, putting her hand into his trousers, examined him. "No wonder Qiaoniang wept," she laughed. "But happily there is a root to it, and I can do something." Lighting the lamp, she rummaged through her chests, and at last produced a black pill, which she gave Lian to swallow, bidding him keep it secret and make no stir, and went out. Lian lay thinking what malady the medicine could cure. Toward the fifth watch he woke, and felt a thread of heat from his navel rising to his secret part, and something stirring as if it hung at his thigh; feeling for himself, he found he was a full-grown man. His heart leaped with joy, as if he had been invested with the nine highest honors.
Hardly had the light of dawn shown through the window when the woman came in and, giving him some cakes, bade him sit quietly and, locking the door on the outside, went out. To Qiaoniang she said, "The young man has had the trouble of carrying a letter; I mean to keep him and send for Sanjie to make the acquaintance of a sister. And I have shut him in again, to keep him from being vexed by others." So she went out. Lian, restless and bored, kept going to the crack of the door and peering out like a bird in a cage. Catching sight of Qiaoniang, he longed to call to her and make himself known, but shame and stuttering held him back. Not till midnight did the woman return, bringing a girl. Opening the door, she said, "I have kept you, sir, till you were fairly bored! Sanjie, come and pay your respects." The girl, who had come with her, entered hesitantly and bowed to Lian. The woman bade them call each other brother and sister, and Qiaoniang said, laughing, "Brother and sister, indeed!" They went out into the hall and sat drinking together. Over the wine Qiaoniang asked, teasing, "Does a eunuch's heart stir at a pretty face?" "The lame man never forgets his shoe," said Lian, "nor the blind man his sight." And they all laughed. Qiaoniang, seeing Sanjie was tired, urged her to rest. The woman turned to Sanjie and made her go with Lian. Sanjie, blushing, would not. "He is a man with a woman's parts," said the woman; "what have you to fear?" And she urged her on, whispering to Lian, "In the dark, be my son-in-law; in the light, be my son." Lian, delighted, took her by the arm and mounted the bed; newly whetted, his blade gave him great joy. On the pillow he asked her, "Who is Qiaoniang?" "A ghost," she said, "of peerless beauty and talent, but with a bitter fate. She married a young man of the Mao family, who was sick and impotent, and at eighteen could not play the man; so she pined and died of chagrin." Lian was startled and suspected that Sanjie too was a ghost. "To tell you the truth," she said, "I am not a ghost, but a fox. Qiaoniang lives alone without a mate, and my mother and I have no home, so we share her dwelling." Lian was much surprised. "Do not be afraid," she said. "Though we are ghosts and foxes, we mean you no harm." From that time they talked and feasted together every day. Though he knew Qiaoniang was not human, he loved her beauty and grieved that he had no way of offering himself. Lian was a man of charm and could jest and flatter, and won much of Qiaoniang's regard. One day, when the mother and daughter were going out, they shut Lian in his room again. In a fit of pique he paced round the room and called Qiaoniang through the door; she made her maid try key after key till the door was opened. Lian whispered that he had something to say to her in private; she sent the maid away, and he drew her to the bed and embraced her, while she played with his navel and said, teasing, "It is a pity this dear place is empty!" Before the words were out, her hand closed upon something full. "How was it so tiny before," she cried in surprise, "and now so big!" "Before," said Lian, "I was ashamed before strangers and so drew in; now, since I cannot bear being mocked, I am like a frog swelling with anger." And they made love together. When it was done she said, angry, "Now I see why you were shut in! In the old days, when my mother and I wandered homeless, we borrowed this house to live in. Sanjie learned embroidery of me, and I never grudged her a stitch. And this is her jealousy!" Lian comforted her and told her the whole story, but Qiaoniang still held a grudge. "Be secret!" said Lian. "Hua Gu charged me to be." Hardly had he spoken when Hua Gu slipped in, and the two started up in confusion. "Who opened the door?" she demanded, frowning. "I did," said Qiaoniang, owning it with a smile. Hua Gu grew angrier and went on scolding without end. "The old lady is too absurd!" said Qiaoniang, with a sneer. "He is a man with a woman's parts—what harm could he do?" Sanjie, seeing her mother and Qiaoniang at daggers drawn, was ill at ease, and set herself to mediate between the two, till their anger turned to pleasure. Qiaoniang spoke fiercely, but from that time she gave way to Sanjie in all things. Yet Hua Gu kept watch day and night, and the two lovers could not come together, but only exchange glances.
One day Hua Gu said to Lian, "My daughter and her sister have both served you; and since it is not well for you to stay here long, you should go home and tell your parents, and soon make a lasting pact." So she made ready his baggage and urged him to go. The two girls looked at each other, their faces full of grief; and Qiaoniang could not bear it, her tears falling like a broken string of pearls without end. Hua Gu stopped her tears and, drawing Lian out, led him away. At the gate there was no house to be seen—only a wild grave. Hua Gu saw him to the boat. "After you are gone," she said, "I shall bring my two daughters to hire a house in your town. If you do not forget old friendship, you may await your bride in the waste garden of the Li family." So Lian went home. His father, who had been anxiously seeking him, was overjoyed beyond hope to see him. Lian told him the whole story, including the pact with the Hua family. "What trust can be put in such tales?" said his father. "That you came back alive is only because you were a eunuch; otherwise you would be dead!" "Though she is of another kind," said Lian, "her feelings are still human, and she is besides clever and beautiful; to marry her would be no laughing-stock among our kin." His father said nothing, but only sneered. Lian, now that his powers were awakened, could not keep within bounds; he took liberties with the maids, till he gave himself up to open wantonness by daylight, meaning to astonish his parents. One day a little maid caught him at it and ran to tell his mother, who would not believe it till she went and saw for herself, and was startled. She called the maids and questioned them, and learned all. Overjoyed, she told everyone, to show that her son was no eunuch, and was preparing to betroth him to a great house. But Lian said privately to his mother, "I will marry none but Hua's daughter." "The world has no lack of pretty women," said his mother; "why must you have a ghost?" "But for Hua Gu," said Lian, "I should never have known what manhood is; to turn my back on her would be most unlucky." So his father agreed and sent a servant and an old woman to spy out the place. They went out of the eastern suburb some four or five li and found the Li garden, where, among broken walls and bamboo and trees, they saw a wisp of cooking smoke. The old woman got down and went straight to the gate, where the mother and daughter were wiping the tables and washing the dishes, as if waiting for someone. The old woman bowed and delivered her mistress's message. At the sight of Sanjie she cried out, "Is this our little mistress? Even I, a woman, love her—no wonder my young master dreams of her day and night!" Then she asked after the elder sister. Hua Gu sighed. "She was my adopted daughter, and three days ago she died." She gave the old woman and the servant food and drink. When the old woman returned, she described Sanjie's beauty and grace at length, and the parents were delighted. At last she told of Qiaoniang's death, and Lian was grieved and near tears. On the night of the wedding he asked Hua Gu about her directly. "She has already been reborn in the north," was the answer, and Lian sighed long over it. He brought Sanjie home, but could never forget Qiaoniang; whenever any one came from Qiongzhou he would have him in and ask about her. Someone said that at night the sound of a ghost weeping was heard at the grave of the Qin daughter; Lian, astonished, went in and told Sanjie. Sanjie pondered long, then wept. "I have wronged my sister!" she said. Asked what she meant, she said, "When my mother and I came here, we did not let her know of it. That sad weeping—can it not be my sister? I meant to tell you before, but feared to lay my mother's fault bare." Lian, on hearing this, passed from grief to joy, and at once ordered a carriage and, traveling day and night, hurried to the grave. Knocking on the grave-stone, he called, "Qiaoniang! Qiaoniang! I am here!" Presently a girl appeared from the tomb, holding a baby in her arms; raising her head, she sobbed, looking at him with endless reproach; and Lian wept too. Putting his hand into her bosom, he asked whose child it was. "It is your own," said Qiaoniang, "born three months ago." "I was deceived by Hua Gu's words," sighed Lian, "and left mother and child to grieve under the earth—how can I atone for the wrong!" So he took her into his carriage, and they sailed home. He carried the child to his mother, who saw it was large and well-favored, not like a ghost's child, and was glad. The two women lived in harmony and served their mother-in-law with filial care. Later Lian's father fell ill, and a doctor was called. "The sickness cannot be cured," said Qiaoniang; "his soul has left the body." She prepared the funeral things, and when all was ready the old man died. The child, as he grew, was the very image of his father, and very clever, entering the district school at fourteen.
Weng Zixia of Gaoyou, traveling in Guangdong, heard this story; but the place-names are lost, and I know not how it ended.