Shuimang is a poisonous plant. It trails like the kudzu vine, with purple flowers much like those of the hyacinth bean; whoever eats it by mistake dies on the spot and becomes a Shuimang ghost. It is commonly said that these ghosts can never be reborn, but must wait until another person is poisoned to death to take their place. For this reason, along the Taohua River in Chu such ghosts are especially numerous.
In Chu it is the custom to call those born in the same year "same-year brothers," exchanging visiting-cards and addressing one another as elder or younger brother of the same year; nephews and sons call them "Uncle of the same year." A certain young man named Zhu was on his way to call on one of his same-year friends when, growing thirsty on the road, he saw an old woman by the wayside who had set up a shed and was dispensing drink. He hurried to her, and she received him into the shed, serving him most attentively. But the drink had a strange odor, unlike tea, so he set it down, rose, and went out. The old woman stopped him and hastily called, "Sanniang, bring a cup of good tea." Presently a young girl came out from behind the shed bearing a cup of tea. She was about fourteen or fifteen, of surpassing beauty, with rings on her fingers and bracelets on her wrists, glittering and bright enough to mirror. Zhu received the cup, his mind in a whirl; the tea was of a fragrance beyond compare, and he drained it and asked for more. Seizing the moment when the old woman went out, he playfully caught the girl's slender wrist and slipped a ring from her finger. She blushed and smiled, which only deepened his infatuation. He asked a little about her family. She said, "If you come this evening, I shall still be here." Zhu asked for a pinch of the tea-leaves and went off, hiding the ring as well. When he reached his friend's house he felt a nausea at his heart and, suspecting the tea was the cause, told the whole story to his friend. "Alas!" cried his friend in horror. "That is the Shuimang poison! My father died of it. There is no cure—what are we to do?" Zhu was terrified and brought out the tea-leaves to examine; they were indeed Shuimang. He also produced the ring and described the girl. His friend thought a moment. "That must be Kou Sanniang!" he said. Zhu, finding the name tally, asked how he knew. "The daughter of the rich Kou family of the south village," he said, "had a fair name of beauty; a few years ago she ate Shuimang by mistake and died—it must be her that haunts." Someone said that one who was possessed, if he knew the ghost's surname, could recover by begging for her old trousers and boiling them to drink. The friend hurried to the Kou house, told them plainly, and knelt long, begging earnestly. But the Kou family, since Zhu was to die in their daughter's place, were loath to give. His friend returned in anger and told Zhu, who ground his teeth with hatred and said, "When I die, I shall never let that girl be reborn!" His friend carried him home; but he died before he reached the gate. His mother wailed and buried him, leaving an only son just a year old. His wife could not keep her widowhood and, after half a year, remarried and went away. The mother kept the orphan and suckled it herself, worn out with toil and weeping morning and evening. One day, as she sat in the room weeping with the child in her arms, Zhu came in silently and suddenly. His mother was startled, and, wiping away her tears, asked him what he did there. "I heard your weeping in the underworld," he answered, "and it grieved my heart, so I have come to serve you morning and evening. Though I am dead, I have a household of my own, and I have brought her to share your toil. Do not grieve." "Who is your wife?" asked his mother. "Kou Sanniang sat and watched me die," he said, "and I hated her bitterly. After death I tried to find her, but did not know where she was; only lately I met my same-year uncle, who showed me. I went and found that Sanniang had already been reborn into the household of Vice-Minister Ren; I hurried after her and seized her by force. She is now my wife, and we get on well—there is no hardship." Presently a woman entered from outside the door, gorgeously dressed and beautiful, and bowed to his mother. "This is Kou Sanniang," said Zhu. Though she was not of this world, his mother felt comforted at the sight of her. Zhu set Sanniang to the household work, to which she was not at all accustomed, but she bore it with such a gentle, winning grace that all were touched. From this time they stayed in the old room and did not leave. The girl asked that her family be told. Zhu would rather not, but his mother, yielding to the girl's wish, told them at last. When the old Kou couple heard, they were greatly alarmed and, hurrying by carriage, found it was indeed Sanniang, and wept aloud over her. She comforted them. Seeing how poor the Zhu household was, the old woman grieved for her. "One who is a ghost," said the girl, "need not be particular about poverty. Master Zhu and his mother are all kindness to me, and I am content." Asked who the tea-selling crone was, she said, "She is of the Ni family. Ashamed that she could not beguile travelers, she asked my help. She has now been reborn into a family of rice-gruel sellers in the city." Turning to Zhu she said, "Since I am your wife, and you have not bowed to my father and mother, how shall I feel?" So Zhu made his bows. She then went into the kitchen and took her mother's place in cooking for the guests. The old couple were much moved and, on returning home, sent two maids to serve them, with a hundred ounces of gold, several score of pieces of cloth and silk, and gifts of wine and meat from time to time, so that Zhu's mother grew comfortably off. The Kou family also invited Sanniang home from time to time. After a few days she would say, "There is no one at home; send me back early." If they delayed her, she would drift away of her own accord. The old man then built a fine summer house for Zhu and furnished it completely. But Zhu himself never once went to the old man's house.
One day a man in the village was poisoned by Shuimang and, dying and reviving, was talked of as a wonder. "I brought him to life," said Zhu. "He was done to death by one Li Jiu, and I drove the ghost away for him." "Why do you not take someone to take your place?" asked his mother. "I hate that sort of creature too much," he said, "and am just setting about rooting them all out. I am not one to do such a thing. And besides, I find my greatest happiness in serving you; I do not wish to live." From that time those who were poisoned would often lay out a fine spread and pray in his courtyard, and always with effect.
After more than ten years his mother died. Husband and wife mourned for her, but did not receive guests, only making their son wear sackcloth and beat his breast and leap in grief, and teaching him the rites. Two years and more after the burial they married off their son. The bride was the granddaughter of Vice-Minister Ren. Now, a concubine of Mr. Ren's had borne a daughter who died after a few months. Later, hearing of Zhu's wonder, he drove to his house and arranged a marriage. So now his granddaughter was wed to Zhu's son, and the two families exchanged visits ever after. One day Zhu said to his son, "God has rewarded me for my services in the world by appointing me Dragon-Keeper of the Four Rivers. I must now depart." Presently four horses appeared in the courtyard, drawing a carriage with a yellow canopy, and all four horses had scales on their legs. Husband and wife, in full dress, came out and mounted the carriage together. Son and daughter-in-law wept and bowed, and in a trice it vanished. That very day the Kou family saw their daughter come to take leave of her parents, exactly as Zhu had foretold. The old woman wept and tried to detain her. "Master Zhu has gone on ahead," said the girl, and, going out the door, was seen no more. Her son, named E, styled Lichan, begged old Kou and buried Sanniang's bones together with Zhu's.