Old Zhu of Zhu Village in Jiyang, past fifty, fell ill and died, and his family came into the room to make ready the mourning clothes, when suddenly they heard the old man call out very urgently. They all ran to the death-chamber and found him revived, and were overjoyed, crowding round to offer their congratulations. But the old man only said to his wife, "Just now I went away, resolved never to return. When I had gone a few li, I bethought me that I was leaving you, an old bag of bones, in the hands of the children, to be subject to their coldness and their warmth, and I had no mind for such a life. So I came back, to have you come with me." All took his words for the raving of one newly revived and put little faith in them. But the old man repeated what he had said. "That would be well enough," said his wife; "but here you have but just come back to life—how are you to die again?" "That is not difficult," said the old man, waving his hand. "The household affairs are in order; make haste and finish your preparations." His wife laughed and would not go; he urged her the more. At last she went out of the door and, after some little time, came in again, saying to deceive him, "All is settled and in order." "Then make haste and dress yourself," said the old man. She would not, and he grew more urgent. Unable to refuse him, she put on her skirt and came out, while the daughters-in-law and daughters hid their smiles. The old man rested his head on the pillow and patted the bed for her to lie down. "The children are all here," said his wife; "what a sight it would be for us two to lie stretched out stiff!" "And what is there to laugh at in dying together?" cried the old man, thumping the bed. Seeing him so impatient, the children all urged her to obey him. She did so, and lay down stiffly on the pillow beside him, and the family laughed again. But after a while the smile faded from the wife's face, and her eyes gradually closed, till at last no sound came from her and she lay as one asleep. Then the family drew near and found her skin already cold and no breath in her nostrils. They looked at the old man and found him so too, and only then were they filled with alarm and astonishment. In the twenty-first year of Kangxi, the old man's sister-in-law was in service in the house of the censor Bi, and told the story at length.
The Historian of the Strange remarks: "Had the old man been gifted with some singular virtue, then? The road to the Yellow Spring is long and dark, yet he could come and go at will—how strange! And when the white-haired one would go, he called her and she went—how leisurely it was! At the moment of one's last breath, what one is least able to part from is the familiar one at the bedside. If this art could be spread abroad, then the ceremonies of selling shoes and sharing perfume might be dispensed with."