A scholar of Fengyang went on a long journey with his books, saying to his wife, "I shall be home within half a year." But more than ten months passed with no word, and his wife's longing grew to desperation. One night, as she lay down, the moon's shadow trembling on the gauze curtain and thoughts of their separation troubling her heart, a beautiful woman with jeweled hair and a crimson cloak raised the curtain and came in, smiling, "Does my elder sister not wish to see her lord?" His wife rose hastily to answer. The lady invited her to come along, and when the wife feared the distance, she bade her not to worry, and taking her by the hand led her out into the moonlight. After about a bow-shot she found the lady walked swiftly while her own steps lagged, and she called to her to wait while she went back for a pair of better shoes. The lady made her sit by the roadside, and herself taking the wife's foot, drew off her own shoe and lent it. The wife put it on with pleasure, and, finding it fit, rose and walked on with flying steps.
Presently they saw the scholar coming on a white mule. At the sight of his wife he was much alarmed, dismounted hastily, and asked where she was going. "To seek you out," she said. He asked who the lady was. Before the wife could answer, the lady, hiding a smile with her hand, said, "Do not ask. The young lady has had no small toil on the road. And you, sir, have ridden all night; both man and beast must be weary. My house is near; pray come and rest, and go on in the morning—it is not too late." A few paces beyond, sure enough, was a village; and they entered a courtyard together, where the lady roused a sleepy maid to wait on her guests. "The moonlight is bright enough," she said, "and we need no candle. The little terrace has a stone couch to sit on." The scholar tied his mule to a paulownia by the eaves and sat down. "Those shoes are too big and do not fit you," said the lady to the wife. "They must have bothered you on the way. Now that you have a mount for your return, pray give them back." The wife thanked her and returned them.
Soon wine and fruit were set out, and the lady poured out a cup, saying, "The phoenixes have long been parted; their union is accomplished this very night. A cup of poor wine, in token of my congratulations." The scholar raised his cup in answer. Laughter and jesting went round, shoes and slippers mingled in confusion. The scholar kept his eyes on the lady and plied her with gallantries, while of his wife, newly met, he said not a single word of greeting. The lady, too, sent him glances of love and riddling hints. The wife sat silent, playing the simpleton. By and by, as they grew flushed with wine, their talk became more and more free. They pressed a great goblet on the scholar, who, saying he was drunk, excused himself; but they urged him the more. At last he smiled. "Sing me a song," he said, "and I will drink." The lady consented, and, tapping a violin with an ivory stick, sang:
"At dusk I laid aside my fading dress;
The west wind through the window chills the gauze.
I hear the rain on the banana leaves
Come pattering down in gusts—yet all for nought.
With whom can I exchange a word?
My eyes grow dim with looking down the road,
But he returns not; my tears fall fast as hemp.
Now thinking of him, now hating him,
I hold my scarlet slipper and cast a divining spell."
When she had done, she laughed. "That is a street-song," she said, "unworthy of your ears; but as it is all the fashion now, I imitate it for your sake." Her voice was soft and seductive, her air most wanton, and the scholar was so shaken he could hardly contain himself. After a while the lady, feigning drunkenness, rose from the table, and the scholar rose and followed her. A long while passed and they did not return. The maid was spent and fell asleep in the corridor. The wife, left alone, could hardly bear it. She thought to slip away home, but the night was dark and she could not remember the way. Turning it over in her mind, she could not decide, and at last rose and went to spy on them. As she drew near the window, she could faintly hear the sounds of dalliance; and listening further, she heard her husband pouring out in full all their own familiar intimacies. At this her hand trembled and her heart beat so that she could hardly contain herself, and she thought she would rather run out and throw herself into a ditch and die. In her anger she started to go, when she saw her younger brother Sanlang come riding up on horseback. He sprang down and asked what was the matter. The wife told him all. Sanlang flew into a rage and, going straight back with his sister, entered the house; but the door of the room was barred, and the murmurs from the pillow still went on. Sanlang seized a great stone and hurled it at the window, shattering the lattice in three or four strokes. A voice within cried out, "Your husband's head is broken! What is to be done!" The wife burst into tears at this and said to her brother, "I did not intend you to kill my husband—what is to be done now?" Sanlang rolled his eyes. "You set me on with your weeping," he said, "and now that my bile is vented you take your husband's part and fly at your brother. I am not used to be ordered about by a petticoat!" He turned to go. "If you do not take me away," cried the wife, clinging to his garment, "where shall I go?" Sanlang flung his sister to the ground and went off, leaving her. The wife started awake and found it was all a dream. The next day the scholar came home in very truth, riding a white mule. The wife was astonished but said nothing. The scholar too had dreamed that night, and when he told what he had seen and suffered, it tallied in every point with hers; and they marveled at one another. Presently Sanlang, hearing his brother-in-law was come back from afar, came to call. In the course of talk he asked the scholar, "Last night I dreamed of you, and now you are here in truth—how strange!" The scholar smiled. "Luckily," he said, "I was not crushed by that great stone." Sanlang, in surprise, asked what he meant, and the scholar told him his dream. Sanlang was greatly amazed, for that same night he too had dreamed that he met his sister weeping, and had hurled a stone in his fury. So all three dreams tallied, save that none knew who the lady was.