Explore Chapter 43 of '水浒新传' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
Now, after parting ways with Yang Zhi at the Wild Boar Forest on the outskirts of the Eastern Capital, Lu Zhishen felt deeply melancholy as he journeyed toward Liangshan Marsh. One evening, he arrived at a village town. Hungry and thirsty, he found an inn, chose a table, and sat down. The waiter approached. Zhishen ordered two measures of wine and three catties of cooked beef, then poured and drank by himself. As he was eating, he suddenly heard faint sobbing from next door, like that of a woman. Zhishen, being a straightforward and hearty man, could not stand such sounds. Irritated, he called the waiter and asked, "Whose house is next door? Why are they crying like this, ruining my drinking mood!"
The waiter stepped closer and whispered, "Master, don't be angry. The crying comes from the Wang family at the back. They recently suffered a misfortune, and it's truly pitiful." Zhishen said, "What misfortune? Tell me." The waiter sighed, "The head of the Wang family, Wang Yi, was originally a painter who often worked for wealthy households in the capital. Some time ago, for some reason, he offended someone from Grand Tutor Tong Guan's residence. He was falsely accused of a crime, taken to the Kaifeng Prefecture, and beaten to death with rods. He left behind an old mother and a wife, with no one to rely on. Yesterday, they just retrieved the body and hastily buried it on the desolate hill behind the village. Today is the seventh day after death, so likely the women of the family are mourning, hence the weeping."
Upon hearing this, Lu Zhishen's thick brows furrowed and his round eyes widened. He slammed his wine bowl heavily on the table and roared, "That scoundrel Tong Guan again! When I was in the Eastern Capital, I heard of his many evil deeds, how he specializes in framing the good and innocent. I never thought that even after leaving the capital, I'd still encounter this foul air!" The waiter, frightened, hastily waved his hands, "Master, lower your voice! Grand Tutor Tong's influence blazes to the heavens. If such words were overheard, my humble inn couldn't stay open." Zhishen ignored him, downed the wine in his bowl, fished out some broken silver, tossed it on the table, stood up, and left. Exiting the inn, he strode toward the back of the village as the waiter had indicated.
By now, dusk was approaching. The setting sun was as red as blood, casting a desolate gloom over the barren hill. Sure enough, there was a fresh grave, the yellow earth still damp. Before it knelt two women in white mourning clothes, one old and one young, burning paper money and weeping incessantly. Beside them lay a broken earthen jar, likely containing some wine or offerings. Lu Zhishen approached. The old woman looked up and, seeing a stout, large monk, showed surprise and suspicion. Zhishen clasped his hands together and said, "Old Bodhisattva, don't be afraid. I am a passing monk. Hearing of your family's injustice, I came specially to see."
The young daughter-in-law stopped crying and sobbed, "Master, as a monastic, you are compassionate. My father-in-law died unjustly. I beg you to recite some scriptures to guide him early to the Pure Land." As she spoke, she bowed again. Zhishen looked at the grave mound. There was no stone tablet, only a wooden plaque inserted with the crooked characters "Tomb of Wang Gongyi, Late Father." A surge of nameless anger rose in his heart. He thought to himself, "That damned Tong Guan! Not only did he take a life, but he won't even allow a proper tombstone!" Aloud, he said, "I don't know how to recite those bothersome scriptures. Tell me the whole story in detail."
The old woman wept and said, "My son, Wang Yi, made a living in the capital with his craft. Last month, Grand Tutor Tong's residence needed to mount a batch of ancient paintings, so they summoned him to work. Somehow, a genuine work by Wu Daozi went missing from the residence, and they firmly accused my son of stealing it. Without allowing any explanation, they sent him to the yamen. The prefect was a subordinate of Grand Tutor Tong. How could he permit any defense? A vicious beating, and then... then he breathed his last." As she spoke, she and her daughter-in-law embraced and wailed.
Lu Zhishen listened, grinding his steel-like teeth. After a long moment, he sighed deeply, "This world is so unjust! With treacherous ministers in power, good people can hardly live." He bent down, poured a bowl of wine from the earthen jar, and sprinkled it before the grave. In a clear voice, he said, "Wang Yi, Wang Yi! You died unclear and unjust. Today, I offer wine in sacrifice to you. Go in peace. Good and evil will eventually meet their retribution. I only regret that I am weak now and cannot seek revenge on that old thief Tong Guan for you!" With that, he drank the remaining wine in the bowl and threw the bowl to the ground.
After the sacrifice was done, Lu Zhishen took out all the scattered silver from his bosom, about ten taels, and stuffed it all into the old woman's hands. "Take this to live on. I have nothing of value, only this. Don't refuse." The old woman and her daughter-in-law thanked him profusely. Zhishen waved his hand, turned, and left. By now, dusk had fully descended. The autumn wind whistled desolately over the barren hill, rustling the white paper banners on the grave, adding infinite sorrow.
Lu Zhishen left the village town and traveled by moonlight. Resentment churned in his heart. He thought of Lin Chong's persecution and Wang Yi's wrongful death. In the Eastern Capital, those wealthy households with vermilion gates still reveled all night with music and song. Though he had formidable skills, he could only wander the rivers and lakes, witnessing injustices with nowhere to appeal. The more he thought, the angrier he became. The wine's effect surged, and his steps grew somewhat unsteady.
Walking until midnight, he saw a dilapidated mountain god temple by the roadside and went in to rest. Inside, the deity statue was toppled, and spiderwebs covered everything, clearly showing that incense offerings had long ceased. Zhishen leaned against a pillar and sat down. Drowsy and about to fall asleep, he suddenly saw moonlight shining through a broken window lattice, illuminating the mottled wall opposite. He stared. The wall had a white base, though stained, it was still suitable for writing. An idea suddenly sprang to mind.
He abruptly stood up, went outside the temple, and found a sharp stone. Returning to the hall, by the moonlight, on the most conspicuous white part of the wall, he summoned his strength and, using the stone as a brush, began carving swiftly. His arm strength was immense. Where the stone edge passed, plaster crumbled and fell. Characters the size of fists were deeply embedded into the wall. They read:
"Tong, Cai, Gao, Wang, four jackals and wolves. They devour the people's fat and drain the people's marrow. The path for the loyal and good is cut off, wronged spirits block the way. The Buddha has eyes, fury burns within. If we meet someday, don't blame my blade! -- Inscribed by the Tattooed Monk, Lu Zhishen."
After writing, he flung the stone in his hand with force and laughed heartily. The laughter echoed in the empty hall, startling a few roosting birds among the beams, causing them to flutter and fly about chaotically. He laughed for a while, then suddenly stopped, gazing intently at the characters. The moonlight shifted, making the characters half bright and half dark, like a curse carved with supernatural skill.
Lu Zhishen nodded, as if having accomplished a great task, and suddenly felt the weight in his chest mostly dissipate. He patted the dust off his body and muttered to himself, "That old thief Tong Guan, treacherous minister Cai Jing, wicked lackey Gao Qiu, and fool Wang Fu! I curse you here, witnessed by heaven, earth, gods, and spirits. Someday, I'll make you recognize this monk!" With that, he lay down and slept, soon snoring like thunder.
At dawn the next day, Lu Zhishen awoke and saw the characters on the wall stark and fresh as if in ink (though actually carved in stone). He paid no heed, strode out of the temple, and continued his journey toward Liangshan Marsh. Thereafter, this desolate mountain and broken temple left behind a legend of a drunken monk inscribing a poem of rage, which quietly spread among the people. And the deeply carved curses on the wall, enduring wind and rain, remained for a long time, as if truly awaiting the day of fulfillment.