Explore Chapter 5 of '故事新编' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
No sooner had Mei Jianchi lain down with his mother than the mice came out to gnaw the lid of the pot. The grating sound vexed him. He hissed softly a few times, which at first had some effect, but later they paid him no heed, crunching away on their own. He dared not drive them off loudly, for fear of waking his mother, wearied by the day's toil and fast asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.
After a long while, all grew quiet again, and he too began to feel drowsy. Suddenly, a *plop* startled his eyes open. At the same moment came a rustling sound-the scrape of claws against earthenware.
He slipped off the bed and, guided by moonlight, went to the back of the door, fumbled for the fire-making tools, and lit a pine torch. Holding it over the water jar, he saw that indeed, a large mouse had fallen in. The water was low, however, and the creature could not climb out; it could only scurry along the inner wall, scratching frantically as it ran in circles.
"Just what you deserve!" The thought delighted him, for these were the very creatures that gnawed at the furniture night after night, robbing him of peaceful sleep. He stuck the torch into a small hole in the earthen wall and watched with amusement. But the creature's round, staring little eyes rekindled his hatred. Reaching for a reed stalk, he pressed the mouse straight down to the bottom of the jar. After a moment, he released it, and the mouse floated up again, still circling the wall. Its scratching had lost its former vigor; its eyes were submerged, and only the sharp tip of its little red nose broke the surface, wheezing with rapid, shallow breaths.
Lately, he had developed a distinct aversion to people with red noses. Yet at the sight of this sharp little crimson nose, he was suddenly overcome with pity. Using the reed again, he slid it beneath the mouse's belly. The creature clung to it, rested briefly, then began to climb up the stalk. But when he saw its whole body-the sodden black fur, the swollen belly, the earthworm-like tail-disgust and loathing seized him once more. In a panic, he gave the reed a shake. With a *plop*, the mouse fell back into the jar. He then prodded it several times on the head with the stalk, forcing it under.
After changing the pine torch six times, the mouse could no longer move, floating listlessly in the water, occasionally giving a feeble twitch toward the surface. Mei Jianchi felt pity again. He broke the reed and, with some effort, clamped the mouse out and laid it on the ground. For a while it lay perfectly still; then a faint breath stirred it. Much later, its four legs twitched, and it turned over as if trying to stand and escape. Startled, Mei Jianchi instinctively raised his left foot and stamped down. A squeak pierced the air. Squatting to look closely, he saw a trickle of fresh blood at the corner of its mouth. It was probably dead.
"A mouse…" he stammered, hastily standing and turning toward her, but he could utter only those two words.
"Ah!" sighed his mother. "Once midnight passes, you will be sixteen, yet your nature remains unchanged-neither hot nor cold. It seems your father's wrong will never be avenged."
He saw her sitting in the ashen moonlight, her whole form seeming to tremble. Her low voice held a sorrow so profound it chilled him to the marrow, yet in the next instant he felt a fiery heat surge through his veins.
"Listen!" she said gravely. "Your father was a master swordsmith, the finest in all the land. Long ago I sold all his tools to stave off our poverty, so you have seen no trace of his craft. But he was a smith without peer. Twenty years ago, the king's favorite concubine gave birth to a piece of iron-they say she conceived after embracing an iron pillar. It was a piece of iron, pure azure and crystalline. The king, recognizing it as a rare treasure, resolved to have it forged into a sword to defend the realm, slay his enemies, and protect his own person. Unfortunately, your father was the one chosen for the task. He brought the iron home and labored over it day and night. After three full years, he had forged two swords."
"On the day the furnace was opened for the final time, what a terrifying sight it was! A column of white steam roared upward with such force the very ground seemed to tremble. Halfway to the sky, the steam turned to cloud, shrouding our home and gradually flushing a rosy hue, tingeing everything the color of peach blossoms. There in our pitch-black furnace lay two swords, glowing red-hot. Your father slowly dripped fresh well water upon them. They hissed and roared, gradually turning blue. For seven days and seven nights this continued, until the swords seemed to vanish from sight. Looking closely, one could still see them at the bottom of the furnace, pure azure and crystalline, exactly like two rods of ice."
"A radiant joy shone from your father's eyes. He lifted the swords and polished them, over and over. Yet lines of deep sorrow also appeared on his brow and at the corners of his mouth. He placed the two swords in separate cases."
"'Ah! What do you know of it?' he said. 'The king has always been suspicious and utterly ruthless. Now that I have forged for him a sword without equal in this world, he will surely have me killed, lest I forge another for someone else to rival or surpass him.'"
"'Do not grieve. This cannot be avoided. Tears will not wash away fate. But I have long been prepared!' His eyes suddenly flashed like lightning. He placed a sword case on my lap. 'This is the male sword,' he said. 'Keep it. Tomorrow I shall present only the female sword to the king. If I do not return, then I am surely dead. Are you not five or six months with child? Do not mourn. Raise the child well. When he comes of age, give him this male sword and bid him strike the king's neck to avenge me!'"
"He did not return!" she replied coldly. "I made inquiries everywhere, but there was no word. Later I heard that the first life offered to the sword your father himself had forged was his own. And fearing his ghost might haunt them, they buried his head and body in separate places-before the gate and in the rear garden!"
His heart pounding, Mei Jianchi began to dig with calm, steady strokes. At first he brought up only yellow earth. About five feet down, the soil changed color, revealing what looked like rotten wood.
Leaning over the hole, Mei Jianchi reached down and carefully parted the rotten wood. When his fingertips met a coldness like ice and snow, the pure azure, crystalline sword appeared. He saw the hilt clearly, grasped it, and drew it out.
The stars and moon outside the window and the pine torch inside seemed suddenly to dim, as a pervasive azure light filled the room. The sword melted into this radiance, appearing almost invisible. Only by staring intently could Mei Jianchi make out its form-over five feet long, yet not particularly sharp; its edge was somewhat rounded, like the leaf of a leek.
"From this day forth, you must change your indecisive nature. Use this sword to take revenge!" his mother said.
"May it be so. Wear these blue clothes and carry the sword on your back. Sword and garment will be one color, indistinguishable to any eye. I have made the clothes here. Set out on your journey tomorrow. Do not think of me!" She pointed to a battered clothes chest behind the bed.
Mei Jianchi took out the new clothes and tried them on; they fit perfectly. He folded them again, wrapped the sword inside, placed it by his pillow, and lay down calmly. He felt he had indeed changed his indecisive nature; he resolved to sleep as if without a care, to wake at dawn unchanged, and to set forth with composure to seek his mortal enemy.
But he lay awake. Tossing and turning, he wanted to sit up. He heard his mother's soft, disappointed sigh. He heard the first cockcrow. He knew midnight had passed; he was now sixteen.
When Mei Jianchi, his eyes swollen, strode out the door without a backward glance-clad in blue, the blue sword on his back-the eastern sky showed no hint of dawn. Dewdrops hung from every tip of the fir leaves, holding the chill of the night. But by the time he reached the far side of the woods, the dewdrops glittered with myriad hues, gradually merging into the first light of morning. In the distance, the gray-black city wall and its battlements came faintly into view.
Mingling with onion sellers and vegetable peddlers, he entered the city. The streets were already bustling. Men stood idly in rows; women peered out from doorways from time to time. Most of them also had swollen eyes, disheveled hair, and sallow faces, as if they had not even had time to apply powder.
Mei Jianchi had a premonition that a great upheaval was imminent; these people were all waiting for it with a mixture of anxiety and patience.
He walked straight ahead. A child suddenly ran past, nearly brushing the tip of the sword on his back and startling him into a cold sweat. Turning northward, not far from the royal palace, he found people packed in dense layers, all craning their necks. From within the crowd came the cries and sobs of women and children. Fearing the invisible male sword might injure someone, he dared not push his way in; yet people surged forward behind him. He had no choice but to retreat circuitously; before him he saw only backs and outstretched necks.
Suddenly, the people ahead began kneeling down one after another. In the distance, two horses came galloping side by side. Behind them came warriors bearing wooden staves, halberds, knives, crossbows, and banners, raising clouds of yellow dust along the road. Next came a large carriage drawn by four horses, carrying a troupe of men: some striking bells and drums, others blowing some unknown contraptions. More carriages followed, their occupants dressed in garishly patterned robes-all either old men or squat, fat fellows, their faces glistening with sweat. Then came a troop of knights armed with swords, spears, and halberds. The kneeling people now prostrated themselves completely. It was then that Mei Jianchi saw a large carriage with a yellow canopy speeding toward them. In its center sat a fat man in garishly patterned robes, with a graying beard and a small head; at his waist, faintly visible, hung a blue sword like the one on his own back.
But he had taken only five or six steps when he tripped and fell headlong-someone had suddenly grabbed his foot. The fall landed him squarely on a youth with a pinched face. Fearing the sword tip might have wounded him, Mei Jianchi rose in alarm, only to receive two heavy blows to the ribs. He had no time to argue. Looking back toward the road, he saw that not only had the yellow-canopied carriage passed, but the escort of knights had also gone by in a great procession.
All the people by the roadside got to their feet. The pinched-face youth, however, still clutched Mei Jianchi's collar, refusing to let go. He claimed his precious *dantian* had been crushed and demanded compensation, swearing that if he died before the age of eighty, Mei Jianchi would have to pay with his life. Idlers immediately gathered round, staring blankly, but no one spoke. Then someone from the sidelines laughed and jeered, the remarks all taking the youth's side. Confronted with such an adversary, Mei Jianchi could neither vent his anger nor laugh it off; he felt only a weary futility, yet could not break free. This went on for roughly the time it takes to boil a pot of millet. Mei Jianchi was already burning with impatience. The crowd, however, showed no sign of thinning and seemed to be enjoying the spectacle immensely.
The ring of people before him parted, and a man in black squeezed his way in. He had a black beard and black eyes, and was thin as iron. Without a word, he gave Mei Jianchi a cold smile, then lightly lifted the pinched-face youth's chin with his hand and stared fixedly into his face. The youth stared back for a moment, then slowly loosened his grip and slipped away. The man in black also slipped away, and the onlookers, having lost interest, drifted off listlessly. Only a few came up to ask Mei Jianchi his age, address, and whether he had an elder sister. Mei Jianchi paid them no heed.
He walked southward, thinking to himself that the city was too crowded; he might accidentally hurt someone. Better to wait for the king outside the South Gate to take his revenge. That place was open and sparsely populated, ideal for action. Meanwhile, the whole city buzzed with talk of the king's mountain excursion, his majestic retinue, the honor of having seen him, and how low one ought to prostrate oneself-setting a model for all citizens. It was like the humming of a swarming beehive. Only as he neared the South Gate did the clamor gradually subside.
Leaving the city, he sat beneath a large mulberry tree and took out two steamed buns to still his hunger. As he ate, he suddenly thought of his mother, and his eyes and nose stung with the onset of tears-though the feeling soon passed. His surroundings grew quieter and quieter, until he could hear his own breathing with perfect clarity.
Mei Jianchi shuddered as if bewitched and immediately followed him, then broke into a run. Only after stopping to catch his breath for a long while did he realize they had reached the edge of the fir forest. Behind them in the distance stretched silvery streaks-the moon had risen there. Ahead, only the eyes of the man in black gleamed like two points of phosphorescent fire.
"Ha! I have known you all along," the man's voice replied. "I know you carry the male sword to avenge your father. I also know you will not succeed. Not only will you fail-someone has already informed on you today. Your enemy returned to the palace by the East Gate and has ordered your arrest."
"Ah, child, speak no more of these sullied names," he said coldly. "Righteousness, sympathy-such things were once pure, but now they have become nothing but capital for trafficking in ghostly debts. My heart holds none of what you speak of. I want only to avenge you!"
"Give me two things," said the voice beneath the two points of phosphorescence. "What two things? Listen: first, your sword; second, your head!"
"I have always known your father, just as I have always known you. But I seek revenge not for his sake. Clever child, let me tell you. Do you not know how skilled I am at revenge? Your wrong is mine; he is also myself. My soul bears so many wounds, inflicted by others and by my own hand, that I have come to loathe myself!"
The voice in the dark had scarcely ceased when Mei Jianchi reached to his shoulder, drew the blue sword, and with a smooth motion swept it forward from the nape of his neck. His head fell onto the mossy ground. At the same time, he handed the sword to the man in black.
The laughter instantly spread through the fir forest. From its depths, a cluster of phosphorescent eyes flashed, swiftly drawing near, accompanied by the hungry panting of wolves. The first bite tore Mei Jianchi's blue garments to shreds; the second made his body vanish entirely. The bloodstains were instantly licked clean, leaving only the faint sound of bones being crunched.
The mountain excursion had not amused the king, and a secret report of an assassin lying in wait along the road made him return in low spirits. That night he was in a foul mood, complaining that even the hair of his ninth concubine was not as beautifully black as it had been the day before. Fortunately, she perched on his royal lap and, with much coquettish twisting-over seventy times-managed at last to smooth the imperial frown from his brow.
From the queen down to the court jesters, all were at a loss. The king had long been sick of hearing the white-bearded elder ministers' moral lectures and the short, fat dwarf's jokes. Even wondrous acts like tightrope walking, pole climbing, juggling, handstands, sword swallowing, and fire breathing now held no interest for him. He was often seized with fits of rage, and when angry he would press his hand to the blue sword, always looking for some petty fault as an excuse to kill a few people.
Two young eunuchs who had slipped out to wander returned to find the palace filled with gloom and knew at once that the usual calamity was at hand. One turned ashen with fear; the other, however, seemed utterly self-assured. With unruffled composure, he ran to the king, prostrated himself, and said:
"Your slave has just learned of a remarkable man possessed of uncanny arts who can relieve Your Majesty's boredom. I have come specially to report this."
"He is a dark, thin fellow who looks like a beggar. He wears blue clothes and carries a round blue bundle on his back, and he sings nonsensical ditties. When questioned, he claims to be a master of tricks-unprecedented, peerless, never before seen in this world. A single glimpse, he says, dispels all cares and brings peace to the land. But when people ask him to perform, he refuses, saying first he needs a golden dragon, and second, a golden cauldron."
No sooner were the words spoken than four warriors followed the young eunuch swiftly out. From the queen down to the jesters, all beamed with delight. They hoped this trick would indeed banish sorrow and secure peace; but even if it failed, at least this beggar-like dark, thin man would be the one to suffer the consequences. They needed only to hold out until he was brought in.
Before long, six figures were seen approaching the golden steps. First came the eunuch, then four warriors flanking a man in black. As they drew near, they saw his garments were indeed blue, his beard, eyebrows, and hair all jet black. He was so thin that his cheekbones, the sockets of his eyes, and the ridges of his brows stood out sharply. When he knelt respectfully and prostrated himself, one could indeed see a small round bundle on his back, of blue cloth patterned with dull crimson designs.
"Your servant is named Yan Zhiao," the man said. "I was born in Wenwen village. In my youth I had no trade; later I met a wise master who taught me a trick involving a child's head. This trick cannot be performed alone. Before a golden dragon, one must place a golden cauldron filled with clear water and heated with charcoal. Then the child's head is placed inside. Once the water boils, the head will bob up and down with the waves, dancing in a hundred ways and singing marvelous, joyful songs. Should a single person behold this dance, all cares will vanish; should ten thousand people see it, peace will reign throughout the land."
Soon a large golden cauldron, such as might be used for boiling an ox, was placed outside the hall, filled with water. Beneath it was piled a heap of charcoal, which was then lit. The man in black stood beside it. When the charcoal glowed red, he untied his bundle, opened it, and with both hands lifted out a child's head, holding it high. The head had delicate eyebrows, long eyes, pearly teeth, and red lips; its face wore a smile, and its hair was loosely tangled like a wisp of dark smoke. The man in black held it aloft and turned slowly in a circle, then reached out and held it over the cauldron. Moving his lips as if uttering some incantation, he suddenly let go. With a *plop*, it fell into the water. A spray of droplets shot up over five feet high, then all was still.
For a long while nothing happened. The king grew restless first, followed by the queen, the concubines, the ministers, and the eunuchs. The short, fat dwarfs had already begun to sneer. Seeing their contemptuous smiles, the king felt he had been duped. He turned to the warriors, about to order them to throw this impudent wretch into the ox cauldron and boil him to death.
But at that moment came the sound of bubbling water. The charcoal was burning fiercely, casting a reddish-black glow on the man in black, like iron heated to a dull red. Just as the king turned his face back, the man raised both hands to the sky, his gaze fixed on nothingness, and began to dance. Suddenly he broke into song in a shrill voice:
With his song, water surged up from the cauldron's mouth, forming a pointed peak above a broad base like a small hill, swirling endlessly from the tip down to the bottom. The head seemed to rise and fall upon the water, spinning in circles while also turning somersaults of its own accord; one could faintly make out the delighted smile on its face. After a time it suddenly began swimming against the current, spinning like a top while darting back and forth, splashing water in all directions so that a hot rain sprinkled down across the courtyard. A dwarf suddenly cried out, clutching his nose. Unluckily scalded by the hot water, and unable to bear the pain, he could not help but cry out.
The man in black ceased singing, and the head came to a stop in the center of the water, facing the royal hall, its expression turning solemn. It remained thus for a dozen heartbeats, then began to quiver slowly up and down. The quivering quickened into a rhythmic swimming motion, though not too rapid, performed with a stately grace. It swam three circuits around the edge of the water, rising and falling, then suddenly opened its eyes wide. Their pitch-black pupils shone with extraordinary brilliance, and at the same time it opened its mouth and sang:
The head suddenly rose to the very peak of the water and halted. After turning several somersaults, it began moving up and down again, its eyes glancing left and right with a charming coyness, all the while continuing its song:
At this point the head sank down and did not rise again; the lyrics could no longer be distinguished. The water that had surged up also subsided with the fading of the song, like a retreating tide, until it fell below the rim of the cauldron and nothing more could be seen.
"Your Majesty," said the man in black, kneeling on one knee. "He is performing the most miraculous roundelay at the bottom of the cauldron; one must draw near to see it. Your servant lacks the art to bring him up, for the roundelay must be performed at the very bottom."
The king rose, descended the golden steps, and braving the intense heat stood by the cauldron, leaning over to peer inside. The water was smooth as a mirror. The head lay on its back in the midst of it, its eyes fixed upon the king's face. When the king's gaze met its own, it gave a winsome smile. This smile struck the king as oddly familiar, yet he could not recall where he had seen it. He was still pondering this when the man in black swiftly drew the blue sword from his back and with a single flash of lightning struck down from the nape of the king's neck. With a *plop*, the king's head fell into the cauldron.
When enemies meet, their eyes are especially keen, all the more so in a narrow pass. The moment the king's head touched the water, Mei Jianchi's head shot forward and sank its teeth fiercely into the king's earlobe. The water in the cauldron immediately seethed and roared as the two heads battled to the death. After about twenty rounds, the king's head had suffered five wounds, Mei Jianchi's seven. The king was cunning, always contriving to circle behind his enemy. In a moment of carelessness, Mei Jianchi was bitten at the back of the neck and could not turn. This time the king's head held fast, gnawing its way deeper and deeper. From outside the cauldron one seemed almost to hear a child's cry of pain.
From the queen down to the jesters, their terror-frozen expressions suddenly came alive, as if sensing the horror of a world plunged into darkness; goose pimples broke out on their skin. Yet mingled with this was a secret delight. They stared wide-eyed, as if waiting for something.
The man in black also appeared somewhat alarmed, though his countenance did not change. With perfect composure he stretched out the arm that held the invisible blue sword-like a withered branch-and craned his neck as if peering intently into the cauldron. Suddenly the arm bent, and the blue sword swept down from behind him. The blade fell, and the head fell, plunging into the cauldron with a splash that sent a spray of snow-white droplets shooting into the air.
The moment it entered the water, this head darted straight for the king's, clamping its teeth onto the royal nose, nearly biting it clean off. The king could not help but cry "Aiyo!" and as his jaw dropped, Mei Jianchi's head seized the chance to wrench free, twisted round, and bit down with all its might on the king's chin. Neither would let go. With all their strength they tugged up and down, tearing the king's mouth so wide it could not close. Then they set upon it like hungry hens pecking at rice, biting wildly until the king's head was battered beyond recognition-eyes askew, nose flattened, face a mass of wounds. At first it could still roll about in the cauldron; later it could only lie there groaning; finally it fell silent, its breath coming in shallow gasps, then ceasing altogether.
The heads of the man in black and Mei Jianchi slowly ceased their biting. They released the king's head and swam once around the inner wall of the cauldron, watching to see whether it was feigning death or truly dead. Certain at last that the king's head had breathed its last, they exchanged a glance, smiled faintly, then closed their eyes, faces turned upward, and sank slowly to the bottom.
The smoke dispersed, the fire died, the water grew still. The extraordinary silence finally roused the people in and outside the hall. One of them cried out first, and immediately all the others joined in a chorus of shrieks. One took a step toward the golden cauldron, and then all rushed forward in a frantic scramble. Those jammed at the back could only peer through the gaps between necks.
"Heavens! Our king's head is still in there! Wail, wail, wail!" shrieked the sixth concubine, suddenly hysterical.
From the queen down to the jesters, all suddenly realized the truth and scattered in panic, wringing their hands helplessly, each spinning four or five circles in place. One old minister, famed for his resourcefulness, stepped forward alone and reached out to touch the rim of the cauldron, but with a violent shudder he instantly snatched his hand back, held up two fingers, and blew on them incessantly.
When everyone had calmed a little, they gathered outside the hall door to discuss salvage plans. Roughly the time it takes to cook three pots of millet later, they reached a decision: to requisition wire strainers from the main kitchen and have the warriors work together to fish out the remains.
The tools were soon assembled-wire strainers, perforated ladles, golden plates, and wiping cloths-and laid beside the cauldron. The warriors rolled up their sleeves and set to work with respectful diligence, some using wire strainers, others ladles. There was the clink of strainers touching, the scrape of metal against the golden cauldron; the water swirled with the stirring. After a good while, the face of one warrior suddenly turned solemn. With extreme care he slowly raised his strainer in both hands. Water dripped through the mesh like strings of pearls, revealing within a snow-white skull. Everyone gasped; he then tipped the skull into a golden plate.
They had no choice but to examine the skulls calmly and closely. But whether black or white, large or small, they all looked much alike; even the child's head could not be distinguished. The queen recalled that the king had a scar on his right temple from a fall he took as crown prince, and suggested the bone might bear a mark. Sure enough, a dwarf discovered such a mark on one skull. Just as everyone was rejoicing, another dwarf found a similar scar on the right temple of a somewhat yellower skull.
The eunuchs immediately set to studying the nasal bones. One did indeed seem somewhat higher, but the difference was negligible; worse, it bore no scar from a fall on the right temple.
That night a council of nobles and high officials was convened to determine which was the king's head, but the result was the same as during the day. Moreover, the matter of the hair and beard became problematic. The white hairs were naturally the king's, but as his hair had been graying, it was hard to decide what to do with the black ones. They debated for half the night, finally selecting only a few red beard hairs. Then the ninth concubine protested, insisting she had distinctly seen the king had a few yellowish hairs, so how could they be sure there wasn't a single red one? Thus they had to lump everything together again as a case of unresolved doubt.
Toward midnight there was still no conclusion. Yet they somehow managed to continue the discussion between yawns until the second cockcrow, when they decided upon the most prudent and proper course: to place all three skulls together with the king's body in the golden coffin for burial.
Seven days later was the burial date, and the whole city was in an uproar. People from the city and from afar came running to witness the king's "grand funeral procession." By daybreak the road was already packed with men and women, interspersed with many sacrificial altars. By midmorning, horsemen clearing the way appeared at a leisurely pace. A good while later came the procession: banners, wooden staves, halberds, crossbows, ceremonial axes, and the like; then four chariots of musicians. Next, the yellow canopy rose and fell with the unevenness of the road, drawing gradually nearer, until finally the hearse appeared, bearing the golden coffin that held three heads and one body.
The common people all knelt down, and row upon row of sacrificial altars appeared amidst the crowd. A few loyal citizens, hearts filled with righteous indignation, swallowed their tears, fearing that the souls of those two vile traitors might now be partaking of the sacrificial rites alongside the king. But there was nothing they could do.