Explore Chapter 4 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.
For the past half year, a strange unease had crept into even the Retirement Hall. Some of the old men had taken to whispering in corners, bustling in and out with uncommon fervor. Only Boyi paid no heed to idle affairs. With the arrival of the autumn chill, he grew ever more fearful of the cold in his advanced age and spent his days sitting on the porch steps basking in the sun. Even when he heard hurried footsteps, he would not deign to look up.
The voice told him instantly it was Shuqi. Boyi, ever the soul of courtesy, rose to his feet before looking up, and with a wave of his hand, gestured for his younger brother to join him on the steps.
“Elder Brother, the times seem unsettled!” Shuqi said, panting slightly as he sat down beside him, his voice trembling.
“I went to visit them today. One is Grand Tutor Ci, the other Junior Tutor Qiang. They brought with them many musical instruments. I heard they held an exhibition recently, and all the visitors ‘marveled in admiration’-but it seems our side is preparing for war.”
“It is not solely about the instruments. Have you not heard earlier of the depravity of King Zhou? He cut off the leg bones of those who crossed the river at dawn, undaunted by the cold, to examine their marrow; he tore out the heart of Prince Bi Gan to see if it had seven apertures. These were but rumors before, but with the arrival of the blind men, they are confirmed. Moreover, it firmly proves King Zhou’s perversion of the ancient statutes. To pervert ancient statutes warrants punitive campaigns. Yet, for inferiors to revolt against their superiors-that, too, I think, goes against the Way of the Former Kings…”
“The flatbreads have been growing smaller day by day lately,” Boyi said after a moment’s thought. “That certainly looks ominous. But I advise you to go out less, speak less, and stick to practicing your Tai Chi Quan each day as before!”
“Just consider,” Boyi continued, knowing his brother was not truly convinced. “We are guests here, staying because the Earl of the West was willing to care for the aged. If the flatbreads shrink, we should not complain. Even if trouble arises, we should not say a word.”
Boyi began to cough. Shuqi fell silent. When the coughing ceased, all was still. The late autumn sunset shone upon their two white beards, making them gleam.
Yet the unrest only grew. Not only did the flatbreads continue to shrink, but the flour grew coarser. The old men in the Retirement Hall whispered more fervently than ever. From outside came the sounds of carriages and horses. Shuqi went out more often, and though he said nothing upon his return, his anxious expression disturbed even Boyi’s usual placidity: he began to feel that his bowl of peaceful rice might soon become unsteady.
In the latter half of November, Shuqi rose early as usual to practice his Tai Chi Quan. But upon reaching the courtyard and listening for a moment, he opened the main gate and ran out. After what seemed the time it would take to bake ten flatbreads, he rushed back, breathless and flustered, his nose red from the cold, puffing white vapour from his mouth.
“I was just about to practice,” Shuqi said as he waited. “But I heard the movement of men and horses outside. I hurried to the main road to look-and indeed, they came. First came a large white and coloured sedan chair, surely carried by eighty-one men. It bore a wooden spirit tablet inscribed ‘Spirit Tablet of King Wen of Great Zhou.’ Soldiers followed behind. ‘This must be the punitive expedition against Zhou,’ I thought. The present King of Zhou is a filial son; to undertake a great deed, he must carry King Wen’s tablet before him. After watching a while, I ran back. To my surprise, a proclamation was posted right on the wall outside our Retirement Hall…”
Once Boyi was dressed, the two brothers stepped outside and were met by a wave of cold air, making them hunch their shoulders. Boyi, who seldom ventured far, found the world beyond the gate quite novel. After only a few paces, Shuqi reached out and pointed at the wall. Sure enough, a large proclamation was posted there.
“Be it known that the present King of Yin, Zhou, heeding his woman’s words, has severed himself from Heaven, destroyed the Three Rectitudes, and estranged his royal kinsmen. He has cast aside the music of his ancestors; he has embraced lewd sounds, perverting the proper harmonies to please women. Therefore, I, Fa, now execute Heaven’s punishment. Take heed, officers! Let there not be a second time, nor a third! By this proclamation.”
Having read it, neither spoke. They walked straight towards the main road. The roadside was packed with people, a solid, unyielding mass. From behind, they said, “Excuse us.” The crowd turned, saw two white-bearded elders, and mindful of King Wen’s edict to respect the aged, quickly parted to let them through to the front. By then, the leading spirit tablet was long out of sight. Passing by were row upon row of armored soldiers. It seemed an interminably long time before they saw more soldiers carrying the nine-tasseled cloud banners, like banks of colorful cloud. These were followed again by armored men, then a large contingent of civil and military officials on tall horses, escorting a prince with a purplish-tanned face and a full beard. He held a yellow axe in his left hand and a white ox-tail in his right, a figure of awe-inspiring majesty: this was King Fa of Zhou, “reverently executing Heaven’s punishment.”
The people lining the road stood in solemn silence; no one moved, no one made a sound. In this profound quiet, Shuqi, quite unexpectedly, dragged Boyi forward, weaving through several horse heads, and seized the bridle of the King of Zhou’s horse. Straining his neck, he shouted:
“Hold!”
All knew this was Jiang Taigong’s voice and dared not disobey. The blades halted immediately, and all eyes turned to the round, plump face, white-bearded and white-haired though it was.
The generals promptly sheathed their swords at their belts. Meanwhile, four armored soldiers stepped forward, stood respectfully at attention before Boyi and Shuqi, saluted, then took them two by the arm and marched in step to the roadside. The people quickly cleared a path, letting them pass to the rear.
Once behind, the soldiers stood at attention again, released them, and gave a forceful push on their backs. Both cried out “Aiya!” and stumbled for about ten Zhou feet before thudding to the ground. Shuqi fared better, propping himself up and only smearing mud on his face. Boyi, being the elder, happened to strike his head on a stone and lost consciousness.
After the great army had passed, nothing more was to be seen. The crowd then shifted their attention, surrounding the prone Boyi and the seated Shuqi. Some who recognized them informed the others that these were the two princes of the Lord of Guzhu from Liaoxi, who had fled here together after abdicating their claim to the throne and entered the Retirement Hall established by the former kings. This report drew sighs of admiration. Some crouched down to peer at Shuqi’s face; some went home to brew ginger soup; some went to notify the Retirement Hall to quickly bring a door plank to fetch them.
After what seemed the time it would take to bake a hundred and three or four flatbreads, the situation remained unchanged, and the onlookers gradually dispersed. A long while later, two old men arrived hobbling with a door plank, layered with straw upon it-an old custom of respecting the aged established by King Wen. The plank was set down with a thud, the vibration startling Boyi’s eyes open: he had revived. Shuqi cried out in joy and relief, helping the two men gently hoist Boyi onto the plank to be carried towards the Retirement Hall. He himself followed alongside, holding the hemp ropes that suspended the plank.
They had to stop and wait for her arrival. Shuqi thanked her for her kindness. Seeing that Boyi had already revived on his own, she seemed somewhat disappointed. But after a moment’s thought, she urged him to drink it anyway to warm his stomach. Boyi, however, feared the spiciness and adamantly refused.
Shuqi had no choice but to take the jar and, with much persuasion, managed to get Boyi to drink a sip or two. The remainder was still plentiful, so he claimed he himself was suffering from a stomach ache and drank it all. With red-rimmed eyes, he respectfully praised the potency of the ginger soup and thanked the woman for her kindness, thus resolving the great dispute.
Neither officials nor commoners would leave them in peace, constantly bringing news to disturb them-sometimes official bulletins, sometimes rumors. By the end of the twelfth month, word came that the great army had crossed the Mengjin Ford, and not a single feudal lord was absent. Soon, a transcribed copy of King Wu’s “Great Oath” was delivered.
It was specially copied for the Retirement Hall to see. Fearing their eyesight was poor, each character was written as large as a walnut. Still, Boyi was too lazy to read it, and only listened as Shuqi recited it aloud. Nothing else struck him, but the phrases “…he has abandoned the sacrifices of his ancestors, offering no response, recklessly cast aside his state and family…”, taken out of context, seemed to wound his own heart deeply.
Legends were rife: some said the Zhou army reached Muye and engaged King Zhou’s troops in a great battle, leaving corpses strewn across the plain and blood flowing like a river, with wooden staves floating like blades of grass upon the water; others claimed King Zhou’s troops, though seven hundred thousand strong, did not actually put up a fight. The moment they caught sight of Jiang Taigong leading the great army forward, they simply turned around and cleared the way for King Wu instead.
These two legends differed somewhat in detail, but victory seemed certain. Afterwards, constant news arrived of treasures transported from Lutai and white rice from Juqiao, further proving the certainty of victory. Wounded soldiers also returned sporadically, suggesting a great battle had indeed been fought. Those wounded who could still move about mostly lounged in teahouses, taverns, barbershops, or beneath the eaves and doorways of houses, recounting tales of war. Wherever they were, a crowd would gather, listening with animated faces. Spring arrived, and the open air no longer felt so cold. They often talked eagerly late into the night.
Both Boyi and Shuqi suffered from indigestion, never finishing their allotted portions of flatbread at each meal. They slept as before, going to bed as soon as darkness fell, yet lay awake. Boyi would toss and turn; Shuqi, hearing this, grew both irritable and heartsick. At such times, he would often get up again, dress, and walk in the courtyard or practice a set of Tai Chi Quan.
One night, a night of stars but no moon, when all were sleeping quietly, voices could still be heard talking at the gate. Shuqi, who never eavesdropped on others’ conversations, found himself, for some reason, halting his steps and pricking up his ears.
“Damn that King Zhou! Once defeated, he fled straight to Lutai,” the speaker was likely a returned wounded soldier. “Damn, he piled up his treasures, sat himself in the middle, and set it all ablaze.”
“No hurry! Only he burned himself to death; the treasures were unharmed. Our great king then led the feudal lords into the Shang capital. Their commoners welcomed them in the suburbs. The king had his ministers call out to them: ‘Receive your blessings!’ And they all kowtowed. Proceeding inside, they saw every door bore two large characters: ‘Obedient Subjects.’ The king’s carriage went straight to Lutai, found the spot where King Zhou took his own life, and shot three arrows…”
“Who knows? But after three arrows, he drew his light sword, gave a slash, then took the yellow axe and-thwack!-cut off his head, hanging it upon the great white banner.”
“Couldn’t see clearly. The flagpoles were high, and the crowd was thick. My wound was still hurting, so I didn’t push forward for a closer look.”
“They say the one called Daji was a fox spirit, and only her feet couldn’t change into human form, so she wrapped them in strips of cloth. Is that true?”
“Who knows? I didn’t see her feet either. But many of the women over there really do bind their feet till they look like pig’s trotters.”
Shuqi, being a proper man, frowned upon hearing the conversation shift from the emperor’s head to women’s feet. He quickly covered his ears and turned to hurry back into the room. Boyi was not yet asleep either and asked softly:
Shuqi did not answer. He walked slowly over, sat on the edge of Boyi’s bed, bent down, and told him what he had just overheard. After this, both fell into a long silence. Finally, Shuqi sighed with great difficulty and whispered:
“Who would have thought they would completely overturn King Wen’s rules… You see, not only unfilial, but also unkind… From this perspective, we can no longer eat their food here.”
After discussing briefly, they decided to leave the Retirement Hall early the next morning, no longer eat the Zhou family’s flatbread, and take nothing with them. The brothers would go together to Mount Hua and live out their remaining years on wild fruits and leaves. Moreover, “Heaven’s Way shows no favouritism, yet often sides with the good.” Perhaps they might even find herbs like Atractylodes or Poria Cocos.
Once the decision was made, their hearts felt quite light. Shuqi lay down again and, not long after, heard Boyi talking in his sleep. He himself felt rather spirited and seemed to catch a whiff of the clean fragrance of Poria Cocos. Then, enveloped in that fragrance, he sank into a deep slumber.
The next day, both brothers woke earlier than usual. Having washed and groomed themselves, they set off without taking anything-indeed, they had nothing to take-save for an old sheepskin robe they could not bear to part with, which they still wore. Taking their walking sticks and the leftover flatbread, they claimed they were going for a stroll and walked straight out the gate of the Retirement Hall. Thinking this was a final farewell, they could not help but feel a twinge of nostalgia, looking back several times.
There were few pedestrians on the street; they encountered only sleepy-eyed women drawing water from wells. Nearing the outskirts, the sun was already high, and there were more people about. Though most walked with heads held high, looking proud and satisfied, upon seeing the brothers, they still yielded the way as was customary. Trees grew more numerous. Unnamed deciduous trees were already sprouting new buds, appearing like a haze of grey-green smoke, interspersed with the still-lush and verdant pines and cypresses in the hazy light.
Their eyes drank in a vista of vastness, freedom, and beauty. Boyi and Shuqi felt as if they had grown younger, their steps light, their hearts cheerful.
By the afternoon of the second day, they came upon several forks in the road. Unable to decide which path was shorter, they chose an old man approaching from the opposite direction and asked him politely.
Shuqi then remembered that at noon they had indeed encountered a few demobilized soldiers driving a large herd of old, skinny, lame, and mangy horses. The animals had rushed up from behind and nearly trampled them. Seizing the opportunity, he asked the old man what those horses were being driven for.
“Do you not know yet?” the man replied. “Our great king has already ‘reverently executed Heaven’s punishment.’ There is no further need for raising armies and mobilizing the masses, so the horses are being released to the southern slopes of Mount Hua. This is ‘returning the horses to the sunny side of Mount Hua’! Do you understand? We are also ‘releasing the cattle to the wilds of Taolin’! Ha! Now everyone can truly eat the rice of peace.”
This was like a bucket of cold water poured over their heads. Both men shivered simultaneously but maintained their composure. They thanked the old man and proceeded along the path he had indicated. Unfortunately, this “returning the horses to the sunny side of Mount Hua” utterly shattered their dreams, leaving their hearts unsettled from then on.
When they were still a dozen steps from the foot of the hillock, five burly men dashed out from the woods. They wore white cloths on their heads and were dressed in rags. The leader held a broadsword; the other four carried wooden clubs. At the base of the hill, they lined up in a row, blocking the path. Together they nodded respectfully and bellowed loudly:
“Ah!” Little Qiongqi started, instantly becoming respectful. “Then you two must be ‘the great elders under heaven.’ We, too, follow the teachings of the Former Kings and deeply respect the aged. Therefore, we must ask Your Honour to leave behind some memento…” Seeing that Shuqi did not respond, he brandished his broadsword and raised his voice: “If Your Honour still insists on declining, then we humble fellows shall have no choice but to reverently perform a celestial search, so as to behold your esteemed persons!”
“Two paupers! Truly nothing at all!” he said, his face showing clear disappointment, turning to Little Qiongqi.
Little Qiongqi, noticing Boyi trembling, stepped forward and patted his shoulder respectfully, saying:
The slogan “returning the horses to the sunny side of Mount Hua” and the encounter with Little Qiongqi, King of Mount Hua, made the two righteous men fearful of that mountain. They consulted again, turned north, and begging for food, traveling by day and resting by night, finally reached Shouyang Mountain.
It was indeed a fine mountain. Neither too high nor too deep, without great forests to worry about tigers and wolves, nor any need to guard against bandits: an ideal secluded dwelling. When they reached the foot of the mountain, they saw fresh, tender green leaves, golden earth, and amidst the wild grass, small flowers blooming red and white. It was truly a delight even to look upon. Their hearts filled with joy. Tapping the mountain path with their walking sticks, they made their way up step by step, until they found a spot where an overhanging rock formed a sort of cave. They sat down, wiping their sweat and catching their breath.
By now, the sun had sunk in the west. Weary birds returned to the woods, chirping and twittering. It was not as quiet as when they had ascended, but they still found it fresh and interesting. Before spreading out the sheepskin robe to sleep, Shuqi took out two large rice balls, and they ate their fill with Boyi. These were leftover rice begged along the way. Since the two had agreed on “not eating the grain of Zhou,” they would only begin this practice after entering Shouyang Mountain. Therefore, they finished them that night. From the next day on, they would strictly adhere to their principle, allowing no compromise.
They were awakened early by the cawing of crows, then fell asleep again, waking to find it was already late morning. Boyi complained of backache and sore legs, hardly able to stand. Shuqi had to go alone to see if there was anything edible. After walking awhile, he discovered that while the mountain’s lack of height and depth, and its freedom from tigers, wolves, and bandits were its strengths, these very qualities also gave rise to a drawback: below lay Shouyang Village, so not only were there often old men or women gathering firewood, but also children coming up to play. Not a single edible wild berry could be found; they had likely all been picked long ago.
He naturally thought of Poria Cocos. But though there were pine trees on the mountain, they were not ancient pines, so it was unlikely they had Poria Cocos at their roots; even if they did, he had brought no hoe and could think of no way to get at them. Next, he thought of Atractylodes. But he had only seen the root of Atractylodes and had no idea what its leaves looked like. He could not possibly pull up every blade of grass on the mountain to examine it; even if Atractylodes grew right before his eyes, he would not recognize it. In a fit of agitation, his face grew hot, and he scratched his head wildly.
But he soon calmed, as if he had an idea. He walked over to a pine tree, filled the lap of his robe with pine needles, then went to a streamside, found two stones, and used them to pound off the green outer skin of the pine needles. After washing them, he pounded them finely, as if making flour. Finding another very thin stone slab, he carried it all back to the stone cave.
He picked up two stones nearby, propped up the stone slab, placed the pine-needle flour on it, gathered some dry branches, and lit a fire beneath. It took a good deal of effort before the damp pine-needle flour began to sizzle and emit a faint, fragrant aroma, making them both salivate. Shuqi smiled with delight. This was a method he had learned at Jiang Taigong’s eighty-fifth birthday celebration, when he had gone to offer his congratulations.
After the fragrance came bubbles, and they watched as it gradually dried into a sort of cake. Shuqi, wrapping his hands in his sheepskin sleeves, happily carried the stone slab over to Boyi. Boyi blew on it, then broke off a corner and quickly stuffed it into his mouth.
The more he chewed, the more he frowned. He swallowed with a strained gulp a few times, then retched and spat it out. Looking at Shuqi as if to complain, he said:
Shuqi slumped down, his head bowed. Yet he was still thinking, struggling to think, as if trying to climb out of a deep abyss. Climbing and climbing, ever forward, he finally seemed to become a child again, the prince of Guzhu, sitting on his nurse’s knee. This nurse was a countrywoman, telling him stories: the Yellow Emperor battling Chi You, Great Yu capturing the water demon Wu Zhiqi, and also how villagers ate wild fern in famine years.
He washed them again in the stream before bringing them back. Using the same stone slab that had cooked the pine needles, he roasted the fern. The leaves turned a dark green: they were cooked. But this time, he dared not offer it to his elder brother first. He plucked a sprig, put it in his own mouth, closed his eyes, and chewed.
From then on, they gathered fern daily. At first, Shuqi went alone to gather while Boyi did the cooking; later, Boyi, feeling somewhat stronger, also went out to gather. Their methods of preparation grew more varied: fern soup, fern broth, fern paste, clear-stewed fern, original-soup braised fern shoots, sun-dried tender fern leaves…
However, the fern in the nearby areas was gradually gathered clean. Though the roots remained, they could not grow back quickly, forcing them to go farther afield each day. They moved their dwelling several times, but the result was always the same. Moreover, new dwelling places gradually became harder to find, as they needed both an abundance of fern and proximity to a stream. Such convenient spots were indeed rare on Shouyang Mountain. Fearing that Boyi, in his advanced age, might suffer a stroke from overexertion, Shuqi urged him with all his might to sit quietly at home and stick solely to the cooking, while he himself went alone to gather fern.
After some modest refusal, Boyi agreed. From then on, he lived a more leisurely and carefree life. But Shouyang Mountain was inhabited. Having little to do and his temperament having taken a turn for the worse, changing from reticence to loquacity, he could not help but strike up conversations with children and chatter with woodcutters. Perhaps due to a momentary high spirits, or because someone called him an old beggar, he actually revealed that the two of them were originally the sons of the Lord of Guzhu from Liaoxi, he being the eldest, the other the third. In their father’s day, it was said the throne was to be passed to the third son, but after his death, the third son insisted on yielding it to him. He, obeying his father’s will and to avoid trouble, fled. Unexpectedly, the third son also fled. Meeting on the road, they came together to seek out the Earl of the West-King Wen-and entered the Retirement Hall. And who would have thought the present King of Zhou would now “slay his sovereign as a subject”? Therefore, they had no choice but to practice “not eating the grain of Zhou,” fleeing to Shouyang Mountain to survive on wild vegetables… By the time Shuqi found out and reproached him for his loose tongue, the story had already spread far and wide, beyond remedy. Yet he dared not blame him too much; he only thought to himself: their father’s refusal to pass the throne to him might well be considered rather discerning.
Shuqi’s fears proved correct: the outcome was very bad. Not only was their story often discussed in the village, but people also made special trips up the mountain to see them. Some regarded them as celebrities, some as freaks, some as curiosities. Some even followed them to watch how they gathered fern, surrounded them to watch how they ate, gesturing and asking endless questions until it made one’s head spin. Moreover, they had to remain humble in their responses; if they were the slightest bit careless and frowned, someone was sure to say they were “losing their temper.”
Still, public opinion was mostly favourable. Later, even a few young ladies and madams came to see them, but they returned home shaking their heads, saying “not pleasing to look at,” and that they had been thoroughly taken in.
Finally, they attracted the attention of Shouyang Village’s foremost elite, Little Bingjun. He was originally the godson-in-law of Daji’s maternal uncle and served as the Master of Rituals. Knowing that the Mandate of Heaven had shifted, he came with fifty cartloads of luggage and eight hundred slaves to pledge his allegiance to the enlightened ruler. Unfortunately, it was just a few days before the assembly at Mengjin. With military affairs so busy, there was no time to settle him properly, so he was left with forty cartloads of goods and seven hundred and fifty slaves, and additionally granted two *qing* of fertile land at the foot of Shouyang Mountain, where he was to study the Eight Trigrams in the village. He also enjoyed dabbling in literature. The village being full of illiterates who understood nothing of literary theory, he had long felt stifled. So he had his servants prepare a sedan chair and went to talk literature with the two old men-especially poetry, for he was a poet himself and had already composed a volume of verse.
However, after their conversation, he shook his head as soon as he boarded his sedan chair. Returning home, he grew quite indignant. He concluded that those two fellows were incapable of discussing poetry. First, they were poor: struggling for survival, how could they produce good poetry? Second, they had “an axe to grind,” losing poetry’s “gentleness and sincerity.” Third, they were opinionated, losing poetry’s “mildness.” Most debatable of all was their character, which was riddled with contradictions. Thus he declared righteously and resolutely:
By this time, Boyi and Shuqi were growing thinner by the day. This was not due to being busy with social calls, for visitors were gradually decreasing. What troubled them was that the fern, too, was gradually dwindling. Finding a handful each day required much effort and walking.
One day, they were eating roasted fern-it was hard to find, so this midday meal was already in the afternoon-when a woman in her twenties suddenly approached. They had not seen her before; from her appearance, she seemed like a maidservant from a wealthy household.
“‘Under all of heaven, every inch of land belongs to the king.’ Is not the fern you are eating also our sacred emperor’s?”
Boyi and Shuqi heard her clearly. With the last sentence, it was as if a great thunderclap had struck them senseless. When they recovered their wits, the maid was gone. Naturally, they could not eat the fern, nor could they even bear to look at it. When they thought to move it away, their hands felt too heavy to lift, as if burdened by the weight of their own shame.
It was about twenty days later when a woodcutter chanced upon Boyi and Shuqi, both curled up dead in a cave behind the mountain. They had not decomposed, and though they were emaciated, it was clear they had not been dead long. The old sheepskin robe was not beneath them; no one knew where it had gone. When the news reached the village, it created another stir, drawing a large crowd of onlookers who came and went until nightfall. In the end, some busybodies buried them on the spot with yellow earth and discussed erecting a stone tablet with an inscription for later generations to treat as a historical site.
“They do not deserve my writing,” he said. “They are both fools. Going to the Retirement Hall-that was one thing, but they could not remain aloof. Going to Shouyang Mountain-that was another, but they still had to write poetry. Writing poetry was fine, but they had to voice grievances, refusing to be content with their lot, not practicing ‘art for art’s sake.’ Look at this-is such poetry of lasting value? ‘Climb that western hill and pluck its fern! / Bandits supplanting bandits, yet they know not the crime. / Shennong, Yu, and Xia-all vanished in a blink. / And where, oh where, shall I go? / To die, alas! Such is my accursed fate!’”
“You see, what sort of talk is this? Gentleness and sincerity-that is poetry. Their stuff is not merely ‘complaint’-it is outright ‘invective.’ To have no flowers, only thorns, is bad enough, let alone nothing but invective. Even setting literature aside, abandoning their ancestral heritage makes them unfilial sons. And here they mock court affairs-hardly good subjects… I will not write!…”
Yet on summer nights, people sometimes still spoke of them. Some said they died of old age, some of illness, some said they were killed by robbers for the sheepskin robe. Later, some said they probably starved themselves deliberately, for they had heard from Ah Jin, the maidservant in Little Bingjun’s household, that over ten days earlier she had gone up the mountain and taunted them with a few remarks. Fools are always quick-tempered; they probably took offence, refused food in a fit, but such fits only result in one’s own death.
Ah Jin, however, did not consider Boyi and Shuqi’s deaths to have any connection with her. Naturally, it was a fact that she had gone up the mountain and cracked a few jokes, but they were merely jokes. It was also a fact that those two fools had taken offence and therefore stopped eating fern, but they did not die then; in fact, it brought them great fortune.
“The Lord of Heaven is truly kindhearted,” she said. “Seeing their fit and that they were about to starve, He ordered a doe to feed them with her milk. Look, was that not the best of fortune? No need to farm, no need to gather firewood-just sit, and every day the doe’s milk comes of itself to your mouth. But those wretched bones knew not their place. The third one-what was his name?-pushed his luck. The doe’s milk was not enough for him. As he drank it, he thought, ‘This doe is so fat; killing it to eat must taste good.’ Slowly he stretched out his arms to reach for a stone slab. Little did he know that deer are perceptive creatures. It already knew his thoughts and immediately fled like a wisp of smoke. Heaven, too, grew disgusted with their greed and ordered the doe never to return. Look, did they not have to starve to death then? It was not because of my words, but because of their own greed, their gluttony!…”
Those who heard this story all heaved a deep sigh at the end. For some reason, they felt their own shoulders grow much lighter. Even if they sometimes still remembered Boyi and Shuqi, it was hazily, as if they could see them crouched beneath a rocky ledge, their white-bearded mouths agape, desperately devouring venison.