The History of China - #111 - Special: Strange Tales

Episode Date: October 23, 2016

Today, we veer off our main narrative and into several seasonal tales which celebrate the spooky season in Chinese fashion. We feature a ghostly gathering, a bewitched battle, injurious jests, and lethal looks. Author: Pu Songling [1640-1715 CE]Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio Featuring: The Golden Goblets (begins: 2:15) The Necromancer (begins: 13:30) The Killing Joke (begins: 21:15) The Painted Skin (begins: Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

You're listening to an Airwave Media Podcast. Hi everyone, this is Scott. If you want to learn about the world's oldest civilizations, find out how they were rediscovered, follow the story of Mark Antony and Cleopatra's descendants over ten generations, or take a deep dive into the Iron Age or the Hellenistic era, then check out the Ancient World Podcast. Available on all podcasting platforms or go to ancientworldpodcast.com. That's the Ancient World Podcast. Hello, and welcome to the History of China.

Episode 111, Strange Tales The full moon rises in the late October sky, and the wolves howl in the distance. It's the time of year when witches, ghosts, demons, and the undead roam among us. That's right, it's Halloween. Although China does not officially recognize the thoroughly Western holiday, it nevertheless is today one of the most popular among the nation's urban youth. And who can blame them? Costumes, decorations, candy, spooky stories, what's not to like?

And make no mistake, China has more than its fair share of strange and scary tales of the unnatural. I recently put out a collaboration with my peers at the Agora Podcast Network, in which I told perhaps the most famous of Chinese horror stories, called The Painted Skin. I'll also be including it as the finale in this episode today. But in the course of my research, I found far more than a single tale to tantalize and terrify. In particular, I am wholly indebted to the man who compiled all the stories you're about to hear today,

Pu Songling, from whose 1740 book Zhiguai Chuanqi, or Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio, I took what you're about to hear. He has hundreds of supernatural stories, far too many to read all here today. And so, in the Halloweens to come, I hope to put out additional episodes of Master Pu's and other Chinese horror authors' works for the English-speaking audience. For today, however, we're going to start off with a tale that baffles and amazes, even if it doesn't exactly give goosebumps.

It's the story of a young man who enters a haunted house on a dare, and finds within a tale he'll retell throughout his life, with startling results. Spirits are, after all, tricky things, and you can never tell when you just might find yourself in the possession of one of their golden goblets. Though he would later in life rise to become the president of the Board of Civil Office, in his youth a young man named Yin, a native of Licheng, was very badly off financially, though he was endowed with considerable physical courage. Now, in this part of the country, there was a large estate covering several acres,

with an unbroken succession of pavilions and verandas, and belonging to one of the old notable families of the county. But because ghosts and apparitions were frequently seen there, the place had for a long time remained abandoned and left to the wilds, and as such had long ago been reclaimed by the grasses, weeds, and thick clinging vines. For as long as anyone could remember, no one had been foolish enough to dare enter, even in broad daylight. One evening, when Yin was carousing with some fellow students, one of them jokingly said, If anyone dare to spend a night in the old

haunted house, the rest of us will throw him a grand feast in his honor. Feeling his empty stomach groan at such an offer, Yin jumped up at this proposal and cried out, Where's the difficulty in that? So, taking with him a sleeping mat, he proceeded to the very gates of the ancient villa, escorted by all his companions as far as the great outer door, where they laughed and said, We'll wait here for a little while, in case you see anything or are too frightened to go on. Go ahead and shout out to us. Yin replied with a laugh,

If there are any goblins or spirits, I'll catch them for you.' "'He then went in and found the paths obliterated by long grass, "'which had sprung up, mingled with weeds of various kinds. "'It was just the time of the new moon, "'and by its feeble light he was able to make out the door of the house. "'Feeling his way up, he walked along until he reached the back pavilion, and then went on to the moon terrace, which was such a pleasant spot that he determined to stop there.

Gazing westward, he sat for a long time, looking at the moon, it a single thread of light embracing in its horns the peak of a hill, and without hearing anything unusual at all. And so, laughing to himself at the nonsense people talked, he spread his mat upon the floor, put a smooth stone under his head as a pillow, and laid down to sleep. There he lay, and he watched the stars slowly turn above him, until the constellation that he was most familiar with, the cowherd and the lady, were on the very cusp of just dipping below the horizon.

And he was himself on the point of dropping off, when suddenly he heard footsteps down below coming up the stairs. Pretending to be asleep, he saw a servant enter, carrying in his hand what appeared to be a lotus-shaped lantern. The servant, on observing Yin, rushed back in a fright, and said to someone behind, There's a stranger here! The person spoken to asked who it was,

but the servant did not know. And then up came an old gentleman, who after examining Yin closely said, Why, it's the future president, and from the looks of it, he's as drunk as can be. We needn't mind him. Besides, he's a good fellow and won't give us any trouble. So they walked in and opened all the doors, and by and by there was a great many other

people moving about, and quantities of lamps were lighted, till the place was as bright as day. It was about this time that Yin slightly changed his position, and, unable to help himself, sneezed aloud, upon which the old man, perceiving that he was awake after all, came forward and fell down upon his knees, saying, Sir, I have a daughter who is to be married this very night. It was not anticipated that your honor would be here.

I pray, therefore, that we may be excused. Yin got up and raised the old man, regretting that, in his ignorance of this apparently festive occasion, he had brought with him no present. Ah, sir, replied the old man, your very presence here will ward off all injurious influences, and that is quite enough for us. He then begged Yin to assist in doing the honors,

and thus double the obligation already conferred. Yin readily assented, and went inside to look at the gorgeous arrangements they had made. He was here met by a lady, apparently about forty years of age, whom the old gentleman introduced as his wife, and he had hardly made his bow when he heard the sound of wooden flutes,

and someone came hurrying in, saying, He has come! He has come! The old gentleman flew out to meet this person, and Yin also stood up, awaiting his arrival. In no long time, a bevy of people with gauze lanterns ushered the bridegroom himself, who seemed to be about 17 or eighteen years old, and of a most refined and prepossessing appearance. The old gentleman bade him pay his respects first to their worthy guest, and upon his looking towards yin, that gentleman came forward to welcome him on behalf of the host.

Then followed ceremonies between the old man and his son-in-law, and when these were over, they all sat down to a supper. Hosts of waiting maids brought in profuse quantities of wine and meats, with bowls and cups of jade or gold, until the table glittered again, and when the wine had gone around several times, the old gentleman told one of the maids to summon the bride forth. This she did, but some time passed, and no bride came. So the old man rose and drew aside the curtain, pressing the young lady to come forth, whereupon a number of women escorted out the bride, whose ornaments tinkled like tiny

bells, as she walked along, sweet perfumes being all the time diffused around her. Her father told her to make the proper salutation, after which she went and sat by her mother. Yin took a glance at her, and saw that she wore on her head beautiful ornaments made of King Fisher's feathers, her beauty quite surpassing anything he had ever seen. All this time they had been drinking their wine out of the golden goblets big enough to hold several pints, when it flashed across his mind out of the golden goblets big enough to hold several pints, when it flashed across his mind that one of these goblets would be a capital thing to carry back to his companions to prove what he had seen. So he secreted away in his sleeve, and pretending to be tipsy, leaned forward with his head upon the table as if going off to sleep.

The gentleman is drunk, said the guests, and by and by Yin heard the bridegroom take his leave, and there was a general trooping downstairs to the tune of a wedding march. When they were all gone, the old gentleman collected the goblets, one of which was missing, though they hunted high and low to find it. Someone mentioned the sleeping guests, but the old gentleman stopped him at once for fear that Yin might hear, and before long silence reigned throughout. After a while yet, Yin arose. Once more it was pitch dark, and he had no light. But he could detect the lingering smell of the food, and the place was filled with the fumes of wine and perfume. Nevertheless, as his eyes once again began to grow accustomed to the night's inky blackness,

he could discern none of the decorations or festive trappings that had not long ago surrounded him. Indeed, it now seemed in the darkness as though the pavilion had not seen use in many years, and that the creeping weeds and vines had been his only companions this whole time. Of bridegrooms, lords, or even servants, there was not a trace. Faint streaks of light now appeared in the east, and so Yin began to quietly make a move, having first satisfied himself that the goblet was still tucked securely in his sleeve. Arriving at the door, he found his friends already there, for they had been afraid that he might sneak out after they left,

and then return early in the morning. When he produced the goblet, they were all lost in astonishment, and upon hearing his story, they readily believed it, knowing well that a poor student like Yin was not likely to have such a valuable piece of plate in his possession. Having satisfied his friends and won his bet, his companions threw him the promised feast, all the while begging him to regale them again and again with a strange ceremony he had inadvertently taken part in.

A decade and more passed, and Yin, successful at last in his arduous studies, took his doctoral examination and, upon upon passing was appointed magistrate over the district of Feijiu, where there was an old established family by the name of Chu. The head of this noble family asked him to a banquet to honor his arrival, and ordered the servants to bring in the largest goblets that he possessed. After some delay, a slave girl came and whispered something to her master, which seemed to make him very angry indeed. Then the goblets were brought in, and Yin was invited to drink. He now found that these goblets were of precisely the same shape and pattern

as the one that he still possessed in his home, and at once begged his host to tell him where he had had these made. Well, said Mr. Chu, there should be eight of them. An ancestor of mine had them made when he was a minister at the capital by an experienced artisan. They have been handed down in our family from generation to generation, and have now been carefully laid away for some time. But I thought we would have them out today "'as a compliment to your honour. "'However, there are only seven to be found.

"'None of the servants could have touched them, "'for the old seals of ten years ago "'are still upon the box unbroken. "'I don't know what to make of it.' "'Ian laughed compassionately and said, "'It must have flown away. "'Still, it is a pity to lose an heirloom of that kind, "'and as I have a very similar one at my home, I shall take it upon myself to send it to you.

When the banquet was over, Yin went home, and taking out his own goblet, sent it off to Mr. Qiu. The latter was somewhat surprised to find that it was identical to his own, and hurried away to thank the magistrate for his gift, asking him at the same time how it had come into his possession. Ian told him the whole strange story of the wedding night in the abandoned estate that seemed to have come from nowhere and vanished into nothing. And at this, Mr. Chu nodded and chuckled. When asked what he was laughing about, he simply stated, well, that proves it. The spirits are tricksters, and may do us good or ill at their whim. But even though they may come to possess things that are not their own,

even from hundreds of miles away, it seems, they will return them in due time. Our second tale today tells the story of a rowdy young man eager to face any challenge in life. Youth is, however, often rather short-sighted, and when a local fortune teller portends his impending doom, he'll come to find the high cost of not paying for proper protection. An ounce of prevention, they say, is worth a pound of cure, especially when you're dealing with the necromancer.

A certain Mr. Yu was a spirited young fellow, fond of boxing and trials of strength. It was said that he was able to take two kettles and swing them round about his head with the speed of a whirlwind. Now, during the reign of the Chongzhen Emperor, when up for the final examination at the capital, his servant became seriously ill. Much troubled at this, he applied to a necromancer in the marketplace who was skillful at determining the various leases of life allotted to men. Upon entering the fortune-teller's shop,

before he had even uttered a word, the necromancer asked him, saying, Is it not about your servant, sir, that you would consult me? Mr. Yu was startled at this, and replied that it was. The sick man, continued the necromancer, will come to no harm. You, sir, are the one in danger. Mr. Yu then begged him to cast his arts, which he proceeded to do, finally saying to Mr. Yu, You have but three days to live. Dreadfully frightened, he remained for some time in a state of sheer stupefaction, when the necromancer quietly observed that he possessed the power of averting this calamity by magic,

and would exert it for the sum of ten ounces of silver. But upon this, Mr. Ye reflected that life and death are already fixed, and he did not see how magic could possibly save him. So he refused, and was just leaving, whereupon the necromancer said darkly, You begrudge this trifling sum. So he refused, and was just leaving, whereupon the necromancer said darkly, You begrudge this trifling sum. I hope that you shall not come to regret such avarice. Mr. Yu's friends also urged him to pay the money,

entreating him that it would be better to empty his entire purse than to not secure the necromancer's aid against this mortal threat. Mr. Yu, however, would not hear of it, and the three days slipped quickly away. Then he sat down calmly in his inn to see what was going to happen. Nothing did happen all day, and that night he shut his door and trimmed the lamp. Then, with the sword at his side, he awaited the approach of death. By and by, the water clock showed that two hours had already gone without bringing him any nearer to his supposed fate, and he was thinking about lying down when he heard a scratching at the window. Upon looking over, he saw a tiny man creep through the crack,

carrying a small spear upon his shoulder. The tiny figure, on reaching the ground, shot up to the ordinary height. Mr. Yu seized his sword and at once struck at it, but only succeeded in cutting the air. His visitor instantly shrank down small again and made an attempt to escape through the crevice of the window. But Yu redoubled his blows, and at last brought him to the ground. Lighting the lamp, he was shocked to find only a small figurine of paper cut right through the middle.

As one might imagine, this made him quite too afraid to sleep. sleep, and so he sat up watching, until in a little time hence he saw what he could only describe as a horrid hobgoblin creeping through the same window. No sooner did it touch the ground than he assailed it lustily with his sword, at length cutting it in half. Seeing, however, that both halves kept on wriggling about, and fearing that it might somehow arise again, he went on hacking at it. Every blow rang true, giving forth a hard, clunking sound, and when he came to examine his work, he found a clay image all knocked to pieces. Upon this, he moved his seat near the window, and kept his eye fixed upon the crack. After some time, he heard a noise like a bull bellowing outside the window,

and something pushed against the window frame with such force as to make the whole house tremble and seem about to fall. Mr. Yu, fearing that he should be buried under the ruins, thought that he could do no better than fight whatever it was outside. So he accordingly burst open the door with a crash and rushed out. There, to his horror, he found a huge devil as tall as a house, and he saw by the dim light of the moon that its face was as black as coal. Its eyes shot forth yellow fire.

It had nothing either upon its shoulders or its feet, but held a bow in its hand and had some arrows at its waist. Mr. Yu was terrified, and the devil discharged an arrow at him, which he struck to the ground with his sword. On Mr. Yu preparing to strike, the creature let off another arrow, which the former avoided by jumping aside. The arrow lanced into the wall beyond and deeply embedded itself with a smart crack. Its prey proving more difficult than it had anticipated, the demon now became enraged and drew its sword, flourishing it before itself like a whirlwind.

The creature aimed a tremendous blow at Mr. Yu, although Yu ducked, and the whole force of the blow fell upon the stone wall of the house, cutting it right in two. Mr. Yu then ran out from between the devil's legs and began hacking away at its back. Thwack! Thwack! The devil now became even more furious and roared like thunder, turning around to get another blow at its assailant. But Mr. Yu ran again between its legs, and the devil's sword merely cutting off a piece of his cloak. Once more he hacked away, thwack, thwack, and at length, with a moan of agony, the demon came tumbling down to the ground. Mr. Yu cut at him left and right, each blow resounding like a watchman's wooden gong. And then, bringing a light, he found that it was nothing more than a wooden image,

about as tall as a man. The bow and arrows were still there, the latter attached to its waist. Its carved and painted features were most hideous to behold, and wherever Mr. Yu had struck it with his sword, blood gushed forth. Mr. Yu sat with the light in his hand till morning, when, with the sun's first rays, he came to realize that all these devils had been sent by the necromancer in order to kill him so

as to prove his own magical power. The next day, after having told the story far and wide, he went with some others to the place where the necromancer still had his stall. But the latter, seeing them coming, vanished in a twinkling of an eye. Someone observed that the blood of a dog would reveal a person who had made himself invisible, and so Mr. Yu immediately procured some and went back with it. The necromancer disappeared as before, but on the spot where he had been standing, they quickly threw down the dog's blood. Thereupon, they saw the necromancer's head and face all smeared over with blood, and his eyes glaring like a demon's. At once seizing the man, they handed him over to the authorities,

by whom he was put to death. History isn't black and white, yet too often it's presented as such. Grey History, The French Revolution is a long-form history podcast dedicated to exploring the ambiguities and nuances of the past. By contrasting both the experiences of contemporaries and the conclusions of historians, grey history dives into the detail and unpacks one of the most important and disputed events in human history. From a revolution based on hope and liberty, to its descent into the infamous reign of terror, there's plenty to discuss, and plenty of grey to explore. One can't understand the modern world without understanding the French Revolution.

So if you're looking for your next long-form, binge-worthy history podcast, one recommended by universities and loved by enthusiasts, then check out Grey History, The French Revolution today. Or simply search for lightheartedness. And only too late will he come to understand the true consequences of the killing joke. A Mr. Sun Jingxia, a director of studies, told me that in his village there was a certain man who had been nearly killed by rebels when they passed through the place. The man's head was left hanging down on his chest,

and as soon as the rebels had gone, his servants secured the body and were about to bury it. Hearing, however, a sound of breathing, they looked more closely and found that the windpipe was not wholly severed. Setting his head in its proper place then, they carried him back home. In twenty-four hours' time he began to moan, and by dint of carefully feeding him with a spoon, within six months he had quite recovered. Some ten years afterwards he was chatting with a few friends, when one of them made a joke that called forth loud applause from the others. Our hero, too, clapped his hands and laughed, but as he was bending backwards and forwards with laughter, the seam on his neck split open and down fell his head in a gush of blood. His friends now found that he was quite dead, and his father immediately commenced an action

against the Joker. But a sum of money was subscribed by those present, and given to the father, who buried his son and stopped further proceedings. In our final story today, a philandering fellow will meet a seemingly innocent maiden on the roadside and seek to take her home with him. But he'll soon come to find

that, though the heart wants what it wants, beauty is often only skin deep. Join us as we learn the horrible secret of the painted skin. At Taiyuan in Shandong, there once lived a scholar named Wang. Early one morning, he was out walking when he met a young lady carrying a bundle and hurrying along by herself. As she moved along with some difficulty, made all the more so by her bound feet, Wang quickened his pace and caught up with her, and found she was a pretty girl, perhaps only sixteen. Much smitten, he inquired where she was going so early, and with no one with her.

"'I'm merely a traveler like you,' replied the girl. "'You cannot ease my burdens, so why trouble yourself to ask?' "'What distress is it?' said Wong. "'I'm sure I'll do anything I can for you.' She answered, "'My parents loved money, and they sold me as a concubine into a rich family. That wouldn't have been so bad, but the master's wife was very jealous and beat and abused me morning and night. It was more than I could stand, so I have run away.

Wong asked again where she was going, to which she replied that a runaway had no fixed place to live. Well, my house is at no great distance, said Wong. What do you say to coming there? Joyfully, she agreed, and Wong, taking up her bundle for her, led the way to his house. Finding no one in the building to which he led her, the girl asked Wong where his family was, to which he replied that what she took for his house was in fact just the library. And a very nice place too, she said. But if you are kind enough to wish to save my life, you mustn't let it be known that I'm here. Wang promised he would not divulge her secret, and having agreed to this, the scholar took her with him to bed.

She remained there at Wang's house for several days without anyone knowing anything about it, after which he finally told his wife of the girl's presence and her woeful tale. But she, fearing the girl might belong to some influential family, advised him to send her away at once. This, however, he would not consent to do. Several days later, when going into town one morning, Wang met a Taoist priest, who upon meeting his gaze froze and looked him up and down in astonishment. Pulling Wang aside, the priest asked him in a hushed and fearful tone, My boy, just what have you met in your travels? Well, I've met nothing, monk, replied Wang. The priest continued, Why, you've clearly been accursed. Even an old man like me, nearly blind, can see it clear as day, and yet you tell me you've met nothing?

Hmph! But Wang insisted that it was so, and the priest walked away, muttering under his breath, The fool! Some people don't seem to know when death is at hand. This pronouncement startled Wang, who at first thought of the girl, but then he reflected that a pretty young thing like her couldn't well be a witch, and began to suspect that the priest was merely wanting to trick a gullible fool out of his coins. That evening, when he had returned at last to his home, he was surprised, and a little annoyed, to find the library door not only shut, but apparently bolted from the inside.

Wang suspected that something must be wrong, and so he climbed over the gate wall, only to find the inner door shut against him as well. Determined to know just what was going on in his own house, Wang silently crept around to the side of the library and slowly peeked through the window. What he saw froze him in terror. Within his study there hunched a hideous demon. Its shape was human-like, but that's where the similarity stopped and the horror began. Its face and body were the putrid green of a rotten corpse. Its fetid flesh sheened with a sticky wetness, and both of its unnaturally long arms ended in razor-like claws. And from its hideous gaping jaw jutted scores of needle-sharp fangs in every direction.

As Wong peered away, his own jaw now very much agape, he noticed that the creature was hunched over something and busily at work. Somehow, his horrified curiosity overcame the paralysis of terror, and he leaned closer into the window frame to see what this abomination labored over. To his further revulsion, the demon had spread what looked like a complete human skin upon the bed, and was painting it up and down with a paintbrush dipped in white. Finished, the creature then threw aside the brush, and gave the skin a shake-out, just as one might an overcoat. Satisfied with its grisly work, the demon then threw the painted skin over its shoulders, when lo, it was the girl again! Pristine, beautiful, and to all appearances, perfectly human.

Stumbling away in terror at this revelation, Wong managed to get away from the locked library without arousing her, no, its, notice, and then broke into a frantic run down to the city in search of the priest he'd encountered earlier that day. Wong searched the darkened streets and shops before at last finding the old man in a nearby field. Panting in both exhaustion and terror, he threw himself on his knees and begged the priest to save him. After hearing the tale Wong sputtered out,

the priest nodded gravely. It is even worse than I feared this morning. I'm afraid you've taken into your home a demon from the pit. Normally, such foul spirits are nothing but thought and vapor, without bodies of their own. But from time to time, certain of their number can take form and come into our own world by swapping places with some poor soul. As to driving her away, the creature must be in great distress to have sought such a mortal form, for as terrible as the thing is that you have described, that is the only time that they are truly vulnerable. However, I would not advise you seek to harm the creature, both because my vows forbid me in aiding in the injury of any living thing however foul it might be and also because it is far more likely that any such attempt would result in your demise rather than that creature's would be to ward the demon off and force it to leave. I think I have something that might help. From his satchel, the priest then produced an amulet and gave it to Wang, and bade him hang

it at the door of his bedroom that night, and then to meet him again the following day at the nearby Qingdi Temple. Still terrified, but at least somewhat assuaged by the priest's ward, Wang returned home but did not dare enter the library. As quietly as he could, he made his way directly for his own living quarters and hung the amulet upon the bedroom door before closing and bolting it firmly behind him. When his wife, Lady Chen, looked at him quizzically for such an out-of-character behavior, he began to explain his story of the priest's warning, but before long they heard the sounds of footsteps creeping outside. Long once again found himself frozen in terror,

and so his wife approached the door, unlatched it, and peered out. There she saw the girl standing stock still and staring at the amulet on the door, with a look of pure dread on her face and apparently either unwilling or unable to pass it. Her gaze briefly turned to the wife, who looked at her in silent confusion, but the girl said nothing, only ground her teeth and walked away. Whatever relief her departure brought Wang, however, was short-lived. Shortly thereafter, the girl returned to the bedroom door, but this time she began loudly cursing in a voice that sounded almost inhuman, much less that of a young girl.

You and your silly little priest won't frighten me. Do you think I'm going to give up what's already in my grasp? At once, she reached out and seized the priest's amulet and tore it to shreds before bursting through the door and into Wang's living quarters. The scholar's knees buckled in terror as the girl proceeded directly toward him. Before he could move or react, her hand shot out and straight into Wang's chest, before pulling back out again with his bloody, still-beating heart in her clawed grip. Without so much as a look at Lady Chun as the woman cried out in terror and fear, she spun about and left the way she had came with her terrible prize.

Aroused by the clamor, a servant burst into the room from his quarters and held aloft a lantern, illuminating the grisly scene. As Lady Chun screamed in terror from the floor, Wang lay motionless on the floor in a widening pool of his own blood and a gaping mess of a hole in his chest, and bits of blood splattered everywhere across the room. His wife, in an agony of fright and shock, spent the remainder of the night nearly immobile and silently weeping from the shock of what she'd witnessed. But the next morning, she was at least able to direct Wang's brother to see the priest that her late husband had told her about before his grisly fate. At the Qingdi Temple, upon hearing the horror of the previous night, the old priest bitterly spat out, Foul demon! Was it for this that I showed you compassion and mercy not a day before?

Together with Wang's brother, the priest proceeded at once to the house, but upon arriving they learned that a thorough search of the premises had concluded that the girl was nowhere to be found, and with no one having seen her leave or know of her destination. But the priest, raising his head and still sensing evil nearby, looked all around and said, Luckily, she's still not far off. He then asked who lived in the houses on the south side of the compound, to which Wang's brother replied that they were his. Nodding, the priest declared that there is where the demon would be found. Wang's brother was, of course, horribly frightened,

and said that he did not think that this was so. And then the priest asked him if any stranger had been to the house. To this he answered that he had been out at the Qingji Temple, of course, and couldn't possibly say. But he went off to inquire, and in a little while came back and reported that an old woman had sought service with them as a housemaid and had been engaged by his wife. That is the beast, said the priest, as Wang's brother added that she was still there, and so they all set out to go to the house together.

Having arrived at the compound, the priest took out a wooden sword, endowed with Taoist carvings and blessings, and, standing in the middle of the courtyard, shouted aloud, Fiend of the Abyss! You have stolen my amulet! I demand its return! The elderly new housemaid, greatly alarmed, tried to get away through the back door, but was caught by the priest, who approached her, wooden sword raised. The priest struck the woman with the flat of the blunt blade, and she fell down flat. As she did so, the human skin peeled back and away from her, exposing the hideous green monstrosity within.

The creature lay there grunting like a pig, until the priest once again raised his wooden sword and cleaved it down, striking off her head, and then holding it up for the whole household to see. The headless green body lay still only for a few moments, before, to the shock of the onlookers, yet another change began. The head and body both began to fulminate into a dense column of inky black smoke curling up from the ground with what appeared to be purpose and intent.

All were shocked by this sight, all but the priest, who at once took out an uncorked bottle from his satchel and threw it right into the midst of the smoke. A sucking noise was heard, and the whole column was drawn into the bottle, after which the priest corked it up closely and put it back into his pouch. The skin, too, which was complete even to the eyebrows, eyes, hands, and feet, he also rolled up as though it were a scroll and likewise placed it into the folds of his satchel. His task now complete.

The priest made to leave when Wang's wife stopped him with tears in her eyes entreating him to bring her dead husband back to life. The priest said that he was unable to do that, but Wang's wife flung herself at his feet with loud lamentations and implored his assistance. For some time he remained immersed in thought, but at last he replied, My power is not equal to what you ask. I myself cannot raise the dead, but I will direct you to someone who may, and if you apply yourself to him properly,

you will succeed. Wang's wife asked the priest who it was, to which he replied, There is a man in the city who many mistake for a madman, for he passes his time groveling in the dirt and shouting at all who will hear. Go now and prostrate yourself before him and beg him to help you. If he insults you, show no sign of anger. If he beats you, do not shed a tear and bear his ranting silently and with your ultimate goal in mind. Only this way will you be able to bring your husband back. Wang's brother knew the man to whom the priest alluded, and accordingly bade the priest adieu, and then proceeded at once with his sister-in-law in tow. Together they found the destitute beggar raving away by the roadside, so filthy that it was all

they could do to even go near him. From his nose a long string of snot dangled, to which he paid no mind, and his clothes were nothing but filthy rags. Nevertheless, Wong's wife approached him on her knees, at which the maniac leered at her and cried out, Why, my beauty, what do I owe the pleasure? Perhaps it is that you have fallen in love with me? Wang's wife told him what she had come for, but he only laughed and said, You can get plenty of other husbands. Why raise the dead one back to life? But Wang's wife again pleaded for his aid, and his demeanor markedly changed. He now shouted,

I can't understand you people. Why do you always accost me with these pleas to raise your dead, raise your dead, as though I were the king of hell? As much out of anger as his own bemusement, the beggar then lashed out at Wang's wife with his walking stick and gave her a thorough thrashing, which she bore without a mummer and before a gradually increasing crowd of spectators. At last tiring of his violent game,

the beggar started hacking up phlegm into his cupped hands until it was filled, and then held it to Lady Chun's face, saying, Eat it then! But here she broke down and was quite unable to do so. However, she did manage the loathsome task at last. As it entered her throat, it felt like a compacted fuzz. It slid slowly down into her chest and then clotted into a firm knot. At this, the maniac cried out in manic glee.

Why, my beauty, it is true. Oh, you must love me. Cackling all the while, the loathsome beggar arose and staggered away without taking any more notice of her. Both Lady Chun and her brother-in-law attempted to pursue the figure through the city din and made it as far as the nearby temple, the whole time chanting loud supplications of thanks and appreciation. But by the time they had reached the gate, he had disappeared without a trace, and no matter how long and hard they searched,

he had, to the best of their knowledge, vanished altogether. Succumbing at last to her disgust, rage, and shame, Wang's wife stormed home, where she mourned bitterly over her dead husband, grievously repenting the extreme steps she had taken, and now wishing nothing more than to join him in death. As the hours ticked by, though, she began to think of the pressing need to start preparing the corpse for its funeral. Owing to the grisly circumstance and dark magics surrounding his death, none of Wang's servants had dared venture near his still corpse.

Thus it was left to Lady Chun alone to set to work, closing up the gaping hole in his chest and preparing him for burial. As she busied herself in this grim task, she was interrupted from time to time by her own sobs. Even this, however, was interrupted by a strange and frightening feeling, that of a rising solid lump in her throat. The solid mass pressed ever upward as though through its own volition, and at last, with a choking gag, popped free from her throat and fell straight into the dead man's gaping wound. Looking downward, she saw that it was in fact a human heart, and as soon as she had comprehended this, it began by its own accord to throb and pulse, emitting a warm, vapor-like smoke.

Much excited, she at once closed the flesh over it and held the sides of the wounds together with all her might. Very soon, however, she got tired, and, finding the gaseous vapors escaping from the crevices, she tore a piece of silk from her own brocade and bound it around the bloody flesh. She then began rubbing Wang's body all over and covering it with clothes in an attempt to revive his circulation, until at last she was thoroughly exhausted by the effort. Later that night, she removed the coverings and found that breath was coming from his nose, and by the next morning her husband was awake and aware again,

though disturbed in mind as if having awoken from a dream, and feeling a strange pain in his chest. Where his heart had just days before been ripped from it, there was now a fleshy pink scar in his chest about as big as a coin, which rapidly disappeared like smoke drifting through the wind. The Chronicler of the Strange Remarks How foolish men are to see nothing but beauty in what is clearly evil, and how benighted to dismiss as absurd what is clearly well intended.

It is folly such as this that obliges the Lady Chun to steal herself to eat another man's phlegm, when her husband has fallen prey to the basal urge of lust. Heaven's way has its inexorable justice, but some mortals remain foolish and never see its light. The French Revolution set Europe ablaze. It was an age of enlightenment and progress, but also of tyranny and oppression. It was an age of glory and an age of tragedy. One man stood above it all. This was the age of Napoleon. I'm Everett Rummage, host of the Age of Napoleon podcast. Join me as I examine the life and times of one of the most fascinating and enigmatic characters in modern history. Look for the Age of Napoleon wherever you find your podcasts.