The History of China - #151 - Special: Strange Tales 3

Episode Date: October 15, 2018

Our third entry of Seasonal Spookiness for your unsettling aural pleasure. From Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio (聊齋志異) by: Pu Songling 1:25 - "The Girl in Green" 8:30 - "A Very Sharp Sword" 10:45 - "He Came Back" 18:25 - "A Transformation" 22:45 - "Mr. Miao" 34:05 - "A Prank" 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 151, Strange Tales 3. The chill of autumn returns to the air, the leaves begin to change their color, and so it is time once again to take a break from our regularly scheduled narrative to bring you yet another collection of strange tales from a Chinese studio. For those of you who might not remember, I've been putting out this special collection for about three years now, bringing you stories of the great Ming Dynasty author and purveyor of the weird and wonderful Pu Songling. Before launching in, please note that at least one of these stories is set to appear in the month-long extravaganza put out by our own Agora Podcast Network, in which all of us podcasters pitch in to give you nightmares from across time and space.

So be sure to tune in to the Agoraphobia event that will be occurring all through the month of October. Alright, let's get going. Our first tale concerns the appearance of a mysterious woman at the chambers of a studious but lonely man. Things are definitely not what they first appear, but as we'll learn, not all supernatural visitations are made with ill intent. Some are just looking for help out of a sticky situation. Like the girl in green.

In Yidu County, there lived a young man by the name of Yu Jing. Traveling as he was on the way to his examinations, he had taken his books with him and came to reside for a time at the lodgings provided by Sweet Spring Temple, since it provided him with the peace and quiet repose that he needed to concentrate on his studies. One night there, while sitting in his room and reciting a text aloud, he heard the lilting voice of a woman coming from his window. Oh, Mr. Yu, what a very studious student you are,

the voice playfully intoned. How odd, he thought, that there would be a woman of any kind up so far in the mountains as the Sweet Spring Temple, much less be allowed by the monks into the complex. He was still pondering at this, not yet even to the oddity of the voice seeming to know his name, when she burst through the door to his chamber, pushing the door open and giving him a most disarming smile. So very serious indeed, she lightly mocked him once again. Yu jumped up in alarm,

only to find himself face to face with a girl of the most incomparable delicacy and most exquisite beauty, clad in an emerald green tunic and long skirt. It was immediately clear both from her appearance and her peculiar demeanor that she was no ordinary mortal, and Yu stammered out a question, asking where she'd come from. Don't worry, I'm hardly going to bite you, she replied with a coy grin. Why the Inquisition? In spite of his initial shock, Yu found himself instantly captivated with the girl, and that very night they shared his bed. When he reached to loosen her silk tunic,

it revealed a waist so slender that his hands could circle it with ease. They then spent the evening enjoying one another's company. Somewhere between the sounding of the last watch and the crowing of the cockerel, she slipped away into the night, and you awoke the next morning alone again, but thoroughly enraptured with this mysterious beauty. Through the rest of the day, studies now thoroughly forgotten, you worried that he might not see her again, or that it may have all just been a wondrous dream. Yet the next night she returned again, and the one after, and so on. In the course of one such evening, as the pair were sharing drinks and conversing, she made a remark that betrayed an unusual understanding of music.

Intrigued, Yu leaned in and said, I love the sound of your voice. It is so fine and soft. Please, sing me a song. I'm quite sure it will carry my soul away. The girl as ever smiled, but replied, I'd rather not. I wouldn't want to carry you too far away. But Yu wasn't ready to let his request pass so easily, and so pressed her yet again. I'm not trying to be unkind, she said. It's just that I don't want others to hear. If you really insist, I'll sing a song for you. But only for you, so I'll sing it quietly. And with that, she tapped her tiny golden lotus feet on the edge of the bed and began to sing. 路上无旧鸟,转如钟也散,不远绣写诗,只恐狼无伴。

Jackdaw singing in the tree, tricks me away before the light. I'll gladly wear my pretty shoes, if I can stay with you tonight. Her voice was light as silk and barely audible. Yu Jing listened intently, and his whole being vibrated to the haunting, lilting melody. At last, the song ended. At once, she sprung up, made her way to the door, and peeked outside. When you looked at her quizzically, she replied, I must make sure there is no one at the window spying on us.

At length, she searched the whole exterior of the building. When at last she returned, you asked her, you looked so frightened. Whatever is the matter? As always, she turned to regard him with a smile and replied, there's an old saying, a ghost that steals life must forever live in fear. Such is my fate. Shortly after she laid down next to him, "'yet still seemed restless and ill at ease. "'This wonderful tryst of ours is fated to end,' she said to you. "'He sat up and begged her to explain what she meant. "'My heart beats strangely. "'I know that my end is close at hand.' "'You scoffed.

"'Why, that's nothing to fear. "'Flutterings of the heart, flickerings of the eyelids, "'such things happen to all of us from time to time. You mustn't be so gloomy. She seemed cheered by his reassurances, and they once again fell into the throes of passion. Once again, as the final watch sounded in the night, she rose, donned her dress, and walked towards the door. Yet this night, rather than unlatching the bolt, opening it, and leaving him, she began pacing back and forth in front of the door. At last she turned back to the curious Yu Jing and said, I do not know why, but something fills me with dread.

Come outside with me, I beg you. Soundlessly Yu rose, dressed himself, and made his way with her to the front door. Once outside, the girl turned to Yu, pointed to the outer wall, and said, Stay there and watch me go. Please don't go inside again until I'm beyond that wall. Very well, you agreed, and he watched her depart silently down the outer wall of the cloister and around the corner until she was out of sight. He turned back and had begun to make for his own chamber once again, when he heard a desperate cry for help. Instantly recognizing it as her voice, Yu turned and bolted towards the cry,

rounding the corner she'd disappeared behind. Looking all around, though, he was shocked to find that, though her voice rang out clearly, she was nowhere to be seen. The closer he got to her pleas, the more he realized that her voice seemed to be coming from somewhere above him, rather than immediately around him. Looking upward at the eaves of the gate's doorframe, he caught sight of a large spider's web, with its attendant spider busily working to unwrap a struggling insect. Ensnared in the large, black predator's eight limbs was a tiny, emerald-green hornet, emitting a pitiful and plaintive noise as it squirmed in a futile bid to free itself from the jaws of death closing in around it. At once grabbing a nearby stick, Yu Jing took the web down from the doorframe, startling the spider from its work and scaring it away into the darkness. Yu then carefully disentangled the tiny creature from the silk wrappings and gently carried it back to his room, where he placed it on the table.

Within a short amount of time, the hornet had recovered sufficient strength to move again on its own. It slowly crawled its way over to the nearby inkstone and pressed its back quarters into the wet ink. Emerging again, it clambered back down onto the table and began walking in a peculiar pattern. Within mere minutes, the tiny creature had spelled out the words, Thank you, onto the wooden surface.

It then gave its tail and wings a shake, removing the excess ink from its green, gleaming body, and flew out of the window into the night sky, never to be seen by you again. We all know that a life of crime is a dangerous business, and those on the run from the law have to look for any advantage that they can get. In this next short story, one career criminal finds that the best friend you can sometimes hope for is a very sharp sword. Near the end of the Ming dynasty, the region surrounding Jinan was overrun with bandits. Every township was fully garrisoned by soldiers on the

lookout for illegal activity, and whenever a bandit or thief was caught, he would be swiftly put to death. The town of Zhangqiu had an especially large number of such bandits, and one of the government soldiers stationed there was known to possess a sword of exceptional sharpness. His blade was said to be able to cut cleanly through anything, as though slicing through nothing more than thin air. And the legend of his prowess in its use was known far and wide. One day, a group of a dozen bandits were surrounded and apprehended, and then brought immediately to the execution grounds.

One of them recognized the fabled soldier with the very sharp sword. Hobbling his way over to his side, the condemned man spoke up. Everyone says that your sword is exceptionally sharp, that it can cut through anything as though it were nothing at all. The soldier said nothing, but was inclined to give a small smile, seemingly in affirmation. The bandit pressed on. If that be the case, sir, then I beg you show me what mercy you can. Let it be your blade that kills me, so that my death will be clean and painless. The soldier paused a moment, and then nodded and replied,

Hmm, very well. If that's your wish, then I agree. Be careful to stay right next to me until the appointed time. The bandit followed the soldier closely to the execution grounds, and when the time came, dutifully took to his knees and stretched his neck out. The soldier drew his sword, and just like the rumor stated, cut through the bone, sinew, and flesh in a single effortless strike. The bandit's head hit the ground and rolled several feet before coming to a stop, and as it did so, it was heard by the crowd to gasp aloud,

My, my, it's true, that really is a sharp sword. The veil between this world and the next is usually understood to be an impassable, one-way barrier. A journey that we all must take, yet none of us can ever come back from. Yet sometimes, that barrier seems to be a bit more porous. And in such instances, what would you do if you thought that the love of your life was gone forever, only to find that he came back? In a village near Ji-Yang, there was a man by the name of Ju, who, at the age of 50 or so, fell ill and soon thereafter died. His family had come into the dead man's room and were all busy adjusting their clothes and making other preparations for the upcoming funeral, when all of a sudden they heard the dead man call out loud and clear. Hurrying over to his bedside, they were one and all delighted to discover that there had

been some kind of a terrible mistake and that he was indeed alive and now awake. Nearly pouring over one another, they hurried to ask him any questions they could think of regarding the nature of his experience and that of the other side. Yet the man seemed almost to hear none of their inquiries, and instead demanded that he must speak with his wife, and only his wife, at once. On this he was most insistent, and would countenance neither distraction nor delay. Within a few minutes' time, the Lady Jew arrived at her beloved husband's bedside and knelt, weeping in relief at the foot of his bed where her husband now sat upright. Tears in her eyes,

she too begged him to explain the nature of his experience and what he'd seen. At this, a faraway look appeared in the recently deceased man's eyes, and he recounted, When I departed, at first, it didn't even occur to me to try to come back. I experienced such a sense of peace, of relief, that I thought nothing of but continuing on my journey. But surely thereafter, or perhaps it was a long time, I don't know if time works the same way there. In any case, after I'd walked down my path for a few miles, my mind turned to you, dear wife. I thought that I was leaving you behind. I couldn't face the prospect of facing an eternity without you by my side, nor of the pain my departure must surely cause to you. Surely at

your age, there would be no joy left in life, no new adventures or pleasures to look forward to, just counting down the days until you too would have succumbed to the ravages of time and age. Ultimately, of course, your frail form would fail to the point that you would become a burden on our children and have to depend on them for everything, year in and year out, winter and summer, and have to depend on them for everything, until death finally relieved you of all such terrible burdens. I could not stand such a thought, and that is why I have come back. To make sure that such a terrible fate does not befall you or our children by taking you with me. There was a sudden burst of laughter from the assembled

family members at this last statement, which could surely just be the delirious ravings of a man only having just recovered consciousness after a long period in a coma. Yet, when asked to Yen, he repeated the same words, and then said, I've come back, dear wife, to take you with me. At this, Lady Ju grew notably uncomfortable. Yet she too understood that her husband was still recovering from the effects of his extended sleep, and so responded soothingly. That's all very well and good, dear husband, but you've only just this minute come back to us from the beyond. How will you manage to die a second time? Mr. Jew waved away such a notion as being immaterial, stating,

That is no problem whatsoever. I have but a single purpose here. All I need for you to do, before we proceed onward, is to see and conclude any last-minute chores or responsibilities that need doing, and then we'll be on our way. Lady Ju sat there a long moment, smile frozen onto her face, before simply nodding, rising, and proceeding out of the room. It was not more than a few minutes later that she returned and stated with the same forced cheerfulness, husband, I've seen everything. All in the household is as it should be. Very good, replied Mr. Jew from his bed. Now all that remains is to dress yourself properly. Please go and don clothes appropriate for your funeral. At this, of course, Lady Jew objected,

stating that this was beyond the pale of propriety and that no one should have to do such a thing. Yet with each word of her objection, Mr. Jew grew more and more impatient, and at last cut her off, urging her to hurry, and that time was short. Finally, in an attempt to humor her clearly still unwell husband, Lady Ju agreed to put on her finest gown. Through all of this, the rest of the assembled family

members had stood off to the side, silent save for their occasional sniggerings, poorly hidden behind their hands at such a ridiculous display. When Lady Ju had at last changed into her finest silk gown and returned to her husband's chamber, Mr. Ju nodded his assent and then lay himself down flat on his back with his head once again on his pillow. Once he had done that, he beckoned her to his side. When she approached him, he now demanded that she join him on the bed, tapping on the empty space at his side. When she approached him, he now demanded that she join him on the bed, tapping on the empty space at his side. At this, Lady Ju was once again aghast. But all of our children are around us. It's entirely improper. We'll debase ourselves and

earn their laughter if we lay together like that in front of them. Mr. Ju made no reply but to once again pat the empty portion of the bed, albeit this time a bit more impatiently. When she again demurred, he exclaimed, Laugh! There is no mirth in this! Dying together is no laughing matter! The assembled family members were, of course, taken rather aback by such a statement, and, seeking to appease the clearly growing impatience and rising anger of their father, urged their mother to simply gratify this whim of his, and that they'd, of course, not laugh,

as it was simply seeking to gratify a clearly delusional man's demands. Reluctantly, Lady Ju assented and climbed atop her husband's bed, laying her head down beside him. There she lay, smiling that smile at her husband as his eyes closed with a clear indication of deepest relaxation. For a long moment, and in spite of the several people gathered around, the room was filled with an absolute silence. At long last, low snickers were detectable from behind raised hands. When seemingly all at once, the smile on Lady Ju's face faded and her eyes peacefully closed. Silence once again reigned, with everyone thinking that, in spite of her embarrassing predicament, her exhaustion and

relief must have made her fall asleep. At length, the family members approached the sleeping couple. Reaching forth to check them, however, to their horror they discovered that both Mr. and Lady Jew's skin were cold as stone, and neither Jew breath. They had indeed joined one another in death. From Fort Sumter to the Battle of Gettysburg. From the Emancipation Proclamation to Appomattox Courthouse. From the 13th, 14th, and 15th Amendments to the Compromise of 1877. From Abraham Lincoln and Ulysses S. Grant and William Tecumseh Sherman. To Jefferson Davis and Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson. The Civil War and Reconstruction was a

pivotal era in American history. I'm Rich. And I'm Tracy. And we're the hosts of a podcast that takes a deep dive into that era when a war was fought to save the Union and to free the slaves. And when the work to rebuild the nation after that war was over turned into a struggle to guarantee liberty and justice for all Americans. Look for The Civil War and Reconstruction wherever you find your podcasts. Death is change. Some see it as a final one, while others see it as a shift to just another form of reality. Of course, we can never truly know for sure, but some are more certain than others that it is more than an end. It's a transformation.

A certain monk, no one ever knew where he was originally from nor his his given name. Lived in Jinan. He was well known throughout the city, for every day making his way down to the entertainment district on Hibiscus Street, next to Bright Lake. There, day in and day out, come sun, rain, sleet, or snow, he would wander about from stall to stall in bare feet and a tattered cassock, chanting sutras to the patrons of the various restaurants and tea houses, and begging for alms. Most curiously, he never accepted material offerings of any sort, not food, wine, money, or even raw grain. And when asked what it was he was begging for exactly,

what it was he was in need of, he gave no reply. Stranger still, none could ever recall having seen him eat or drink anything at all. Reverend Master, he was once politely advised, since you eat no meat and drink no wine, would it not be better to beg for alms in some lonely lane in a faraway mountain village rather than come here and daily endure the stench and clamor of the city? The monk did not deign to give a reply to this, just continued his chanting of sutras without pause, his eyelids closed and unmoving, as though he had heard nothing at all.

After a long minute, perhaps thinking that he had indeed somehow not heard the advice, the same was offered again. This time, though, the monk stopped and glared up at the questioner with hard eyes before booming out, He went immediately back to his chanting, once again not responding to anyone. The man who had asked the initial question, though, was now deeply curious and asked what this transformation could be. To his questioning, the monk gave no reply, but only continued walking and chanting down the city street. When the man followed and asked again what he'd meant, the monk once more paused, sternly locked eyes with the interlocutor, and bellowed, You can know nothing. This is my transformation. This is what I am seeking. Several days passed before the monk

was seen again. Very strange indeed, since his arrival at the marketplace was a regular and expected daily event. Yet at last he was spotted, but now outside the southern walls of the city, lying curled up beside the road and stiff as a corpse. He remained there motionless for three days. The local people, afraid that he would starve to death and that they would be held responsible, urged him time and again to move on to another settlement and that they would provide him with whatever money or food his journey might require. The monk made no reply and refused to so much as open his eyes, whereupon the townspeople grew increasingly angry at this bizarre behavior. At length, they began to berate him, and even shake him in an attempt to arouse him from this strange state.

Presently, the monk grew more and more incensed, until finally he produced a small blade from his robe. In a flash, and before anyone could react, he slit open his own stomach. As the crowd watched in dumbfounded horror, he reached in with one hand and proceeded to pull out his own innards, laying them all neatly in a row on the roadside. Laying back down, he then quickly died. When the horror-struck crowd of townspeople at last regained enough of their senses to react to this deadly display, they immediately informed the city prefect of this crazed suicide, wrapped the corpse in his own prayer mat, and then gave it a hasty burial in a shallow grave. Some time later, a local dog found and dug up the grave, and exposed the impromptu burial shroud of the prayer mat. It had clearly been undisturbed since its interment, and was wrapped

up and sealed just as tightly as the day it had been buried. Yet upon inspection and moving the mat in an effort to rebury it, it was found to be strangely light and sounded hollow within. Finally unsealing the makeshift coffin, it was discovered to the shock of all that inside it was now as empty as a cocoon. Growing up, one of the most difficult, and most important, lessons that we learn is that not everyone is always who they appear to be. That said, it's also true that some people are more different than others. So be polite, be friendly, but maybe not too friendly with Mr. Miao. A young up-and-coming scholar named Gong, a native of Mizhou, was on his way to take the official examination in Xinjiang. Late one afternoon in the course of his trip, he decided to rest for a spell and refresh himself at a roadside inn, and ordered some wine to drink.

Just then, a very tall and noble-looking stranger walked in, seated himself to Gong's side, and struck up a conversation with him. Gong offered the stranger a cup of wine, which the stranger did not refuse. Yet as the two drank and conversed, it quickly became apparent to Gong that in spite of his appearance, his new companion was a rough and coarse fellow in both word and demeanor. Gong therefore decided not to order more wine and let the conversation

come to its natural conclusion. After a short time had passed, Mr. Miao smirked and made the wry observation that one such as Gong clearly had nowhere near the head for wine as he himself possessed. Rising before Gong could think to respond, Miao exited to the nearby distillery and shortly returned with an enormous bowl full to the brim with wine. Gong raised his hand to decline the proffered cup and made as if to be on his way. Yet at this, Mr. Miao gripped him by the forearm

to make him stay, with a grasp so powerful that Gong gasped in pain and astonishment. Sensing that there was no recourse, Gong sat back down and forced himself to drink a few more cups of the astringent liquor. All the while, Miao gulped down the beverage without reserve out of a much larger soup dish. At length, and with the serving bowl mostly

depleted, Miao cried out, Bah, I am no good at entertaining people. Pray you go on or stop, whichever you wish. Seeing that his moment to depart had at last arrived, Gong gathered his belongings and gave the appropriate thanks to Mr. Miao for his curious company. He saddled up his horse and made off down the road. Yet it wasn't more than a few miles on when Gong's steed took ill and could not be made to carry on, instead lying down off to the side of the road. This was most unfortunate, as Gong couldn't possibly hope to go either backwards or forwards with all of his heavy baggage without his mount. As he stood there contemplating what to do next, who should appear

striding down the very same road but Mr. Miao? Recognizing at once his roadside drinking partner, Meow stopped and asked whatever could be the matter. Gong related his predicament, and Meow at once removed his overcoat and handed it to a manservant. As Gong could do nothing but watch in stunned silence, Mr. Meow proceeded to lift up the entire horse fully encumbered with the baggage and place it without noticeable effort on his back, and then carry it off down the road at an astonishing pace to the nearest inn, which couldn't have been less than six or seven miles distant. Arriving there, he put the animal into the stables, and before long, Gong and the manservants arrived too. Obviously, Gong was much astonished at Mr. Miao's feat, and believing him now to be superhuman,

began to treat him with the utmost respect and deference, ordering both wine and food to be procured in large quantities and brought to the pair for their refreshment. Miao waved off the second order, however, stating, My appetite is not one that you could easily satisfy. Let's just stick to wine. Accordingly, Gong had another flagon of wine delivered, and the two finished it off together. Miao then stood and took his leave, saying, It'll be some time before your horse as well, and I can't wait around for so long. He then took his leave. In due course, Gong passed his examination, and in celebration, several of his friends invited him to a picnic

at the scenic area known as Flowery Hill. There, they feasted and laughed together when, lo, Mr. Meow should appear. In one hand he held an enormous flagon, and in the other, a flank of ham. He laid both on the ground before the assembled group, and then spoke. I heard you fine gentlemen were coming here, and so, like a fly on a horse's tail, I've tacked myself to you. Gong and his friends all rose and received him with the usual ceremonies, after which they all sat down together and partook in the feast, without reservation or regard for precedent. By the by, when the wine had been passed around to a large extent,

someone proposed that they play a word game, whereupon one player would begin a poetic verse, and the next would attempt to finish it in perfect form and rhyme. And for stakes, of course. At this, Mr. Meow cried out, Oh, come now! We're already jolly enough drinking like this! There's no use in making any of us uncomfortable through needless competition. The others, however, would not listen to this, and agreed that an enormous goblet of wine would be the penalty to the player who failed the game. At this,

Mr. Meow spoke again, now saying, The others simply laughed and replied that death may be a trifle too severe of a forfeit for such a game. Miao amiably agreed that, with the stakes so lower, then perhaps even such a rough man as himself might participate. And so they began. One of the gathered friends, a Mr. Jin, began the game with a verse. From the hilltop high, wide extends the gaze. And without hesitation, Miao replied, Redly gleams the sword o'er the shattered vase. The next fellow in line thought how he might even come close to such a beautiful line,

during which time Miao helped himself freely to the wine. One by one, each of the participants weakly attempted to outdo the line that Miao had created seemingly without effort, but to no avail. Their attempts were so wretched, in fact, that once they'd all taken their turn, Meow called out, Oh, come on now! If we aren't all penalized for attempts as pathetic as these, we may just call the whole game off now and save ourselves the embarrassment! But the assembled gentlemen were too proud and far too into their cups to back down, and refused to call an end to the game. At this, however, Meow flew into a rage, roaring like a dragon until the very hills reverberated and echoed his animalistic anger.

He then jumped down on all fours, leaping to and fro like a lion, and utterly confusing the assembled and heavily inebriated poets. By now, the wine had been around a good many times, and all were thoroughly drunk. As such, the game quickly devolved into little more than each scholar drunkenly repeating one another's own verses back at each other, while effusing over-saccharine praise onto one another for their supposed genius. This mutual flattery so disgusted Miao that shortly he drew Gong aside for a game at guessing fingers. Even so, the rest of the scholars yet droning on so bothered him that at length he cried out, Do stop your rubbish! Fit only for your own wives! This poetry, if it can even be called that,

is unsuitable for general company! The others were of course quite taken aback at this outburst, and drunkenly replied that it was no business of his what they did to amuse themselves, and then proceeded to blather on all the louder for it. Miao at last threw himself onto the ground in a frenzy, and with a roar changed himself into a tiger, immediately springing upon the whole company and killing them all, save Gong and Jin, before springing upon the whole company and killing them all, save Gong and Jin, before springing into the forest, roaring. It had taken no small effort for the two survivors,

both literally and figuratively, to pick up the pieces and move on after their terrible and strange encounter with the shapeshifting tiger who called itself Meow. Nevertheless, they managed, and some three years later, it was Mr. Jin's turn to succeed in taking his master degree examination, and found himself visiting the same flowery hill. There, to his astonishment, he beheld one of his old friends that the tiger had killed years before. Taking great alarm at such a preternatural sighting, he turned his horse and made to leave as quickly as possible, but the figure grasped his bridle and would not let him proceed. Thus seeing no other option, he dismounted and asked what his old friend was up to. Had he somehow escaped his terrible fate? The shade replied,

No, I am indeed dead, and worse yet, I am now a slave of Meow. Each day and every night, I am forced to endure bitter toil and hardship in his service. And this will go on until I am replaced by another who the beast has killed. Only then will I find rest. I beg you, help me to freedom. Three days from now, the beast will seek to kill again. He will prowl and hunt at the foot of Tanglong Hill nearby. Please take someone there dressed as a scholar, and thus help your old friend. Jane was frightened now almost to the point of silence, but managed to stammer out that

he would do as the spirit requested. Satisfied with this promise, the ghost released his horse, and Jin made a hasty retreat. Once home, he determined that he could in fact do no such thing. He couldn't knowingly lead another man to death and spiritual enslavement, even if it meant condemning his old friend to more of the same. He chanced, however, to tell his bizarre tale to a relative called Mr. Jiang. Jiang was an unscrupulous sort, who held a particular grudge against another local scholar, Mr. Yu. The two had placed equally in their most recent examination, and seeing each other as bitter rivals took any chance to best or lower the other. Now seeing a chance to destroy his nemesis once and for all, Jiang took the information given by Jin and concocted a scheme. He invited Mr. Yu on the stipulated day to the foot of that

very Canglong Hill, telling him that he ought to wear his finest scholarly official attire, though Jiang himself would only be wearing humble clothes. Yu couldn't understand what reason there could be for such a request, but seeing as he had no real reason to refuse, he did so, and found that all kinds of food and wine had been laid out for his entertainment. As luck would have it, on that very day, at the summit of Canglong Hill, the regional prefect was holding his own feast. Being a family friend of Mr. Jiang, and hearing that he was below, he sent a servant to invite the scholar to join him. Jiang could not, of course, refuse such a summons, this might be his big break, and yet he could also not appear before

his superior dressed in such a low manner. Explaining his predicament, he talked Mr. Yu into loaning his hat and clothes to him, promising to only take the best care of them while he paid a call to the prefect. Yet no sooner had he fastened the last strap than out rushed the tiger meow from the underbrush and left upon Mr. Jong, carrying the man away in his mouth. In our final story today, a group of rowdy youngsters thinks that life is just a game, and everyone loves a good joke. And so when they spy a young lady passing by, their leader means to make her laugh. So relax. It's just a prank.

Right? A certain fellow of my home district was rather infamous all around town as a rake, a hedonist, and an inveterate prankster. He and his like-minded companions were out one day on a stroll, when what should they spy but a young girl approaching from the distance on horseback? Turning to his companions, the young raff confidently said, I'll bet you I can get her to laugh out loud at me, see if I can't. His companions, skeptical of his chances, and never once turned down a bet or a dare, quickly set the terms. The loser would owe the winner a feast of their choice. Having settled

the stakes, the raff rushed ahead, untying one of his silken belts from around his robe. Leaping in front of the girl on her pony, he cried out with mock sorrow, I have nothing to live for. I want to die. Woe is me. With this, he bent down a single stalk of millet grass growing along the roadside until it projected a foot or more out into the road and looped his silk cord over it, forming a mock noose. He then slipped it around his own neck as though to hang himself, and began in jest, gasping and clawing at the band, which did little more than gently bow the single blade of grass upon which it was hung, up and down ever so slightly. As the girl approached and viewed his ridiculous fake struggles and kicks, she did indeed smile, and even burst out

laughing at the sight. The young man really was quite the actor, and he sold the image of someone in their death struggle. His friends, watching from a distance, were likewise impressed, and threw themselves into fits of laughter as well, deciding that this performance was more than worth the price of the meal they'd agreed to pay for the loss of their bet. The amused girl rode on, and in a few minutes' time, she and her pony had disappeared into the distance over the next hill. Still, the man continued his ruse, now pretending to hang quite limply from the blade of grass.

At this, his friends again burst out laughing. He had such commitment to the joke, even though the target had now passed beyond sight. As their laughter died down once again, they called out that the girl was gone, and that they should now be on their way to make plans for the feast their friend, the excellent actor, was owed by the rest of them. Still, he made no motion. Perhaps they were too far off to be heard? Presently, they approached their friend, now swaying gently along with the breeze by the single blade of grass by which he'd played his prank, only to discover, to their horror, that, impossibly, it was no prank at all. His tongue hung swollen and limp from his slack mouth,

his face an ashen blue color, and his eyes bulging out horribly while staring sightlessly into the sky. He was quite dead. I hope that you've enjoyed this accounting of the strange from Pu Songling. And in fact, this year, in my readings of the book, I've decided that I'm going to be putting out two separate installments of this special kind of episode. This one, of course, was the usual stories you might expect from short supernatural fiction. Chills, thrills, high strangeness, at a level intended for, well, most audiences. The second part, however, will be something rather different. You see, it's easy to

look back on the dry and dusty tomes of ancient works written by ancient people and see them all as rather less than the flawed and lusty humans that they all were. But that's certainly not the case in Strange Tales. In fact, many of Pu Songling's stories are bawdy looks at the overt sexuality of his own time, and so part two will be a specifically not-safe-for-work collection of his more adult-themed tales. So let's leave the kids at home for that one. Anyway, I hope that you will enjoy it, with headphones on.

But until then, thanks for listening. 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. From a revolution of hope and liberty to the infamous reign of terror, you can't understand the modern world without understanding the French Revolution. So search for the French Revolution today.