The History of China - #176 - Special: Strange Tales 4, "Zibuyu"

Episode Date: October 12, 2019

Confucius talked about a *lot* ... but there were certain things about which even the Master dare not speak. Today we break that ancient taboo with 4 stories of spooky strangeness... 2:01 - "A Karmic Meal" 5:30 - "The Concubine's Revenge" 20:22 - "Too Poor to Be Haunted" 24:26 - "A Hell of a Trial" Adapted from: Zibuyu "What the Master Would Not Discuss" by Yuan Mei 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 176, Strange Tales 4. The great philosopher Confucius discussed many things. Morality, government, duty, relationships, power structures. Just about everything under the sun did the master speak about, and at length. Yet there were a few topics that Confucius refused to commentate on. Most famously, the supernatural. As stated in the Analects, 自不由怪力乱神 Meaning, about these topics the master did not speak.

The strange and extraordinary, superhuman feats, chaotic powers, and metaphysics and godhood. For many centuries thereafter, those who sought to live in accordance with Confucius' teachings and to emulate his life likewise tended to avoid speaking or writing about such strange topics. Leave the supernatural to the priests, they would intone. We are philosophers andone. We are philosophers and officials. We are rational and quite apart from such things. Generally speaking, that's pretty good advice. But not today. Today, we are going to break that ancient taboo and speak once again about those things the master would not. Ghosts, demons, curses, and gods. Thanks to the 18th century poet of the Qing Dynasty, Yuan Mei,

and his collection of folktales and stories, called, appropriately, Zibuyu, or Censored by Confucius, we get a view into the world beyond our own mortal veil. And, strange as it can seem, how it can often give a reflection of the world, more than all, it exists alongside. Let us begin. It's often said the world over, that you are what you eat. This is good health advice, and life advice in general. You get out what you put in, after all.

But when it comes to the Buddhist wheel of karma, that healthy saying can take on a whole new and strange meaning. So tuck in your napkin, mind your manners, and don't insult the guests. It's time for a karmic meal. Mr. Sun Junshou of Changshu was infamous for being an exceptionally cruel and vicious man who took particular delight in mocking ghosts and spirits. One day, while he and some of his friends were up in the hills having a picnic, Sun found himself quite urgently in need of a place to empty his bowels. He wandered off for a bit before encountering a dilapidated and unkempt gravesite,

where he chanced to spy a bear skull exposed and upturned, facing the sky. Noticing that the mouth, or what remained of it, was hanging quite open, Sun had a devilish thought and grinned in pleasure. Squatting over the upturned skull, Sun relieved himself into its mouth, and once finished, stood and said, How'd you like that meal, my good fellow? Much to Sun's horror, the skull began to gnash its teeth together and replied, What an exquisite meal! I've been famished for so long!

Another helping, please! Terrified out of his wits, Sun ran as fast as his feet could carry him. Sun ran as fast as his feet could carry him through the wooded hills. All the while, the skull rolled along after him like a wheel, cackling hideously all the while. It was only after Sun had crossed over a bridge that the skull at last ceased its pursuit, apparently unable or unwilling to cross over the flowing water. Climbing a hill on the far side of the stream, Sun risked a glance back and caught sight of the skull rolling slowly back toward its grave. By the time he'd made his way home that evening, his high terror had given

way to a deathly pallor, and he had become very much incontinent. For three days and nights thereafter, he could do little but violently pass anything and everything he managed to swallow, and nothing could sit in his stomach long enough to ease the terrible hunger that gripped him. At last, he died from his sudden disease. Mr. Sun Junshou was little mourned by the town of Changshu, who thought them well rid of such a person who'd made them all miserable, and made such a mockery of the gods and spirits. The few friends that he'd had in life, with little money between them, and even less to bother spending on a lavish or even proper burial, instead carted Son out into the hills and buried him there in an unmarked, shallow grave. Since his soul had not been properly

honored or sent off into the next life, it could not move on, but remained attached to his abandoned, withering corpse. In time, as his flesh rotted away, his skull and bones became exposed to the elements. All the while, his soul remained within, gripped by the same insatiable hunger it had experienced in its last agonizing moments of life. After some interminable length of time, one day, a fellow in a familiar robe stumbled across his grave, spied his skull, and squatted over his open mouth. Relieving himself, Sun Jun Shou stood, turned, and asked down, How'd you like that meal, my good fellow? To which the skull of Sun Jun Shou replied, What an exquisite meal! I've been famished for so long! Another helping please. It's hard enough to get justice in the world when your family-in-law isn't scheming with the local officialdom to take away your very inheritance,

and nearly impossible when they are. But beware, because even if she can't avail herself of the courts, a wily woman can often find a way to eventually even the scales. So be kind to your family members, even your stepmom, lest you find yourself facing the concubine's revenge. The express postman of the Bureau of Salt Transport was a man by the name of Ma Jixian. As luck would have it, this was a quite lucrative position, and over the course of his career, Mr. Ma had become quite wealthy. He had therefore been able to purchase a minor official position for his son, Huan Zhang. In time, the son grew to be quite the talented bureaucrat himself,

and before long had outstripped even his father in wealth and prosperity. Soon enough, the Ma family were millionaires. Years passed, and now an old man, Ma Jixian bought for himself a concubine to be his caretaker and companion, who coincidentally was also surnamed Ma. The two got on well together, and over time developed a deep and trusting bond. Jixian was so appreciative of her diligence and efforts, in fact, that one day he said to her, I have accumulated so much wealth in my life, and I want you to know that since you have taken such wonderful care of me in my old age,

when I die I intend to leave it all to you. At that point, you're free to go and do whatever you wish. You'll no longer need to stay with my family if you so choose. Remarry if you desire. It's up to you. It was another several years, five or perhaps six, but in time the elderly Ma Jixian grew ever more infirm and sickly, and then at last lay on his deathbed. There, he called his son to his side one final time. Gesturing to the ever-attented concubine Ma, he made his will known to Huan Zhang.

This woman has been a devoted and true concubine. When I am gone, my wish is that the whole of my savings be passed on to her. Soon thereafter, Ma Jixian finally succumbed. Huan Zhang, however, held in his heart no intention of carrying out his father's dying wish. Instead, he and his uncle, himself a regional official known as a prefect, plotted together to deny the concubine her inheritance and keep all of the money for themselves. Who would have thought that my father would prove so foolish in the end, complained Huan Zhang to his Uncle Wu.

Why give all that money to such a woman? That would be a dreadful waste. Uncle Wu thought on this predicament, and then replied, Why, this shouldn't prove too difficult at all to sort out. I tell you what, I'll come by, and together we'll simply drive her off your property and make sure she doesn't try to return. Several days later, Huan Zhang approached Concubine Ma and asked that she leave the domicile of the household in which she and Jixian had lived together. He gave her the excuse that it would be more proper for her to sit with the coffin of Jixian and wait until his soul had fully departed from his body,

which would be in several days' time. Concubine Ma dutifully complied with the wish and departed. Yet no sooner was she out of sight than Huan Zhang and his own wife began to thoroughly strip their father's house of all of its valuables and treasures, transferring them one and all to their own house on the grounds. Meanwhile, Concubine Ma remained dutifully at her station, blithely unaware of the pilfering going on while she waited there with the coffin of her husband. When they too had finished their theft, they closed, bolted, and firmly locked the door after them. After the allotted seven days of vigil had passed, and as per tradition, Mr. Ma's soul was deemed to have fully moved out of his body and into the afterlife,

the period of direct mourning over the coffin was concluded, and the concubine at last returned to her house in order to begin her life therein as a widow. Yet as she approached the unknown-to-her, emptied and looted house, who should appear but Uncle Wu? He shouted at the woman, Hey, Auntie Concubine! Don't bother going back in there! Why, you're far too young and beautiful to remain a chaste widow for the rest of your days. You ought to simply pack up and return home to your mother and family. Surely you're beautiful enough. They'll find you

another man to marry. Hey, I'll even make sure that the young master gives you some money. Wu called for Huan Zhang, asking that he bring the concubine a going-away payment of fifty tails of silver. As they had previously arranged, Huan Zhang hurried out with the cash, bearing a face of serenity and pious duty. Look here, he said, presenting her with the gift. I have it all ready for you. At this, though, Concubine Ma insisted that she wished only to return to her quarters and didn't want to go anywhere. Oh no, I'm sorry, replied Huan Zhang. But my uncle, the prefect, you'll remember, has insisted on this course. I'm sure he's made no mistake in that regard, and it's best if we both follow his instructions. In fact, we've already taken the liberty of packing up all your belongings into boxes and making them ready for travel. So you see, there's no need for

you to even go inside. By this point, Huan Zhang had subtly, but not too subtly, positioned himself between the girl and the door of her former house. The concubine, quite used to obeying the orders of her husband and stepson, and also afraid of the possible consequences of going against the orders of Prefect Wu, concluded that she indeed had no other option. Huan Zhang was, of course, delighted at this outcome, and expressed his appreciation to his Uncle Wu for delivering such a clever scheme to cheat the girl out of her inheritance with an appropriately large gift. Several months passed, and the Midsummer Ghost Festival, in which the spirits of the dead could return to the world of the living to receive offerings, came around. Concubine Ma now decided to return to the home of her deceased husband to make offerings to his soul and to honor him.

It should be noted that by this time, the fifty tails of silver that had been paid to the girl had long ago vanished, thanks to the profligate wastefulness of her brothers and parents. She arrived just a few days ahead of time at the Ma family manor, carrying with her only a few personal items, as well as some incense and a few other items of worship. It's hardly surprising that, on spying the girl she thought she'd gotten rid of forever, making her way back up the road toward their house, Huan Zhang's wife was anything but happy.

She hurried out of the house, shouting and hurling insults at the girl. Why, you shameless hussy! How dare you show your face here again? You were told to go and did not return! Concubine Ma would not be put off, however, and explained her reason for returning, to honor her dead husband. There was little the lady of the house could really say to that, but still refused her entry into the main section of the estate, telling the girl that she would need to remain in the outer section of the residence, where the supplies and animals were kept, overnight, and could make her offerings and then be well on her way by the following morning, and that there would be no debate on this. You must leave the very minute you complete your worship. I won't tolerate your presence one moment longer, she was told. Concubine Ma agreed, and remained in the outer section of the manor that she had once called home.

Yet all through that night, the soft sound of her sobbing was audible across the house grounds, ceasing only as the sky began to lighten in the east. That next morning, the lady of the house searched up and down for the usual places where the young girl might be making her offerings to her dead husband, and yet she could turn up no sign. More than a little suspicious, she ordered a more thorough search conducted of the house grounds, which to everyone's horror, turned up her lifeless body hanging from one of the rafter beams. With nothing else to be done, Huan Zhang bought a woman-sized coffin for the body and conducted the appropriate funeral rites over it.

Because of the family's wealth and power, and their connection to the regional prefect, Wu, the girl's family made no fuss over the suicide. Still, Huan Zhang felt considerable unease with the situation, a situation he knew that he'd brought on at least partially himself. And especially with the prospect of there remaining in the house someone who'd killed themselves, and whose unquiet spirit might yet linger. Very shortly thereafter, and without anything in the way of explanation, Huan Zhang and his wife moved away and into an even larger and more luxurious estate uptown. They sold the old house to a Mr. Zhang, who, as it turned out, was a devout Buddhist from a very young age. Now, Mr. Zhang had been impressed by the price point at which the Ma family had sold their mansion to him, and so had asked very few questions about

just why it was that they might have left. Nevertheless, almost as soon as he moved in, he began to take notice of the unusual activities that occurred at night, and particularly around the fifth watch as the sky lightened in the east. The sound of a girl crying could be heard on most nights, softly, but distinctly and inescapably, and no matter which room in which one might find himself. As Mr. Zhang proceeded with his investigation of what was increasingly obviously a haunting, he time and again would catch sight of a young girl. At first only briefly, her turning a corner and then vanishing,

but in time, more and more substantially. Her in a corner of the outer house, under a roof rafter, sobbing inconsolably and apparently deaf to his questioning of her. Understanding that he was facing a truly serious haunting, Mr. Zhang asked around the town and quickly began to turn up answers. Though most people were reluctant to speak about it, when asked directly they would offer up what they knew about the concubine of the late Mr. Ma and her untimely, unfortunate death. Thus, in short order, Mr. Zhang was able to piece together virtually the entire story from start to finish.

Understandably, he was both angry at Huang Zhang for having knowingly sold him a haunted house and not telling him beforehand, and profoundly piteous of the poor girl who'd taken her own life in sorrow and now flitted between the walls and corridors of his new home, forever wallowing in her grief and sorrow. Thus, he resolved to do whatever he could to set the injustice of the situation right,

and perhaps even help the girl achieve peace, as well as his own family's good night's sleep. That very night, as her soft sobs bounded up and down the halls of the house, Mr. Zhang approached the rafter beam where he now knew the girl had taken her own life. As usual, there she sat, face buried in her palms, crying in eternal sorrow. In spite of her unearthly nature, Mr. Zhang beheld only a girl, small, afraid, and alone, and was not frightened or unnerved. Stepping closer, he called out to the apparition. Mistress Ma, I now understand your pain and grief, and I feel for you and I wish to help. Please understand that my family and I are

not the ones who did this to you. I paid a lot of money for this house, and I didn't know that you were in it, or anything about you, or your story when we bought it. So please don't think that we're the ones who hurt you. In fact, I sympathize with your hatred of Huan Zhang and the Ma family. They are the ones who caused you such pain in life and now, hereafter. If I could deliver you to them, to their new house, tomorrow night, around the second watch, would that satisfy you? Would that bring you peace? The ghost said nothing, gave no answer. She merely ceased her sobbing and gazed up directly at Mr. Zhang's face for the first and only time. A smile touched her lips, and then she faded away into nothing. The whole of the following day, Mr. Zhang made the

appropriate preparations for the care and transportation of a vengeful spirit. Under the guidance and consultation of the Buddhist priests that he knew in town, he constructed an amulet, a clay tablet emblazoned with Buddhist incantations and emblems, to draw in and contain the ghost girl, and then burned incense to prepare. When he'd completed the ritual, the fragrant smoke hung heavily in the air of the house, and yet the atmosphere seemed somehow lighter than before. Moreover, as he lifted the small clay tablet, though nothing was different to look at it, it seemed rather strangely heavier than it had been before, and cold to the touch beside. That evening, as promised, Mr. Zhang made his way with the ritual tablet to the new home of

the Ma family. He approached the front gate of the compound and knocked. When the doorman opened and inquired as to his business, Mr. Zhang introduced himself and then asked, Has your master returned for the evening? I have a delivery for him. No, sir, the doorman replied. Not yet, but I can take the parcel if you wish. Oh, yes, thank you, said Zhang, stepping forward as if to give the tablet to the watchman. Yet just before reaching him, and having made sure to cross the boundary of the door, he let slip the fragile clay tablet from his hand with a Whoops! It fell to the ground and shattered into a dozen pieces,

rendering it, and its purpose, completely unreadable. Oh, clumsy me. I am sorry about that. Tell you what, I'll come by tomorrow and deliver a replacement. How about that? With that, Mr. Zhang went home for the night, and though nothing but silence reigned through his home for the first time in months, he found himself quite unable to sleep, wondering what might be happening over at the Ma Mansion. Early the next morning, therefore,

he was already back at the main gate of the Ma estate, a second and newly constructed tablet in hand, though this one without the ritual markings. There he saw, to his surprise, the same doorman guarding the main gate as the night before. Zhang approached and asked him, Why are you working so early today? The doorman gave a helpless shrug. I never left, sir. It was the strangest thing, but as soon as Mr. Ma returned last night, he fell gravely ill. He's in bed right now, apparently in quite critical condition. It's thrown the whole household into quite a panic, and so no one's had time to relieve me of my post yet. Mr. Zhang hurried home, at once satisfied and terrified at what he'd helped to happen to the Ma household. He would learn later

that that same day, Ma Huanzhang had died in his bed. Only a few days later, both his wife and the local prefect, Mr. Wu, had been struck down by what seemed to be the same sudden affliction, though no one else in the region was affected. Ma Huanzhang and his wife died without any children of their own. As such, when they'd passed, their estate and property was claimed by other members of their extended family, who apparently fought over it quite bitterly. Prefect Wu as well had no descendants, and his property was likewise torn to pieces and redistributed by the state. In all human history, there are few stories like that of ancient Egypt. On the banks of the Nile, these people created one of the most enduring and significant cultures. Their tale comes to life in

the History of Egypt podcast. Every week, we explore the tales of this amazing culture, from the legendary days of creation and the gods, all the way to Cleopatra, and everything in between. The History of Egypt podcast is written and produced by a trained Egyptologist. We go much deeper than your average documentary or magazine article to uncover tales of life, great endeavors, and the amazing arc of a mighty kingdom. The History of Egypt podcast is available on all podcasting platforms, apps, and websites. Come, visit of the hustle and bustle of busy city life and into the smaller towns and hamlets all across China. On one recent such excursion, I happened upon a fellow who was kind enough to invite me out to tea. There, he told me about a

strange power that he possesses, and the origin of the old phrase that one can be too poor to be haunted. It's widely known that most of us never see a ghost in all of our life. Sure, you might feel like you're being watched from time to time, or that you're not alone. You might notice ghostly effects on objects in your house or outside, or even get a chill when you walk into an empty room or by a graveyard. But still, as with most things strange and supernatural, ghosts by their very nature are exceedingly rare to see. But when I last found myself in Yangzhou, I ran into a man named Luo Lianfeng,

and he made the most extraordinary claims. He said that he could see ghosts, and not just one, mind you, but many, and all the time. As I sat there over tea with him, he told me that he could see one looming over my shoulder even as we spoke, and though I'm a lifelong skeptic of such bizarre mysticism, I'm not too proud to admit that I stole a nervous glance behind me to find nothing there at all. Still, given what I was being told, that was hardly reassuring. Lua told me that ghosts wandered every city and village, and the streets between them in droves, much like the living. They particularly liked to come out at dusk, he said,

and that generally they were somewhat shorter than a typical adult. They don't have distinct faces like you or I, but instead their heads were a blur of what he called a blackish, smoky substance. And always, always, Lowe insisted, whether wandering the streets alone, leaning up against walls, or following the living, they always kept up a low-level drone of incessant, yet frustratingly indecipherable chatter. Ghosts prefer the company of the living, it seems, or at least were attracted to where large numbers of people often gather.

Lowell explained to me his theory that the warmth of human activity was a form of comfort and sustenance to these spiritual beings. They can pass straight through walls and windows, and frequently do. Even right through human bodies with a person none the wiser. Nothing can stop them. Moreover, Lo explained, he and those like him with this second sight had to be very careful about using or revealing it, for if the spirits took notice of a living person who could see them, they would invariably concentrate their energies on him, trying to possess or bewitch him with some sort of strange revenge. He could even only talk about this power to me, he explained, anticipating my next question,

because the ghosts seemed to be unable to hear the living in the same way that we hear each other. Though they could and would sometimes respond to noise, it seemed that, like Mr. Loh could not understand their constant stream of speech, nor could they understand any of ours. What he said next, though, was rather more surprising. That ghosts tended very much to prefer the dwellings of wealthy families. He said, Ghosts especially like to reside near the houses of the wealthy and powerful.

Poorer families are rarely troubled by ghosts, because even they wouldn't want to live in such cold, miserable surroundings as that. Mr. Lothan related to me a popular local saying, that one might be so poor that even a ghost wouldn't be my housemate. There's a funny kind of justice in that, I thought at the time. The wealthy might shut themselves away in their estates and behind high walls to keep out the poor, but none of that will stop the ghosts from taking up their preferred residence within. Meanwhile, though the masses may face misery and hardship, they can at least rest easy at night knowing that their squat little hovels will remain unbothered by supernatural visitations. At least, most of the time.

Mr. Lowe and I finished up our tea, and I bid him farewell before setting off once again on my journey. Courtrooms are inherently stressful places. Most of us only go there a handful of times in our lives, at least if we're lucky, and it's usually not for any fun reason. Even the quote-unquote fun reasons, such as getting married, are still events packed full of stress, and all jammed into small, largely soulless bureaucratic offices full of boring paperwork and legal documents. And then there are the fees. Oh, the fees. Every little thing you do there requires a fee. It's exhausting. Well, maybe after listening to this next tale, you'll be just a little less harsh on your own local courthouse. Because it could be worse. A lot worse. So sit here in this juror seat and get ready to hear both sides of A Hell of a Trial.

In Zhenjiang, there was a young man by the name of Bao, who was, all agreed, most handsome. And the girls and ladies of the area around his hometown one and all made no secret of their desire for him. When the time was right, Bao married a young woman from the Wang family. Yet, as was common for one such as he, coming from a long line of traveling merchants, Bao was often away on business or otherwise out entertaining customers and friends. Thus it was that Lady Wang was frequently alone at home, while her husband was abroad or out carousing. One such autumn evening, Bao and several of his companions were cavorting as such

in the local Red Light District. They progressed from brothel to brothel, in an ever more inebriated state, and it was quite late indeed when Bao at last set out for his home. Lady Wang was in her kitchen with her serving mistress, an older woman, together preparing dinner when there was an unexpected knock at the main door. The servant woman was asked to open the door and see who it was, and she found that it was a well-dressed and heavily made-up young woman. The serving woman asked for the girl's name, but received no reply, at which point she must have decided that this was some sort of family relative on unannounced business come to visit, and bid her come inside before going to tell her mistress of the arrival of this mysteriously

silent woman. Lady Wong was as confused as anyone about the servant's reports. The description given to her did not match with anyone that she knew from either her own family or her husband's. And so, she went at once to the front gate to meet this interloper and determine who she might be. On arriving, however, she saw no woman at all, only her own husband sitting there. She turned and laughed at the silly serving woman's mistake. How could she have mistaken Bao, her own master, for some strange woman? Yet quickly, upon addressing Bao, she realized that something was indeed amiss. He was not behaving at all like his usual self,

and indeed had affected all the mannerisms of a woman. Lady Wang faced her husband and asked directly just who was she speaking to? To which Bao arose from his seat and said with all grace and due decorum befitting a noblewoman, Your husband, Mr. Bao, was drinking at one of the brothels. He struck my interest and so I awaited him outside and then came home with him. Lady Wang thought that her husband must have taken complete leave of his senses. It was her husband in form, yes, of course, but all of his mannerisms and style of speech had been completely different, and what he said made no sense at all. Perhaps too much drink had caused him to go temporarily insane. Thus she

called for the house's servant boys and had them send for the rest of her family at once. Together, they would get to the bottom of this strangeness and put her husband back to his proper state of mind. In due haste, the family members arrived and assembled in the front room of the manor. As each arrived, Bao greeted them in turn, but in a way most strange, with a level of formality, polity, and, well, femininity, that would only be appropriate to a high-born woman. Themselves taken aback by this bizarre behavior, Bao's family members began to cajole and make fun of their feminized kinsmen, some of the men even making lewd suggestions and

rude gestures at him. At this, Bao reacted harshly and responded with anger, I am a virtuous woman! If any of you ruffians come near me or lay a hand on me, I'll kill you where you stand! Now well and truly baffled by this seemingly complete change in Bao's personality, and that it seemed to be no mere joke or affectation but a complete and total shift, those assembled came to realize that Bao must have been overtaken and possessed by a spirit. They regained their composure and then asked why the spirit had taken control of their family member. What grievance did it possibly have to merit such a thing? The woman possessing Bao calmed herself down and replied, My grievance, you'll see, between Mr. Bao and myself is romantic in nature. I have lodged

nineteen separate formal complaints against him with the city god on charges of Bao failing to reciprocate my love. Alas, the city god and his offices have proved most unhelpful, and so I've had to escalate the case and appeal to the Lord Dongyue's temple. My case has finally been slated for an official hearing at the temple on the morrow, and it requires both Mr. Bao and myself to be in attendance for the proceedings to move forward. Thus, I will be taking Bao to the temple for the next few days, and then our case will be resolved. The family, as one might imagine, was utterly baffled at this. Finally one spoke up. And, uh, who did you say you were again?

I did not give my name, came the icy reply. Nor shall I. It is enough that you know that I am from a good family, one whose name I'll not sell you by having it known that Mr. Bao, my love, has snubbed its affection for so long. Well, all right, the same still gobstruck family member pressed. Can you at least tell us the charges that you're filing against Bao? The spirit proceeded to list all 19 of her charges in rapid succession,

but speaking so quickly and without pause, and in such a bureaucratic and highly legal manner of speech that even by the end the family really felt no closer to truly grasping the nature of the charges or the entire situation. Only a few key details had become evident, that because Bao had not returned her love, the spirit had become a drifting, restless ghost, and she wanted that rectified. Now, Lady Bao's wife, Lady Wang, spoke up. Wait! If your spirit is currently inhabiting Bao's body, then what have you done with my husband's soul?

The possessed face of Bao smirked. Why, he's safely locked away in a little room outside the City God's temple until the trial tomorrow. But have no fear, it's for his own safety, and he'll come to no harm." This was altogether too much for Lady Wong, who promptly dropped to her knees and began to beg the ghost to release her husband, but her pleas were ignored completely. The ghost simply went on. In any case, I've completed my task here tonight, to inform you of the situation and of the upcoming trial date. Now I'll take my leave of you.

And with that, and no one daring to move to stop her, the spirit piloted Bao's body around and out of the front gates, into the dark of the descending night. The family gathered a little while later, in the main hall of the house, and discussed what it was that they could possibly do about this. One of them suggested, Well, the ghost told us that she'd been filing complaints with the city god, but hadn't got any luck with him. Even so, she had Bao's soul imprisoned at the city god's temple, so maybe if we go and explain the situation to him, he can make sure that justice is carried out. The family members all nodded in agreement,

and began to gather the necessary candles, incense, and other implements that they would need to conduct such a ceremony at the temple. These in hand, they were preparing to leave, when all of a sudden, Bao reappeared from the darkness beyond the mansion's walls. Cooley, regarding the assembled group, he, or she, stated, Huh, you must be getting ready to make your case to the city god to enlist his help. Well, you needn't bother. I'll go ahead and release Mr. Bao now, and await Lord Dongyue's verdict tomorrow. Surely we can agree to that. The very next instant, with a gasp, Bao collapsed to the floor in an unconscious heap. When he was at last revived a minute later, he sat up, but complained of an overwhelming exhaustion.

Still, his family crowded around, pressing him for details about what had happened to him and what he knew or remembered. After a few moments of gathering himself, Bao began to recount his strange experience. Well, uh, when I left the brothel, I saw the woman following me. I grew suspicious when, even after I'd made a few turns through the streets, she was still not far behind me. And then, as I was passing by the temple of the city god, well, she appeared out of nowhere and shoved me into a small room. I heard the door bolted and locked, and I was in total darkness. But even then, I could feel that I wasn't alone in there.

I don't know how long I was in there. But after a while, the woman returned, and she said she'd let me go, and then she shoved me out of the room, and here I was. Also, I remember her saying that tomorrow there's this whole situation that's going to be sorted out with Lord Dongye, and with that, Bao gave a shrug. It was all he knew, apparently, and soon thereafter, he fell into a deep sleep from which he could not be roused. He slept through the night and through the morning, and it wasn't until the late afternoon of the following day that Bao finally awoke and began to move about his house. He immediately called for the serving staff and ordered that a large meal be prepared with all haste in order to feed the legal officials who were already waiting outside the complex.

He then immediately went to the front gate and opened it, bowing and gesturing as if to welcome guests inside, though to everyone watching, he did so before a completely empty doorframe. He spoke at length in a one-sided conversation, though in such a tongue that none listening could understand even a word. When the feast had been prepared and laid out, Bao himself promptly returned to his bed and then closed his eyes. At the ring of the first watch that night to his bed and then closed his eyes.

At the ring of the first watch that night, his breathing and his heart stopped all at once. He had died. Yet his chest remained strangely warm, and his family, already confused and bewildered by the unearthly goings-on in their household over the past day, kept a vigil over his lifeless body. Over the course of that night, Bao's face changed color several times. At times it was blue, sometimes yellow, and sometimes red. There was no clear pattern to these changes. As the third watch of the night rang out, the assembled family members noticed that red scratches had begun to appear around his chest, neck, and even across his cheeks.

All the following day, Bao's body remained lifeless. That night, the changes began anew. Now his hair became disheveled and lost its texture. Just before the dawn of the third day, he awoke with a start and demanded at once rice and tea, as much as they could bring. When they were brought, he gobbled them down with such ferocity and in such large amounts that it frightened his family. Yet by the end of his tremendous meal, his overall look and state had vastly improved from the deathly and bizarre pallor that he'd adopted the night prior. Bao then gave detailed instructions to all around him. His wife, Lady Wang, was to oversee the preparation of a vast quantity of wine for the officials of the underworld, who even now, Bao insisted, accompanied him. Six thousand cash of ghost money was to be gathered and burned in offering, but first it must be ensured that none of the notes were crumpled

or torn. Four thousand would be burned in front of the lounge, and the remaining two thousand in a road that ran alongside the side of the house. Bow himself then rose from his bed and went directly to the main gate, bowing repeatedly much as he'd done before, and acting as though he were seeing off honored guests, though once again, to everyone watching, no one else was there. When this high strangeness was completed, he returned again to bed and fell asleep for a further two days without waking, though not this time in his previous death-like state. When at last he awoke and was once more himself, he was finally able to explain his actions and the unusual happenings of which he'd been a part.

He recounted that the night that the ghost woman had released him from her spirit prison, two officials from the underworld had come to fetch him. One to him was a complete stranger, but the other he had recognized as a former classmate who died three years prior. That, Bao explained, was what the spirit money had mostly been for. His classmate's family had been quite poor, and so Bao had sought to help the spirit official by giving him a few thousand cash that he might distribute to his family.

Largely because of this and their prior relationship, therefore, Bao had been able to retain much of his freedom. He'd not been forced, for instance, to wear a spirit kang or chains while in the two officials' custody, and while his case was being reviewed. Thereafter, the three of them made their way to the spirit courthouse to witness the final verdict that the Lord Dongyue would soon decide. On the way there, they had encountered another pair of underworld guardians, themselves tasked with the detention of a chained and shackled woman, who, quickly enough,

it became clear was the very ghost who had possessed Bao just a day earlier, and the one who had brought these accusations against him. As the two groups passed by one another, the ghostly woman writhed about in anger and lashed out, scratching him several times on his torso and even face, hence the marks that had appeared on his body. Once before the court, it was customary for a defendant to be restrained, and the woman shouted out, why was he not done so? So at last, the shackles were reapplied to bow as well. Once this was completed, they entered the chamber and walked for what seemed an eternity through an inky darkness, while a fierce cold wind tossed and turned Bao's hair this way and that. After some interminable period of walking, they at last

arrived at what appeared to be something of a courtroom. Here, both prisoners were instructed to sit and await the arrival of the judge. Presently, the light of two red lanterns could be seen in the distance, moving toward them within this building. When they had halted at this signal, the guards came forward and removed Bao's chains once again. He was brought forward and then ordered to kneel at a spot just before the floating lanterns. He did so, and saw, as though from a dense haze, the magistrate's desk appear before him, piled high with all manner of important-looking legal documents and scrolls. Seated behind this desk was the official himself, wearing a gown of red and black gauze.

Now rising from his seat and smoothing his beard, this magistrate from the other world looked at him and asked, Are you the one they call Bow? Bow affirmed that that was indeed the case. Then, the magistrate turned away from him, and the process was repeated with the ghostly woman, who had likewise been knelt beside Bow. The magistrate turned to her and began asking her a lengthy series of questions. Though strangely, though she knelt only a foot or so from him, Bao could hear neither the official's questions nor her answers, even a little bit. He took the time to notice more about his surroundings. The ground on which he now knelt gave before him like a cold, uncomfortable mud. Moreover,

every so often, a cold, bitter wind would blow through the chamber, and Bao noted, uncomfortably, that each gust stabbed into his body like knives. He realized that this courtroom must be in hell itself. As he watched, however, he did see that the magistrate grew increasingly angry at the woman, and finally, at one point, stopped his questioning and pointed to one of the guards, and then back to the woman, and finally at one point stopped his questioning and pointed

to one of the guards, and then back to the woman. The guard stepped forward, and evidently at the magistrate's command, proceeded to slap the woman about the face fifteen times in a row. Now bruised, bleeding, and sobbing, the woman had her chains reapplied, and was dragged back away from the lanterns and out of sight completely. At this point, one of Bao's guards, his old classmate, leaned down to his ear and whispered, Congratulations. You've won the case. Here, let me dye your hair for you. Bao lifted his head, and the whole court, the magistrate, the desks, the lanterns, had vanished and were no more. He was then allowed to return home, while being reminded

that he'd promised to make cash contributions for these officers' efforts on his behalf. Then he'd awoken back in his bed, and, once having ensured that all of his ghostly officials were paid their due wages, now sat and concluded his tale. All listening puzzled over the identity of the ghostly woman who had sued, and evidently lost, Bao. Bao himself insisted to the end that he'd never seen this woman in his life, and certainly had made no promise or agreement with her regarding love or anything of the sort. Apparently, she was a complete stranger who had died from an unrequited love for the famously handsome Bao. Miserable in the afterlife, she

decided to fabricate bogus charges against him in the hope of dragging his soul down to the underworld to be her partner forever in death. Fortunately, her harebrained scheme was quickly unraveled by the magistrate of the Court of Hell, and she'd been dragged away into its depths for wasting the court's time, where she was to receive her eternal punishment. 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.