The History of China - #272 - Special: A Midsummer Night's Dreams

Episode Date: June 28, 2024

A set of short fever dreams from Chinese folklore to beat the summer heat... 1:25 - A Pipa Competition, by: Li Zhi 4:45 - The "Magical" Pear Tree, by: Pu Songling 8:15 - Real Life In the Capital, by: Ji Yun 13:55 - The Realness of Paintings & Demons, by: Pu Songling Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

You're listening to an Airwave Media Podcast. The Civil War and Reconstruction was a pivotal era in American history. 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. I'm Tracy. And I'm Rich. And we want to invite you to join us as we take an in-depth look at this pivotal era in American history.

Look for The Civil War and Reconstruction wherever you find your podcasts. Hello and welcome to the History of China. Episode 271, A Midsummer Night's Dreams. It's coming up on the end of June here in the Middle Kingdom, and the days are long, hot, and sticky. That means plenty of time for naps, which also means plenty of time for dreams. Personally, I've been having a heck of a month, beginning with a minor medical emergency

that saw me tending to a stitched-up hand for the better part of it, and thus rather less than able to write as effectively as I usually do. But also in the midst of going through a big move in life change at the same time. All this ultimately is positive, except for the whole Stitches thing, but in terms of episode output, it's been slow going. Fortunately, I have just the remedy. On sultry summer days such as these, I've decided that it's a good idea to take a page from the Bard of Avon himself and tell a few tales of spirits, magic, and

dream from the annals of Chinese folklore. We have today four tales for your amusement and befuddlement from three timeless authors of the weird and wild, Li Zhi, Hu Songling, and Ji Yun. I hope you will enjoy. A Peapod Competition by Li Zhi In the late 8th century, during the Zhenyuan era of Tang, there was a severe drought in the city of Chang'an. The emperor ordered the Taoist Zishu Temple to conduct a ritual to pray for rain. He also commanded the construction of altars on the street of the East and West markets

for rain prayers and decreed that there was to be a music competition between the two markets. The residents of the East Street built an altar and designated the renowned pipa player Kang Kun Lun to perform on the altar. On the day of the rain prayer, the streets were packed with people, leaving no space to move. Kang Kun Lun, holding his pipa, came to the altar, greeted the audience, and then sat down to perform a piece titled A New Arrangement of Green Waste. The soft notes flowed like a mountain stream. The bright ones sang like birds. And the climax roared like thunder, swift and powerful. The audience was entranced, and the piece concluded with a tumultuous, storm-like melody,

applause erupting like thunder. Kang Kun Lun felt immensely proud and satisfied with himself. He changed his clothes and went to a tea house to drink tea. At this moment, a woman appeared on the Western altar. She gracefully walked the stage with a peepaw, bowed deeply to the audience, and then began to play a new arrangement of Green Waste. In the style of Fragrance of Maple, which was even more challenging.

Each note was precise and captivating, surpassing even Kang Kun-moon's skill. As she finished, the audience erupted in admiration, even more so than for Kong Kun Lun. Stunned and feeling inferior, Kong watched in amazement. He rushed to the West Altar to meet her. The woman smiled and said, Please wait. Let me change my clothes before we meet. After a while, a monk in his thirties emerged from the dressing room. It was Master Shan Bun from Zhangyuan Temple.

It is said that Kang Kunlun later became a disciple of Master Shan Bun to learn the pipa. Master Shan Bun's requirement was for him to not play any instrument for ten years and to forget all incorrect knowledge so that he could learn the true techniques. Commentary on this story by Zhou Wuzi What a wonderful statement! Learning the Tao is like this, and everything is like this. If reading is not like this,

it is better not to read. If composition is not like this, it is better not to write. If merit is not like this, then there is no merit. If character is not like this, it is better not to write. If merit is not like this, then there is no merit. If character is not like this, how can we call it character? In short, rats steal cloud ears, and dogs steal cloud ears. If there is no place for Buddha to be respected, it is like Kang and Kunlun.

What a shame. What a shame. The Magical Pear Tree by Pu Song Ling There was a countryman selling pears in the market. The pears were very delicious, but quite expensive. There was a Taoist priest wearing a tattered Taoist hat and robe, begging in front of the cart. The countryman scolded him, but he refused to leave. The countryman became angry and but he refused to leave. The countryman became angry and started to insult him loudly. The Taoist said, You have hundreds of pears in this cart,

and I'm only asking for one. It won't be a big loss for you, so why are you getting so angry? Onlookers advised the countryman to give the Taoist a bad pear and send him away, but the countryman adamantly refused. A shop assistant by the roadside saw them quarreling and bought a pear with his own money, giving it to the Taoist. The Taoist thanked him and then said to the crowd, Monks do not know how to be stingy. I have a good pear. Please, everyone, taste it. Someone asked, Since you have a pear, why don't you eat it? The Taoist replied, I need this pear as seeds. So he ate the pear heartily, holding the seeds in his hand.

He then took a small iron shovel from his shoulder, dug a hole several inches deep into the ground, and planted the pear seeds, covering it with soil. He asked for some hot water and the people nearby to water it. A kind person brought a pot of boiling water from the roadside shop, and the Taoist poured it into the hole. Everyone was looking at it in wonder when suddenly a sprout emerged, gradually growing into a tree.

Again, leaves sprouted, and in no time, flowers bloomed and turned into fruits. Large, delicious pears filled the branches. The Taoist picked the pears from the tree and distributed them to the onlookers, who quickly devoured them. Then the Taoist used the iron shovel to chop down the tree, making clinking sounds as he chopped for a long time before finally cutting it down. Carrying the pear-laden tree with branches and leaves on his shoulder, the Taoist walked away calmly. At the beginning, when the Taoist was performing his magic, the countryman was also mixed in the crowd,

craning his neck and staring wide-eyed, completely forgetting about his own livelihood. It was only after the Taoist left that he returned to tend to the pears on his cart, only to find that not a single one was left. It dawned on him that the pears the Taoist had distributed were all his own. Upon closer inspection, he realized that one of the cart's handles was missing, and the cut was fresh. The countryman felt extremely angry and hurried to chase after the Taoist. Turning around a corner, he saw the broken cart handle tossed under the corner of a wall. Realizing then that the pear tree the Taoist had just chopped down was his cart handle, but the Taoist was nowhere

to be found. Everyone in the bustling market burst into laughter. Mr. Ishi's Remarks The rustic demeanor of the villagers, with their simple and naive appearance, often invites ridicule from city folk, and is not entirely unjustified. I have observed wealthy individuals in rural areas react indignantly when asked by close friends or relatives for assistance, saying things like, this would cover expenses for several days. Similarly, when urged to help those in distress or provide food for the needy, they respond angrily, calculating, this is enough for ten people or five people's portions. Even within families, they meticulously account for every small sum of money. However, when it comes to indulgence and gambling, they spare no expense,

even risking their entire fortune. Such behaviors are countless. And what's so surprising about the actions of these ignorant villagers? Real Life in the Capital by Ji Yun 1. The citizens of the capital city have perfected the art of deception. Take the sixteen ink slabs that I once bought at what I thought was a bargain price. The craftsman who sold them assured me that they were made by the illustrious Ming Dynasty manufacturer Luo Xiaohua. Certainly, they looked the part. Arranged in a lacquer box that appeared faded with age, they gave the impression of being valuable. When I got home,

I ground a cake against my inkstone, eager to see the stately blackness of the ink. But there was no ink. The ink slabs were just clay bars painted black. The thin coating of white on them, which I had taken to be a mark of age, was a covering of mold due to their long storage in a dark and damp place. Another time, I visited the capital to take the provincial-level exam and bought some candles. When I tried to light them, they refused flame. Upon examination, they turned out to be mud coated with mutton tallow to look like a candle. My cousin was similarly victimized. One night, while looking for something to eat, he bought a roast duck at a night market. At home, he cut the duck open to

discover that someone had taken the skeleton from an already eaten duck, stuffed it with filth, pasted it over with paper painted to look like roasted skin, and then smeared the whole thing in oil. Only the orange feet and neck were real. Another time, my servant, Zhao Ping, paid out a substantial sum of two thousand one for what he thought was a superior pair of leather boots. Soon thereafter, he wore them to town, eager to show them off, and got caught in a downpour. He returned home with bare, muddy feet. The boots were less than they seemed. The upper was oiled paper, creased and wrinkled to look like leather, while the sole was made from trash cotton, temporarily glued together inside a cloth shell.

2. Such frauds are startling, but minor compared to others that have been perpetrated in the capital. For example, I know a royal official who moved to the capital to take up a new position and became infatuated with a young woman who lived nearby with her mother. He soon learned that this young woman was married and only staying with her mother while her husband was on assignment outside the capital, so he left her alone. Several weeks later, the woman's house abruptly filled with loud sobbing, and its front gates were draped with white funeral paper. Several weeks later, the woman's house abruptly filled with loud sobbing, and its front gates were draped with white funeral paper. It turned out that a messenger had come with the news that the young woman's husband had died.

After that, a stream of people visited the house to pay their respects and participate in memorial ceremonies, the official among them. A wooden funeral altar inscribed the late husband's name was set up inside. It was covered with offerings of food, drink, and burning incense, while Buddhist monks knelt around it and chanted sutras to ease the transition of the husband's soul to the spiritual plane. Not long after the conclusion of the funeral rites, the young woman was seen all around town trying to sell clothing and furniture in order to feed herself and her mother. Recognizing an opportunity for mutual benefit,

the official proposed himself as a marriage match. After the wedding, he moved in with the woman and treated her mother like his own. They seemed a settled family, but a few months later, the dead husband suddenly appeared at the door, not so dead after all. Discovering the official, the husband screamed wildly and swore that he would take him to court and see him destroyed. But the young woman threw herself on her knees and begged her first husband to have mercy. He finally agreed, on one condition. The official had to leave his belongings behind and pay a hefty sum. Half a year later, the official was in court on a work-related errand when he learned that his former wife and her alleged real husband had been arrested for adultery.

Upon questioning the magistrate, he learned too that the man to whom he had paid compensation wasn't the woman's real husband, but her lover. This is not to say that there was not a real husband. There was, in fact, one, a man who had been away on a long military expedition far from the capital. It was his unexpected early return that had revealed the deception. Since what he had felt for the young woman seemed so real, this was all very confusing for the official. 3. Another case I came across involves a compound in the Western District. It was a lavish compound made up of several houses. Between them, the houses collectively contained almost 50 furnished

rooms. The compound's monthly cost was consequently steep, more than 20 tails of silver. Nevertheless, a stranger approached the landlord eager to rent the estate. He even agreed to sign a contract to lease it over for half a year and pay his rent early. More than happy with this arrangement, the landlord left the man alone. A little over six months into the tenant's stay, though, he suddenly quit appearing in public, and the houses in the compound went dark. Worried that something bad had happened, the landlord investigated and discovered that the houses in the middle of the compound, which were hidden by the front and rear homes, had been secretly dismantled and reduced to rubble. Over the next few days, it came to light that tenant had diligently taken the middle houses

apart, door by window, pillar by post, and chair by table, and had sold it all off outside the back of the compound, near where he had opened a shop facing an entirely different street. 4. In all these cases, greed for a bargain or an advantage led to a victim's deception. Therefore, we can all be seen as accomplices in our downfall. No one does anything alone, and this is as true for downfalls as it is for triumphs. But if this is so, is there a way to escape deception and delusion? A way to prevent one's life from being filled with clever frauds that one takes as reality? My friend, Qian Wenmin, probably has the most sensible advice I've heard on this issue.

One should be wary when dealing with the residents of the capital. All the bargains in a place inhabited by swindlers are naturally traps. Finally today, The Realness of Paintings and Demons by Pu Songling. Sometimes, the appearance of things when you are watching them is very different from when you are not. Take the case of a painting brought to my attention by Ho Young Jong, entitled A Xian Yu Fairy Makes a Deer Her Steed. It is signed by the famous Zhao Zhongmu. While the signature might be a forgery, the painting is nevertheless striking, so much so that the family who bought it hung it in a place of honor on their wall. Soon afterwards, the family began to receive reports from passers-by that sometimes, when the house was empty, the figure of the Xiannu

would step out of the painting and walk along the wall. There, it was indistinguishable from other shadows except for two things. One, it moved eerily and bonelessly, as if alive. Two, it remained tinted with the colors of the painting. After hearing the reports of the passers-by, one morning the household head tied a cord to the bottom roller of the painting and pretended to leave the house. In reality, he hid it inside. As soon as the Xiannu figure flitted from the painting to the wall, he yanked the cord. This sent the painting crashing to the floor, where he rolled it back up into a scroll, so quickly that the figure was left stranded on the wall like an insect caught between cupped hands.

At first, the colors of the figure's skin and clothing were just as they were in the painting, but as the day wore on, they faded. After around twelve hours, they had faded so much that no trace of the Shenyu remained, not even a stain. My early thoughts on cases like this are that there was no actual painting spirit involved. How could there be, I reasoned. The entities that the paintings depicted were representations of things, not the things themselves, and so they lacked the internal vital chi required to generate a soul that might enable them the generation of a physical body. This is not to say that I did not think any actual spirits

were involved. I did. But I thought they must simply be regular demons who had assumed the shape of characters from paintings to cause confusion and wreak havoc. However, my thinking on this subject evolved when I had the opportunity to read Zhang Hua's Notes and Reflections on Things in the World. Therein, Zhang Hua shares an account about the occult capture of a painting demon in the Yellow Flower Temple during the Northern Wei Dynasty. Yuan Zhao, the man who captured the demon, found a way to interrogate it. And he said to the demon, You should not have material essence, since you are merely a product of the imagination,

a thing of paint, not divine chi. How is it, then, that you appear before me? How is it that you have life? The demon replied, You make too sharp a distinction between ideas and spirits, and living things and art. Human lives, in fact, are like paintings undertaken by the subjects of the painting, subjects who only emerge fully into existence through the act of painting themselves. Just as human beings struggle to become authentic and real, artists struggle to reveal the deeply real. If they manage to do so through words or paint, their work attracts spiritual energies. These imbue it with enough

life to manifest. This is how I came to be. A crucial stroke was added. Consciousness sparked. The demon's explanation, in this case, is worth thinking about. And so it is that we reach the conclusion of today's dreams. If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended. That you have but slumbered here while these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream. Gentles, do not reprehend.

If your pardon, we will mend. And, as I am an honest puck, if we have unearned luck, now to scrape the serpent's tongue, we will make amends ere long. Else Puck a liar call. So good night unto you all. Give me your hands if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends. And as always, thanks for listening. I'm Samuel Hume, a historian of the British Empire, and my podcast Pax Britannica follows

the people and events that built that empire into a global superpower. Learn the history of the British Empire by listening to Pax Britannica everywhere you find your podcasts, or go to pod.link slash pax.