The Nine Cloud Dream Read online

  He tried to sleep, but sleep refused to come and the hour grew late. Whenever he closed his eyes, the eight fairies appeared before him, and when he opened them they vanished into nothingness. It suddenly occurred to him that the great purpose of Buddhism was to tame the mind and the heart. “I have been a monk for ten years,” he said. “For ten years I have avoided the smallest fault, but these seductive thoughts will cause irreparable harm to my progress.”

  He burned incense, knelt, stilled his thoughts, and was counting his mala beads, visualizing the thousand Buddhas,16 when suddenly one of the temple boys came to his window and inquired, “Brother, are you asleep? The master is calling you.”

  Hsing-chen was alarmed. “It is unusual for him to call me in the middle of the night. It must be something serious,” he thought.

  He followed the boy to the main shrine hall, where all the monks of the temple had assembled. Master Liu-kuan himself was sitting in solemn silence in the light of many candles. His appearance inspired both fear and curiosity, and when he spoke it was with great care, with grave intonation.

  “Hsing-chen! Do you know how you have sinned?”

  Hsing-chen was kneeling before the dais. He bowed low, until his head touched the floor, and said, “Master, I have been your disciple for more than ten years now. I have never disobeyed you. I have tried to be pure. I am not hiding anything, and I do not know what offense I have committed.”

  Liu-kuan became angry. “You drank wine at the palace of the Dragon King! On your return, by the stone bridge, you flirted with eight fairy girls, joking with them, throwing them a branch of flowers, which you transformed into jewels. And since your return, you have turned away from the teachings of the Buddha and dwelt on worldly and sensual things. You have rejected your way of life here, and now you cannot stay!”

  Hsing-chen wept, bent his head to the floor, and pleaded. “Master!” he said. “I know I have sinned. But I drank the wine only because the Dragon King himself offered it to me and I could not refuse. I bantered with the fairies at the bridge because I had to ask them to step out of the way. In my cell I faced temptation, but I came to my senses and controlled myself. If I have done wrong, you may whip me on the calves, but if you are so cruel as to send me away, how will I ever correct myself?

  “I came to you to become a monk when I was only twelve, and so you are like a father to me.17 I serve you like a son. The relationship between master and disciple is deep and sacred. Where am I to go if I must leave Lotus Peak?”

  “I am sending you away because that is what you wish,” said Liu-kuan. “Why would I make you go if you wanted to stay? You ask, ‘Where am I to go?’ You should go wherever your desire takes you.”

  Then Master Liu-kuan shouted, “Come, constables!” and suddenly they materialized from thin air—the yellow-hatted emissaries of Hell.18 They bowed and awaited his orders. “Take this man into your custody,” said Liu-kuan. “Remove him to the Underworld and hand him over to King Yama.”19

  When Hsing-chen heard this he felt as if his spirit had left him. His eyes overflowing with tears, he fell upon the floor, crying, “Father! Father, please! Listen to what I have to say! In ancient times the Great Master Ananda broke all the laws of the Buddha when he visited the house of a prostitute and had intercourse with her. But the noble Shakyamuni20 did not condemn him! He embraced Ananda and showed him the dharma ever more clearly. I may have transgressed, but surely I am less guilty than Ananda! How can you send me to Hell?”

  “When Ananda fell into sin, his mind was repentant,” Master Liu-kuan replied. “You, on the other hand, have lost your heart and mind upon a single glimpse of those seductive creatures. Your thoughts have turned toward a life of pleasure. Your mouth waters for worldly honor and wealth. You fare badly in a comparison with Ananda. You cannot escape the grief and suffering that await you, Hsing-chen!”

  Hsing-chen could not imagine leaving, and he continued to cry for mercy until the master finally relented and comforted him. “Hsing-chen, while your mind is impure, you will never attain enlightenment, even up here in the mountains,” he said. “But do not forget the dharma. Hold true to it, and though you may mingle with dirt and impurities along the way, your return is assured. If it is ever your desire to return, Hsing-chen, then I shall go myself to bring you back, so do not doubt or question me. Now, go!”

  There was nothing more to be said. Hsing-chen bowed low before the master, said good-bye to his fellow monks, and went with the emissaries of the Underworld.

  They transported him beyond the Lookout Pavilion to the outer walls of Hell, and when the guards at the gate asked the cause of their coming, they said, “We have arrested this guilty man and bring him here at the orders of the Great Master Liu-kuan!” The guards opened the gates of Hell and let them through into the inner court, where they once again announced their arrival.

  And it was Yama himself, King of the Underworld, who commanded that they bring him in. “Honored sir,” he said to Hsing-chen, “though you abide in the hills under Lotus Peak, your name already rests on the incense table before the great King Ksitigarbha.21 I have thought to myself that in the future, when you ascend the Lotus Throne, all sentient creatures of the Earth will be greatly blessed. So how is it that you have been arrested and dragged here before me in disgrace?”

  Hsing-chen was confused and humiliated, and he did not reply for a long time. Finally, he said, “I met Lady Wei’s fairy maidens on the stone bridge of the Southern Peak. I failed to restrain my carnal thoughts about them. I have sinned against my master, and now, Your Majesty, I await your command.”

  King Yama sent a messenger to King Ksitigarbha with the following note:

  The Great Master Liu-kuan of Lotus Peak has sent me one of his disciples, escorted by the Yellow Hats. We are to come to a judgment, here in the Underworld, as to his guilt. Since his case is not like that of ordinary offenders I am asking Your High Majesty’s counsel.

  King Ksitigarbha replied:

  Each man has his own path to perfection, and each is reborn in order to carry out the things necessary to work out his karma. No man can escape the cycle of samsara, and therefore there is no point in our discussing this case.22

  King Yama was just about to come to a decision when two demon soldiers announced that the Yellow Hats, by Master Liu-kuan’s command, had brought eight more criminals, who were now waiting outside the gate. Hsing-chen was greatly alarmed.

  King Yama commanded that they be brought in—and behold!—the eight fairy maidens of the Southern Peak came haltingly through the gate and knelt down in the court. “Listen, fairy maidens of Southern Peak!” said Yama. “You fairy folk live in the most beautiful of known worlds. You enjoy uncountable pleasures and delights. How is it that you come to this place?”

  Greatly shamed, they replied in a babble of voices: “Our mistress, Lady Wei, ordered us to pay a visit to the Great Master Liu-kuan to ask after his health and well-being. On our way back to the Southern Peak, we met his disciple Hsing-chen. Because we spoke with his disciple, Master Liu-kuan said that we had defiled the sacred laws of the mountains, and he wrote you to ask that we be banished to the Underworld. All our hopes are with Your Majesty, and we pray that you have mercy on us and allow us to go back to the world of the living.”

  King Yama then called nine emissaries, and they appeared before him. In a deep voice, he commanded, “Take these nine and return them at once to the world of the living.”

  He had hardly finished his pronouncement when a great whirlwind arose and carried the eight fairies and the youth off into the void, where they were swirled apart and flung into the eight directions. Hsing-chen was borne along by the wind, hurled and tossed about in endless space until, at last, he seemed to land on solid ground.

  When the storm calmed, Hsing-chen gathered his wits and found himself among a range of mountains bordered by a beautiful, clear river. Below him was a
bamboo grove, and beyond that, through the shady branches of the trees, he could see a dozen houses with thatched roofs. Several people were gathered there, talking together within his earshot. “How marvelous!” they said. “Hermit Yang’s wife is past her fiftieth year, and yet she is going to have a child! We have been waiting for so long, but have yet to hear the infant’s cry. These are anxious moments.”

  Hsing-chen said to himself: “I will be reborn into the world of humans. I can see that I am only a spirit now, for I have no body. I left it on Lotus Peak. It has been cremated already, and I am so young I have no disciples to recover my relics and keep them safe.”

  As these ruminations about the past filled him with grief, one of Yama’s emissaries appeared and motioned him over. “This is the Hsiu-chou township of Huai-nan Province in the empire of T’ang,”23 he said. “And here is the home of the hermit Yang, who is your father. This is his wife, Liu, your mother. It is your karma to be reincarnated in this household, so go quickly. Do not miss this auspicious moment!”

  Hsing-chen went into the house, and there sat the hermit wearing his reed hat and a coat of rough hempen cloth. He was preparing some sort of medicine on a brazier in front of him, and the fragrance filled the house. From the room in back came the indistinct moaning of someone in pain.

  “Go in quickly. Now!” the emissary urged again. When Hsing-chen hesitated, the messenger gave him a hard push from behind into the room.

  Hsing-chen fell to the ground and instantly lost consciousness. It seemed that he had been propelled into some great natural cataclysm. “Help!” he cried. “Save me!” But the sounds caught in his throat, inarticulate, until they became the cries of an infant.

  The midwives quickly announced to the hermit that his wife had borne him a beautiful son, and Yang took her the medicinal drink he had prepared. They looked at each other, their faces full of joy.

  Hsing-chen was suckled when he was hungry, and he ceased his crying when he was satisfied. As a newborn he still recalled the events of his previous life on Lotus Peak, but as he grew older and knew the love of his parents, the memories of his former existence faded away, and soon they were entirely forgotten.

  When the hermit saw how handsome and talented he was, he stroked the child’s little brow and said, “Indeed, you are a gift from Heaven come to dwell among us.”

  And so he named him Shao-yu, meaning “Small Visitor,” and gave him the special name Ch’ien-li, meaning “A Thousand Li.”24

  * * *

  Time passes like flowing water, and in what seemed the space of moments, the boy grew to be ten years old. His face had the quality of jade and his eyes shone bright as the morning star. He was strong, and his mind pure and bright, showing that he was most certainly a superior man.25

  The hermit said to his wife, “I do not originally come from this world, but because I am with you I have dwelt among the dust of this Earth in this mortal form. The immortals who live on Mount P’eng-lai26 have called upon me many times to return to them. But because of your hard work and your suffering, I have refused them.

  “Now Heaven has blessed us with a son who shows great talent, who is superior to others in his attainments. You may rely on him now, and in your old age you will surely enjoy wealth and honor through his achievements. Therefore, I need no longer delay my departure.”

  One day, the devas came to escort him, some riding on white deer and some on blue herons, and they flew off together toward the distant mountains. Though a letter would come from time to time out of the clear blue sky, no traces of the hermit Yang were ever seen on this Earth again.

  2

  THE YOUNG SCHOLAR

  After the hermit Yang departed, mother and son were left alone to look after each other in this world. In time Shao-yu showed such extraordinary talent that the local magistrate called him “the marvelous boy” and recommended him to the court. But Shao-yu, out of devotion to his mother, declined the favor.

  When he was approaching fourteen, his clear and handsome features were said to resemble those of P’an Yüeh.1 His poetry was like Li Po’s, his calligraphy like that of the great Wang Hsi-Chih, and in strategy his cleverness matched that of Sun Pin and Wu Ch’i. He was well versed in astronomy and geomancy, in the six tactics and three practicalities.2 In the military arts—spear throwing and swordsmanship—his skill was truly wondrous, and no one could stand before him. Because he had been a man of refined temperament in his former life, his mind was clear and his heart was full of compassion, and he solved the mysteries of life as deftly as one might split bamboo. He was altogether different from ordinary men.

  One day, Shao-yu said to his mother, “When my father ascended to Heaven he entrusted the reputation and honor of this household to me. But we are still terribly poor and you are forced to labor even in your old age. If we live like dogs or turtles, dragging our tails and making no effort to better our condition, the family line will become extinct. I shall never make you proud, and I will have failed my father’s trust. But I have heard that in a few days there will be government examinations open to any candidate in the empire. I would like to leave you for a little while to sit for that examination.”

  Shao-yu’s mother, knowing her son’s strong will, did not wish to keep him from this noble purpose. But she was afraid of him taking the long journey at such a young age, and she worried how long he might be away. “You are still young and inexperienced,” she said. “This is your first real journey, so you must be sure to take care of yourself so that you may return safely. I shall wait anxiously each day by the gate to see you again.”

  Shao-yu bade his mother good-bye and set out on his way on a small donkey with a servant boy to accompany him. In a few days he reached Hua-chou in the state of Hua-yin, not far from the capital at Ch’ang-an.3 The vistas of mountain and stream he passed were especially beautiful, and since it was still a while before the beginning of the examinations, he took his time, covering only a few li a day, lingering at historical spots and enjoying the scenery. Thus he averted the boredom and loneliness of the traveler.

  * * *

  Shao-yu saw a small house in the dappled shade of a beautiful willow grove. A blue line of smoke rose into the sky like a roll of silk unwinding, and in a removed part of the enclosure he saw a beautiful pavilion with a neatly kept approach. He slowed his donkey and went near. The branches swayed like just-washed hair under the strokes of a beautiful girl’s brush. Through the shade of the encircling branches and leaves he could barely make out the wonderful fairy world beyond.

  Shao-yu pushed aside the foliage; his hand lingered, not wanting to let go. He sighed. “In our world of Ch’u4 I have seen many pretty willow groves,” he said, “but none so lovely as this.”

  He quickly composed a poem:

  The green silky willow, its slender wands

  veiling the bright pavilion—

  Why have you planted it?

  Was it your exquisite taste?

  The long willow drapes, their deep green hue

  ’round the radiant pillar—

  Take care and do not break them,

  for they are fragile and they move my heart.

  As he sang the poem in a rich, clear voice, the clouds paused and the valley echoed.

  In the upper story of the pavilion a beautiful maiden was having her afternoon nap. She awoke with a start and sat up, pushing aside the armrest on which she leaned. She opened the embroidered shade and looked out this way and that through the painted railing. From where had she heard the singing? Suddenly her eyes met Shao-yu’s.

  Her hair was disheveled, like a soft, warm cloud at her temples, and her long jade hairpin had been pushed askew till it protruded slantwise through her hair. Her eyelids were still weighted with lingering sleep, and her expression was of someone who had just emerged from the world of dreams. Her rouge and powder had been removed by the careless hand of sl
eep, unveiling her natural beauty, a beauty impossible to picture, such as no painting has ever portrayed.

  The two stared at each other, startled, but neither said a word. Shao-yu had sent his boy ahead to get him a room at the inn, and now the boy suddenly returned to announce that it had been arranged. The maiden looked straight at Shao-yu for a moment, and then quickly gathered herself and shut the blind, disappearing from view, leaving only a hint of sweet fragrance that carried to Shao-yu on the breeze.

  At first Shao-yu regretted that the boy had disturbed him with his news. Now that the blinds had closed he felt as if a thousand li of the Yang-tze had cut him off from all his desire. He went on his way, looking back from time to time to check, but the silken window was shut and did not open again. He arrived at the inn with a sense of loss and homesickness, his mind aswirl with confusion.

  * * *

  —

  Her family name was Ch’in and her given name Ts’ai-feng. She was the daughter of a government official. She had lost her mother early in life and had no brothers or sisters. Now she had reached the age when girls put up their hair,5 but she was still unmarried.

  Her father had gone to the capital on official business, and so she was alone when she unexpectedly met Shao-yu’s gaze. She found herself intensely attracted to his handsome features and manly bearing, and hearing the verses he sang, she admired his literary skill.

  She thought to herself: “A woman’s lot in life is to follow her husband. Her pride and her shame—all of her life experiences—are bound to her lord and master. That is why Princess Cho Wen-chün followed Szu-ma Hsiang-ju when she was a widow.6 I am yet an unmarried girl. I dread the idea of being my own go-between and proposing marriage, but it is said in ancient times, that ‘the subjects choose their king,’ so I shall inquire about this gentleman and learn his name and place of residence. I must do so at once. I cannot wait until my father returns—who knows where he may have gone or where I might go searching for him in the four directions?”