A Dream and its Lesson
Li Mi, Translated by W. W. Yen
In the nineteenth year of the Reign of Kai Yuan in the Tang Dynasty, an old Taoist, on his journey to Hantan, arrived at a small inn. Spreading a mat on the Kang, he unburdened himself of the bag from his shoulder and sat down. A young man by the name of Lu, wearing a short fur jacket and riding a pony, being on his way to tend farm, also stopped at the inn for a brief rest. He made the acquaintance of the old Taoist and the two chatted pleasantly for some time.
Looking at his own shabby attire, the young man sighed in the middle of the conversation.
“It is a shame,” he complained, “that a man like me should have no luck in life and be indigent like this.”
“Your face has a good colour, you seem to be well nourished and in excellent health, and you converse pleasantly, why should you sigh and complain of your hard luch”? rejoined the old man.
“I am barely hanging on to life,” was the moody reply, “and there is practically no happiness to speak of.”
“If such as you are discontented with life,” observed the Taoist, “with what should one then be satisfied”?
“A man should have the opportunity to render distinguished service to his country and acquire wide renown, either as a general or as a minister of state,” claimed the young man. “He would then be wined and dined and entertained with music of his choice, his family and relatives would become prosperous and influential, and he would be able to spend money freely in his house hold expenditures. Then and then only may one admit that his is contented. In my case I have devoted my time and energy to learning and I am also proficient in many arts. I believe at one time that I could pass with ease the imperial appointments. Today I am no longer young, and yet I have to toil in the fields from morning to night. If this is not misfortune, then I do not know what is.”
When he had finished his discourse, he was becoming somewhat drowsy and felt like taking a nap. As the innkeeper was then engaged in cooking some millet for his meal, the old Taoist reached for his bag and took from it a pillow which he handed to the young man.
“Put this pillow under your head,” he said, “it will bring you all that you yearn for – honours, fame, wealth and what not,”
The pillow made of porcelain was hollow and the two ends were open. Lu placed his head on it and soon fell sound asleep.
In his dream he saw that the apertures of the pillow were enlarging to a size that would admit his body, and it was bright inside. Boldly he entered and soon found himself back at home. Before long a marriage was arranged between him and a Miss Tsui of Chingho, a wealthy and beautiful heiress, and from that time on he lived luxuriously, wearing rich and soft furs and going about in handsome equipages.
The following year he obtained the doctorate at the metropolitan examination and was appointed Imperial Complier. Passing with flying colours the civil service test he was nominated Magistrate of the Weinan County, and brevetted soon after as Censor, stepping into that post within three years. Rapid promotions followed, for he became Prefect of Tungchou, and was subsequently transferred to Shenchou.
Now Lu was keen on engineering projects and during his stay at Shenchou constructed a canal eighty li long, thus facilitating irrigation and transportation in that region. To commemorate this valuable service to the locality, the people erected honorific stone tablets. After occupying the higher post of Intendant of Pienchou, he was further honoured with the appointment of Governor of the Metropolitan District.
At the time the emperor was engaged in conflicts with the nomadic tribes in the north-west. The khan of the Turfans had attacked and captured two important Chinese cities, killing the Chinese Commanding General Wang. The vast north-western territory being threatened with invasion, His Majesty sought for a capable military leader. The choice fell on Governor Lu, who smashed the barbarian onslaught, killed some seven thousand enemy troops, brought a territory of several thousand square li under imperial rule and constructed three big fortified cities as key points in this important strategical area. Thus the empire”s frontiers on the north were made invulnerable, and Lu”s exploits were engraved on stone to immortalize his name.
On his triumphant return to the capital he was showered with honours and received the appointment of Censor and Vice-Minister of Civil Service. Enjoying now high prestige and becoming an idol of the People, he incurred the jealousy of the Prime Minister, who tried his best to spreading malicious rumours to destroy the national hero. Lu was, as a consequence, demoted to Prefect of Tuanchouw, an returned to the capital only after serving in the province for three years.
However, this time he was promoted to Minister of Finance, later became Imperial Secretary, and, together with two others, was in control of state affairs for a period of ten years. He was consulted as often as three times a day by His Majesty on imperial problems, and his ripe experience and profound grasp of statecraft earned for him the reputation of being a very wise premier.
Once more his colleagues intrigued and plotted against him, accusing him of maintaining secret and improper relations with frontier military officers with a view to high treason. He was condemned to imprisonment. The police came to his house to arrest him. He was so frightened at the thought of the death penalty that he confessed his innermost thoughts to his wife.
“My family came originally from Shantung,” he said, “we owned several hundred mou of fertile land, which was sufficient to feed and clothe us comfortably. Why did i then foolishly seek for official honours, only to arrive at such a pass? At this moment it is not even possible for me to wear my short fur jacket and mounting my pony, gallop gaily on the road to Hantan.”
he took a knife to commit suicide by cutting his throat but was prevented from killing himself by his wife. In the end, while all his fellow accused were beheaded, he spared his life through friendly intervention, and later appointed Magistrate of Huan.
A few years afterwards His Majesty, realizing that Lu had been a victim of injustice, recalled him to the capital and restored him to the post of Imperial Secretary, besides ennobling him as the Duke of Chao. Once more he basked in imperial favour and was the envy of all officialdom. All his five sons held fat posts under the government, while his relatives by marriage belonged all to illustrious families of the empire. He was, moreover, the proud grandfather o more than a dozen boys.
Twice during his career he was banished to provinces and twice he returned to power. He was a prominent figure in and out of the capital and he played a preponderating role around the throne. For thirty years he enjoyed to the full both renown and authority, and no other minister of state could boast of such a brilliant career.
In his later years he indulged freely in luxury and extravagance, and spent much time in his harem. The emperor bestowed on him huge estates and mansions, as well as beautiful women and noble horses. As he aged, he prayed to the emperor to be relieved of his important posts, but met only with refusals. Finally, he fell desperately ill. Medicines came to him from imperial pharmacy. Noted physicians ministered to him. Visitors to his palace to enquire after his health arrived in a veritable procession. On his deathbed he prepared his last memorial to the throne.
“Your liege servant,” he modestly stated, “started out in life as a humble scholar of Shantung, who occupied himself with farming and gardening, but through imperial patronage was enabled to enter the government service. He was promoted beyond his deserts and has received many honours and awards from the throne. Proceeding to the frontiers on a military mission, he was escorted by a forest of banners, and serving in the capital he was permitted to stand close to the Imperial Presence, thus basking in the imperial sunshine without making appreciable contribution to the Sacred Rule. Nevertheless, your servant battled on horseback not unsuccessfully against the barbarian invader, proceeding in his strategy with a prudence as if he were walking on thin ice over deep waters.
“One day thus followed another without your liege”s noticing the rapid approach of old age: today he is over eighty, having attained one of the three highest posts in the government. The sands of his life are fast running out, and his old bones and shriveled muscles can no longer stand the strain of work. He is confined to his bed breathing his last, feeling that he has reached the end of efforts. Unable to repay any further his indebtedness to His Gracious Majesty, he craves on his knees to bid eternal and loving farewell to his Imperial Master and Sovereign.”
His Majesty the Emperor deigned to grant a gracious rescript: “You have with your eminent talent and virtues nobly supported us in the government of the empire. Out on the distant frontiers you played the part of an impregnable rampart, while in the capital you contributed your invaluable counsel for promoting the peace and prosperity of the land. The well-being and security of the empire during a period of more than a score of years have been due to your wise statesmanship. When we heard of your illness, we had hoped that you would soon recover, but now we learn to our profound sorrow of its gravity. We are sending Field Marshal Kao to pay you a visit and enquire after your condition. We trust that for our sake you will continue to take good care of yourself, follow faithfully the advice of the physicians, and while placing no reliance on false hopes, await patiently a happy issue to the present struggle.”
That night the illustrious statesman died.
Now our young man Lu gave a yawn and awoke, finding himself lying in the inn. The old Taoist was sitting by his side, the millet which the innkeeper was cooking over the fire was not quite ready, and everything else in the room remained the same as before. He jumped up with a start.
“Was all this merely a dream”? he asked.
“All human affaires are like this,” replied the old man with a laugh.
For a long while the young man cogitated. Finally he spoke to the old Taoist.
“I thank you, sir, for the wonderful experience,” he said slowly. “I fully grasp the meaning now of the cycle of honour and disgrace, of the principle of seeming loss and gain, and of life and death. You have taught me an invaluable lesson as regards personal ambitions, and I remain always your grateful and obedient pupil.”
He bowed profoundly and went tend his farm.
