The Old Scholar’s Reincarnation
Sha chang-pai, Translated by: W.W.Yen
There lived in Foochow, the capital of Fukien Province, during the reign of Hung Chih in the Ming dynasty an old scholar, who was very learned and excellent as an essayist. In spite of frequent attempts, he failed to pass the civil service examinations, and because of his unpractical ways sank deeper and deeper into poverty. He had a son, who was of no account with books and made his living as a farm laborer.
When the scholar reached the age of seventy he died in great unhappiness. On the day of his death he assembled his literary works and wrote a poem as epilogue, instructing his wife to take good care of them. He was so poor when he died that his pupils, five in all, had to make a collection to pay the expenses of his burial. One student in particular, a wealthy man and very sentimental, expressed deep grief, weeping bitterly and following the remains to the grave. From time to time he sent gifts to the widow and the son to relieve them in their distress.
Some fifteen years later a brilliant young scholar coming from an ordinary family made his appearance south of the Yangtze River, passing successfully and rapidly the civil service examinations one after the other and becoming imperial academician within the remarkably short period of five years. He was appointed imperial examiner for the province of Fukien, and distinguished himself by his meticulous care and distinguished himself by his meticulous care and impartiality in selecting the papers of the candidates who attended the examinations, while his own essays, masterpieces of the day, were read avidly throughout the region.
On the fifteenth day of the ninth moon the highest local authorities, including the governor and the chief justice, assembled at a banquet to do him honor, the day being his birthday. The gathering was a distinguished one, as the guest of honor was both an academician and provincial examiner and the other guests the most prominent men of Foochow. He was much envied and toasted, being regarded as almost a demigod, not so much because he was the man of the hour, as because he had become one at so young an age.
Tired out by the festivities and somewhat overcome by the innumerable cups of wine which he was obliged to drain, he retired finally to his houseboat, giving orders to permit no visitors to come on board. After some hours of profound slumber, he woke up near midnight feeling much refreshed. The moon was shining brightly through the windows and one could almost believe that it was broad daylight. Gazing at the picturesque bank of the river he conceived the noyion to take a stroll on shore. He changed into simple, everyday clothes, and, accompanied by his page, he landed and commenced his walk under the moon, having no particular destination in mind.
For several li he wandered along and noted with some new interest the familiar hills, woods, creeks and ravines. Suddenly he heard heart-rending lamentations coming from a nearby hamlet, and much distressed, he followed the sound of weeping till he came to a humble cottage, without even a simple hedge around it. He told his page to knock and open the primitive door. They entered and saw by the light of a lantern a white-haired woman of wild herbs and porridge to her deceased husband, and weeping as if her heart would break.
The imperial examiner bowed profoundly to the old lady and inquired for the reason of her great sorrow. She thanked him, arranged a seat for him on a broken chair, and related through her tears the cause of her grief.
“It was my intention, sir, to offer sacrifices earlier today to my departed husband, but my son who left for a distant place has delayed his return so I am obliged to make the sacrifice at night. I have failed, however, to find any wine for the ceremony, hence my particular chagrin, although you, sir, must know that it is against the rules and rites to weep at night.”
“Who was your husband”? asked the examiner, “how long has he been dead? And if wine is missing for the sacrifice why not postpone the ceremony till tomorrow”?
“My husband was an aged scholar, rich in talent but poor in luck,” she replied. “he died twenty years ago, and today is the anniversary of his demise. We were a very happy couple, and although I have little or nothing to offer to his memory, I could not postpone the sacrifice due on this day.”
The examiner was struck by the fact that the date of death of the old scholar coincided with that of his birth, exactly twenty years ago. The old lady looked wan and tired, but her language was highly cultured. He felt the greatest pity and sympathy for her.
“If your lamented husband was a great scholar,” he remarked, “he must have left behind him numerous writings and manuscripts; may I be permitted to have a look at them”?
The old lady nodded, mused for a moment and finally confided the following story to the examiner.
“I was his wife for nearly fifty years and can bear witness to his industry and devotion to learning, whether it be in the heat of summer or the cold of winter. If the jar contained no rice or the kitchen chimney produced no smoke that was of little moment to him. His compositions reached hundreds of volumes, and all his papers written for the civil service examinations were collected into a separate volume. He often took these papers out and read them after he was past sixty. Whenever he did so, he would sigh and tears would roll down his cheeks. Fearing that this sorrow might ruin his health, I hid the book to prevent him from reading it any more. A month before his death, he lit a fire and swore to burn the book, but then he fondled it and hesitated to carry out his resolution. “The child of my heart”s labor during a life-time,” then he would softly sigh to himself repeatedly. On the night of his death, he asked to see the book again, and wrote a poem at the end. “Put it away carefully: someone will appreciate it.” Then he smiled and continued, “the contents of my book are too profound for profane eyes. Unless I returned from the other word, who would be able to recognize their excellence? I am ashamed of nothing in my life, and I shall reap my reward after death. In another generation our family will become very illustrious, thus vindicating all poor but worthy scholars.”?? So saying and with the exception of a few of his students, who made copies of the book and read it, no one else has ever referred to the work.”
After the young academician had heard the remarkable story, he asked to see the book. The very first essay was word for word what he wrote when he took the first examination. Amazed, he ran over the essays which secured for him the higher degrees, his successful palace examination, his admission to the candidates for their these at the recent provincial examination. On the last page of the book he found the Farewell Poem: In this poor hut I have spent seventy years in vain. When I return, I shall not be the same frustrated, wretched person. You will fulfill what I failed to achieve And find in this book the line of our identity.
After perusing the poem the academician realized the whole situation. He nodded, sighed deeply, and looking up at the shabby roof and the crumbling walls, felt at home in the surroundings. He demanded where the old bed was. There it stood in the corner with its worn-out mat and old bed-clothes covered with dust, while the old lady”s sleeping place was on some straw. He could not restrain from weeping, which astonished her.
“Why do you give way to tears”? she asked. “Is it that you are also a student of my late husband and shocked at the misery that meets your eyes”?
“No,” he replied, “it is because I am he of whom he speaks as the one who would return. Is it not Fate that has brought me here tonight”?
“When my husband died,”
she observed softly, “my heat nearly broke. But then he said something about coming back, so I bit him on the leg and stained the spot with blood from my finger as a secret mark. Do you, sir, bear such a clue on your body”?
The old lady wept copiously, while he, greatly saddened, tried his best to comfort her.
“Madame,” he declared, “you need worry no more. Your lamented husband studied diligently during a lifetime and received no recognition in his old age, expecting to receive his reward through me. My success and glory is the fruit of his intellectual labor. If I ignore my efforts, which were really his, then my youthful success would indeed be a strange antic of fortune. No; I shall glorify the house of my previous personality, thus fulfilling his ambitions and giving encouragement to all aged scholars, besides providing for your future comfort.”
He asked whither the son had gone.
“Since the death of my husband,” confessed the old lady, “my son and I have had difficulty in maintaining ourselves. Fortunately, some former pupils of his come to visit us sometimes, and on the anniversaries offer sacrifices to his spirit. Today one of them failed to appear because he has just obtained the master”s degree, so I sent my son to enquire.”
On asking for the student”s name, the examiner remembered it as the one he had chosen to head the successful candidates. The other four or five students mentioned by the old lady were also among the examinees who pleased him very much.
Soon it was dawn and the son returned, followed by an old man with rice wine, money and other things. With disheveled hair and cotton garments the son looked as rustic as any simple peasant. The old lady introduced him to the distinguished guest, who asked why he was late in coming home. He explained that their scholar friend and several of his fellow successful examinees had gone to present their felicitations on the examiner”s birthday but failed to find him either in his official residence or on his houseboat.
“Is the old man who came with you the servant of the successful scholar”? asked the examiner.
“Yes, sir,” the son replied. “Return to your master and invite him to meet me here,” said the guest to the servant. The old man left in a hurry.
In the meantime the old lady explained to the son the significance of the visit of the examiner, and he wanted to greet the latter as his father.
“No,” said the guest, “that cannot be, for it has to do with my previous existence.”
Not long after the scholar friend in question arrived together with a few other successful candidates, and after hearing the whole story from the mouth of their examiner, all prostrated themselves before him.
“Our illustrious teacher and master during two existences!” they exclaimed. “such a case has never been known in human history.”
Later the magistrate came, and then the prefect and other high officials made their appearance. They likewise were all amazed at the account related to them.
In the next few days the examiner occupied himself with sacrifices before the tomb of the old scholar, planting a tree in memory of the occasion. Invitations were sent out to friends and relatives of the family to attend a feast, when gifts were distributed to all. Those who had been particularly attentive to the old lady received double portions. For the old widow and her son a comfortable house with adjoining fields and servants was provided, so that they could pass their days in ease, while all the provided officials from the governor down presented them with suitable gifts. Mother and son were now well off, and the latter took to himself a wife. The news of the strange affair spread like wild fire throughout the province, and many an old and indigent scholar throughout south China felt wonderfully encouraged by it.
The imperial examiner was obliged by official duties to return soon after to Peking, but time and again he revisited the place. The former farm laborer became the father of five sons and five daughters. The boys turned out to be good scholars, three of whom succeeded in passing the metropolitan examinations. Generation after generation distinguished itself, and the family flourished as one of the most celebrated of Fukien Province.
