Lotus Fragrance

I n Yizhou there was a scholar named Sang, called Ziming, orphaned young, who kept lodgings at Honghua Wharf. He was a quiet, self-contained man. Twice a day he went next door for his meals; the rest of the time he simply sat. His neighbor teased him once. "Living alone like this, aren't you afraid of ghosts and foxes?" Sang laughed. "What has a grown man to fear from ghosts and foxes? If a male comes, I have a good sword. If it's a female, I'll open the door and let her in." In Yizhou there was a man named Sang, called Ziming, orphaned in childhood, who lodged at Honghua Wharf. Sang was by nature still and reserved, content in himself. Twice a day he went out to eat at the eastern neighbor's; the rest of the time he merely sat. The neighbor's son joked, "Living alone, aren't you afraid of ghosts and foxes?" He answered laughing, "What does a man fear from ghosts and foxes? If a male comes, I have a sharp sword. If a female, I'll open the door and let her in."

The neighbor decided to call his bluff. He hired a courtesan to climb the wall after dark and knock. When Sang asked who was there, she said she was a ghost — and Sang's teeth chattered so loudly she could hear them. She gave up and left. But a few nights later a woman truly did come knocking, lovely and unhurried, and she said her name was Lotus Fragrance, a girl from a house in the west quarter. Sang took her for the courtesan come back on her own, and after that she came every few nights. The neighbor's son went back and plotted with friends. They had a courtesan climb a ladder over the wall and knock at the door. Sang peered out and asked who it was; the courtesan claimed to be a ghost. Sang was terrified, his teeth chattering audibly, and she withdrew and went away. Some nights afterward a woman came knocking of her own accord, gracefully entering. Sang took her for the prank's courtesan. She said her name was Lotus Fragrance, of a house in the west. From then she came every few nights.

One night, sitting alone, Sang looked up and a second woman was simply there in the room. He took her for Lotus Fragrance and spoke — then saw it was a stranger, fifteen or sixteen, her sleeves long, her hair still loose, with a way of moving that seemed half to arrive and half to leave. Startled, he wondered if she was a fox. She said no — she was a respectable man's daughter, surname Li. She came to him after that as well, on the nights Lotus Fragrance did not. As she left one dawn she dropped an embroidered slipper, and Sang kept it, turning it over in his hand. One evening, sitting alone in thought, a woman came lightly in. Sang supposed it was Lotus Fragrance and went to speak — but face to face she was someone else, only fifteen or sixteen, her sleeves trailing, her hair hanging loose, with a drifting grace, as though in walking she both came and went. Greatly startled, he suspected she was a fox. She said, "I am a respectable family's daughter, surnamed Li." She too began to visit. One time as she departed she dropped an embroidered slipper, and Sang picked it up and kept it.

“There are foxes in this world who do no harm. There has never been a ghost who does none.”

The two women never crossed paths, but each grew aware of the other. Lotus Fragrance studied Sang's face one night and went quiet. "There's another who comes to you," she said. "I can tell by your pulse — it runs scattered, like tangled silk. That is the mark of a ghost." Sang protested. So Lotus Fragrance told him plainly what she herself was. "There are foxes in this world who do no harm," she said. "There has never been a ghost who does none. The cold breath in them is too strong." Sang heard her out and did not believe it. He thought she was simply jealous. The two never met, yet each came to sense the other. Lotus Fragrance examined Sang and was alarmed. "I judge by your spirit and breath. Your pulse runs scattered like tangled silk — this is the proof of a ghost." Sang did not credit it. Then she revealed her own nature, and said, "There are in the world foxes that do not harm people, but never a ghost that does no harm, because their cold yin breath is too strong." Sang listened and remained unconvinced, supposing she spoke out of jealousy.

Then Sang sickened. He wasted by the day, not knowing why. When Lotus Fragrance saw him she was frightened. "This is truly a ghost's doing," she said. "I warned you, and you would not hear me." Rather than fight over him at his bedside, she said she would leave for a while, to prove she was not acting out of spite — and she went. The girl Li came as before. But now, seeing how thin and gray he had become, she understood at last what her visits had been costing him. She wept. She had loved him; she had never meant to take his life. Before long Sang fell ill, wasting day by day without knowing the cause. When Lotus Fragrance saw him she was horrified. "This is genuinely a ghost-sickness," she said. "I told you, and you would not listen." She said she would withdraw for a time, to make clear it was not jealousy, and departed. The Li girl continued to come; but seeing him so worn she grasped what her own coming had done. She wept, for she had loved him and never wished his death.

Sang sank until he was past saving, and only then did Lotus Fragrance return. She fed him medicine and tended him, day after day, for the better part of three months, and slowly the life came back into him. By then everything was in the open between the three of them. Li, half-fading at the foot of the bed, told her own story: she was the daughter of a magistrate named Li, dead young, buried outside the wall — like a spring silkworm whose thread is not yet spent, drawn back to the living world by a love she could not let go. Sang declined until he was beyond cure, and only then did Lotus Fragrance return. She gave him medicine and nursed him; after some months his vitality gradually revived. By now all was known among them. Li, faltering, told her origin: "I am the daughter of the magistrate Li, dead young and buried beyond the wall. Like a spring silkworm whose thread is not yet finished, I wished only to share love with you. To have brought you near death was never my true heart."

Li wanted to undo the harm she had done, and the only way left to her was to begin again. There had been a girl of the Zhang household nearby who had died suddenly and lay newly cold. Into that fresh body Li slipped, and woke, and lived — and when she rose and looked in the mirror, the face was not her old one, but over the days her own brows and eyes and cheeks came back into it, until she was herself again, alive. She married Sang. They called her Yan'er. Li wished to make amends, and there remained only rebirth. A girl of the Zhang family nearby had died suddenly and lay newly dead; into that corpse Li entered and revived. When she rose and looked in the mirror the features were another's, but after some days her own brows, eyes, and cheeks returned to it, exactly as in her former life. She then married Sang, and was called Yan'er.

Lotus Fragrance, for her part, was a fox, and a fox's borrowed years run out. Before she died she promised they would meet again in ten years, and told Yan'er not to doubt it. Ten years on, a girl of the Wei family who had died came back to life — and bit by bit she remembered another existence entirely, and knew Yan'er the moment she saw her. "It's you," she said, like someone waking from a dream. It was Lotus Fragrance, returned. So the three of them were together once more, two wives who had loved across two lifetimes and could not bear to be parted. As for Lotus Fragrance, she was a fox, and her span ran out. Before dying she set a promise of reunion in ten years and bade Yan'er not to doubt it. Ten years later a girl of the Wei family who had died revived, and gradually she recalled a former life, and recognized Yan'er at sight. "It is you," she said, as one waking from a dream — Lotus Fragrance come again. So the three were reunited; the two women, bound in love across two lifetimes, could not bear to be parted.

When the time came, they laid the two women in a single grave, so that even their bones would not be separated. Of all of it the old chronicler said only this: the dead go seeking to live again, and the living go seeking to die. The rarest thing under heaven, it seems, is simply a human body — and these three spent two lifetimes learning it. In the end the two women's remains were placed together in one tomb, that even their bones might not be parted. The Historian of the Strange remarks: Alas — the dead seek to live, and the living seek to die. Is not the hardest thing to obtain under heaven the human body itself?

蓮香 The original Chinese · honored as an artifact

桑生名曉,字子明,沂州人,少孤,館于紅花埠。桑為人靜穆自喜,日再出就食東鄰,餘時堅坐而已。

Opening lines, classical Chinese · Strange Tales 聊齋誌異 · Pu Songling