After bidding farewell to the Zen Master Gu Feng, Wei Yangsheng muttered incessantly along the way, grumbling nonstop:
“What rotten luck! I’m just over twenty, with a fresh flower barely in bloom, yet he insists on urging people to shave their heads and cultivate, bringing misery upon themselves. How can there be such an unreasonable person in this world! Today I went to see him only because, as a renowned scholar turned monk, he must possess some extraordinary insights. I hoped to glean a bit of Zen wisdom to inspire my writing. Who would have thought he’d treat me with such cold disdain and even compose a turtle verse as a parting gift? How could I swallow this insult? I am a dignified seven-foot man; if I become an official in the future, I’ll govern the realm and rule over the people—how could I not even control my own wife? From now on, whenever I encounter a beautiful woman, I refuse to let the chance slip by. Even if I commit a few romantic indiscretions in secret, as long as I keep my household tightly sealed, what stray man could come to collect a debt? Besides, having married such a handsome husband, even if other men try to tempt her, she’ll likely turn a blind eye, and any affair of the red apricot leaning over the wall is surely impossible. That verse of his should by rights have been torn up and thrown in his face. Yet since we’ll meet again, without proof I couldn’t shut his foul mouth; I’ll keep it for now and, when I next embrace a beauty, go mock him thoroughly!”
Having made up his mind, he took out the flowered paper with the verse from his sleeve, folded it into a square packet, and tucked it into his inner garment.
Upon returning home, Wei Yangsheng immediately sent several servants to summon matchmakers from every quarter, proclaiming his desire for the finest beauty in the land. Born of a distinguished family and blessed with both talent and looks, every household wished to wed him, and every girl longed to be his wife. Once word spread, matchmakers arrived daily. For girls from ordinary families he could call in person; for those of respectable houses, to preserve reputation, meetings were arranged at temples during incense offerings or on outings to scenic spots, appearing as chance encounters while in truth allowing a clear appraisal. After viewing so many, countless young ladies and wives were left pining, yet none caught his eye.
After days of fruitless effort, just as Wei Yangsheng grew disheartened, a familiar matchmaker approached and said, “From the looks of it, no ordinary girl is worthy of you. Only the daughter of Iron Door Daoist, named Yu Xiang, is a match made in heaven. Yet her father is exceedingly eccentric, refusing to let his daughter show her face or allow outsiders to view her; and you insist on seeing her in person—what can be done?”
Wei Yangsheng asked curiously, “Why is he called ‘Iron Door Daoist’? And how do you know his daughter is beautiful? If she is, why forbid anyone to see her?”
The matchmaker replied, “The old fellow is a renowned Confucian scholar, reclusive and aloof. With land and property, he needs nothing from others and has never made a single friend, shutting himself indoors to read all day. No matter who knocks, he never opens. Once a high official came to visit; after knocking for ages without even a response, the guest wrote a poem on the door and left in a huff. Two lines read: ‘Who knew the lofty scholar’s door was made of brushwood, yet the master’s door is of iron.’ Later, upon seeing these lines, the old man felt ‘Iron Door’ captured his spirit and adopted it as his sobriquet. He has no son, only this one daughter, beautiful as jade, peerless. She has read widely under her father’s personal tutelage and excels in poetry and prose. His household rules are strict: the young lady may neither visit temples to burn incense nor attend festivals; at sixteen she has never shown her face outside, and no matchmakers or gossiping women are allowed inside. Yesterday the old gentleman saw me passing and called out, ‘Are you a matchmaker?’ I answered yes. He invited me in, pointed to his daughter, and said, ‘This is my daughter. I wish to find a decent young man to marry her and care for me in old age. Help me find a good son-in-law.’ I mentioned your name. He replied, ‘I’ve heard of his literary reputation, but what of his character?’ I said, ‘The gentleman is mature beyond his years, flawless—save that he must see the lady in person before betrothal.’ At this the old man’s face darkened and he scolded, ‘Nonsense! Only the lean horses of Yangzhou are paraded for inspection; no proper maiden of a respectable house is displayed to strange men!’ Seeing his true anger, I dared not press further and withdrew. Thus I know this match cannot be made.”
Wei Yangsheng pondered, “With no parents above or brothers below, once I marry, who will restrain me? Even if I watch her day and night, there will be times I must go out. This old man is so rigid—if I marry into his house, I need not worry; he will guard his daughter tightly. I could roam freely my whole life and the inner chambers would remain untroubled! Yet without seeing her myself, I cannot feel at ease; how trustworthy is a matchmaker’s tongue?”
He then told the matchmaker, “By your account the match is excellent. Please find a way, even if only to let me glimpse her from afar; if she is passable, I’ll accept.”
The matchmaker waved her hands. “That is quite impossible! If you cannot trust me, better to draw lots or consult an oracle; if the immortal says to marry, then marry; if not, let it be.”
Wei Yangsheng said, “That is a plan. I have a friend skilled in spirit writing who is most accurate. I’ll ask him to divine, then reply.” The matchmaker agreed and left.
The next day, after fasting and bathing, Wei Yangsheng welcomed his friend skilled in spirit writing. They burned incense, bowed, and he prayed silently: “I seek nothing else but the daughter of Iron Door Daoist, named Yu Xiang. Hearing she is peerlessly beautiful, I wish to take her as wife. Yet hearing is not seeing, so I ask the great immortal: if she is truly peerless in beauty, I shall wed her; if slightly lacking, I shall desist. I beg the immortal to reveal clearly, without ambiguous words that leave me guessing.”
After four more bows he rose, grasped the planchette, and watched it move across the sand tray. Soon it wrote a quatrain:
“First among powdered beauties,
No need to doubt ghosts or gods.
Only fear her allure teaches wantonness;
At the crossroads of vice and virtue, seek carefully.
Right, the first”
Wei Yangsheng reflected, “The first two lines promise supreme beauty; yet the next plainly says ‘alluring countenance teaches lust’—has she already lost her virginity? Since it notes ‘the first,’ another verse must follow; let us see the rest.”
The planchette paused, then wrote four more lines:
“A woman’s chastity or wantonness cannot be altered,
Yet it depends on the husband’s skill in managing the household.
Shut the door against bluebottles,
Whence would blemishes fly onto jade?
Right, the second — inscribed by Hui Daoist”
Recognizing “Hui Daoist” as the title of Lü Dongbin, Wei Yangsheng was overjoyed. Clapping his hands he laughed, “The Patriarch Lü is most experienced in wine and women; if he approves, she must be of the highest quality! The second verse clearly dispels my doubts, merely cautioning me to guard her well. With such a rigid father-in-law watching day and night, surely nothing can go amiss. The lines ‘Shut the door against bluebottles’ plainly mean the iron door is locked fast and no stray man can enter. I need doubt no longer!”
He bowed in thanks to Patriarch Lü, then summoned the matchmaker and instructed, “The oracle verses are excellent. There is no need to steal a glimpse; simply go and propose on my behalf.”
The matchmaker, delighted, hurried to Iron Door Daoist’s house and conveyed Wei Yangsheng’s sincere proposal. The Daoist frowned, “His initial insistence on seeing her shows he values beauty over virtue and is frivolous indeed! I seek a steady, upright son-in-law, not such a flighty fellow.”
Determined to earn her fee, the matchmaker deployed her silver tongue: “The gentleman wished to view her not from lust, but fearing the girl might be frivolous or lack the fortune to be a proper wife. Now that he has learned of your strict household discipline and the young lady’s complete wifely virtues, he is fully reassured and has specially sent me to propose formally.”
Convinced by her decorous words, the Daoist’s expression softened and he consented, choosing an auspicious day for the wedding.
Though Wei Yangsheng trusted both the matchmaker and the oracle, never having seen the bride left him uneasy. Only on the wedding night, after the ceremony and being led to the bridal chamber, when he lifted the veil and beheld her clearly, did his anxious heart finally settle, overcome with joy beyond words. How to describe the bride’s ravishing beauty? A lyric bears witness:
“Graceful she is, her whole face brimming with charm.
Brimming with charm, her sorrowful look one could cup in the hands, her frown beyond imitation.
Still fearing she is not bride material, how to embrace a waist so slender?
How to embrace—soft as boneless, startling yet leaning close.”
—To the tune “Recalling Qin E”
And how to describe the nuptial bliss? Another lyric attests:
“When starry eyes meet, shyness turns to longing; on the pillow peach blossoms open two petals.
Though she tries to close fragrant lips, the tongue’s skill makes them bloom.
When her coy cries cease, passion knows no bounds; her creamy breasts already glisten with amorous sweat.
Opening four eyes to gaze at each other, two hearts hot as furnace coals.”
—To the tune “Jade Tower Spring”
Though Miss Yu Xiang’s beauty was matchless, she was sadly lacking in bedroom arts, inevitably disappointing her husband. Raised under strict family rules and with a prim, old-fashioned mother, she had never heard a single bawdy word nor seen any impropriety. The only books she read were Biographies of Exemplary Women and the Classic of Filial Piety for Women; every word she uttered ran counter to Wei Yangsheng’s romantic inclinations. Her every gesture and remark carried the air of an old pedant, so behind her back he dubbed her “Lady Pedant.” At the slightest flirtatious remark she blushed crimson and fled.
Wei Yangsheng most enjoyed making love by daylight to clearly admire a woman’s private parts and heighten his lust. Several times he tried to pull down her trousers, but Yu Xiang shrieked and struggled as if being ravished, forcing him to desist in frustration. At night she complied reluctantly, lying passively as if resigned to fate, knowing nothing of amorous postures—only spreading her legs to receive him, refusing to move an inch.
When he suggested “fire from across the mountain,” she protested it violated wifely duty; “pouring wax upside down” she called inverting the natural order. Even placing her legs over his shoulders required immense effort. At the height of pleasure she bit her lip, refusing to moan for his enjoyment; no matter how many times he called her “darling” or “precious,” she remained tight-lipped, mute as a statue.
Seeing not a trace of wanton allure in her, Wei Yangsheng sighed inwardly, “It seems I must expend great effort to train her, transforming this jade maiden into a woman of desire.”
#ClassicNewTranslationOfTheCarnalPrayerMat