吳趼人：《新石頭記》

New Story of the Stone: excerpts

By Wu Jianren

Translated by Sterling Swallow

Chapter 1

In which Baoyu encounters an old servant and past events

are strangely indistinct; he reads the newspaper and

becomes alarmed over the passage of time.

IT IS THE CASE that anyone, regardless if one is building a career or writing

a piece of work, must establish a unique style in order to make something

outstanding and proficient. If you take after others then you become a case of the

newly labelled term, ‘dependent nature’, and moreover, you accomplish nothing of

value. We needn’t speak of more weighty matters; even fiction is like this. If you

don’t believe it, take a look at the Western Chamber 西廂; after the ‘Startled from a

Dream’ scene, a later writer added a four-act sequel and was roundly condemned

by the critic Jin Shengtan 金聖歎 (1610–1661). Then there was the Water Margin

水滸傳 followed by its sequels and The Story of the Criminal Bandits 蕩寇志, all

subject to criticism. Finally there was the Journey to the West 西遊記, while the

Later Journey to the West 後西遊記 is all but unknown.

If we look at it this way, why trouble to ‘pin a dog’s tail to a marten’ and give

occasion for ridicule? And now I myself have composed this New Story of the Stone

out of thin air; am I not also ‘drawing a snake and adding feet’? Now The Story of

the Stone is the original name of Dream of the Red Chamber. Since Dream of the

Red Chamber 紅樓夢 by Mr Cao Xueqin 曹雪芹 (1717–1763) was published, later

authors have written countless sequels to the Dream of the Red Chamber, such as

The Later Dream of the Red Chamber 紅樓後夢, The Supplementary Dream of the

Red Chamber 紅樓補夢, Dreaming Again of the Exquisite Chamber 綺樓重夢—all

sorts of preposterous and absurd tales too numerous to be mentioned individually.

No one who has read them has said they are any good. Isn’t this New Story of the

Stone of mine also committing the very same mistake? Yet, it seems to me that

if a person raises his pen to write, he always begins with an intention. When he

writes, he naturally does not expect admiration; he just follows his fancy, simply

writing down what’s on his mind. The praise or censure that comes later is never

relevant. I have, therefore, taken this to heart and set about composing this

New Story of the Stone. If readers say it’s good that’s fine, if they say it’s hideous

that’s also fine, in any case I can’t hear what they’re saying. But enough of this

digression; let’s get to the story.

To begin with, people who compose sequels to Dream of the Red Chamber always

use the ploy of bringing Lin Daiyu 林黛玉 back to life, writing endlessly about

the secret passions of youth. What if I were to say simply that Jia Baoyu 賈寶

玉 doesn’t die, and engages in some quite proper undertakings? Even though

it sounds preposterous, at least it might be good for a laugh. Dear readers, first

listen to me spin together some introductory remarks.

Bringing peace and stability to the nation

Stalwart is the heart of worthy youth

A cosmos no bigger than a pellet

How can it withstand the hostile buffeting of powerful storms?

The ‘Dragonspring’ blade, but three feet long

Shoots forth a boundless radiance

The splendid light of the sun and moon—

Blocked, alas, by hundreds of layers of demons and barriers

It brings a passion like madness!

It brings a passion like madness!

A good head has no place to ruminate or rest

There remain but a thousand streams of hot tears

And hot blood filling the breast

Scattered over the great eastern ocean,

Roiling it frightful billows and waves.

Suddenly looking back,

Past events all mere folly!

What are the world of letters, the battlefield, fame, and profit?

If you reckon them up,

They come to nothing but a five-thousand-year muddle.

The story goes that, in that year Jia Baoyu took Jia Lan 賈蘭 to sit for the

official examination. When the three sessions were completed and he left the

examination grounds, the Buddhist mahāsattva Impervioso and Daoist illuminate

Mysterioso were waiting outside to return him to nature and discover his pure

self; thus it was that once Jia Lan turned his head Baoyu had disappeared. You

must know that he had come to a thorough understanding of his karma and thus

instantly cast everything aside; so no matter what kind of chaos this threw his

family , he abandoned them without looking back. The Buddhist adept and the

Daoist master first led him to Piling post station and had him bid farewell to his

father Jia Zheng 賈政, then took him to the foot of Greensickness Peak in the Great

Fable Mountains, put up a thatched hut and set him to arduous self-cultivation.

Hereafter, untold years and countless kalpas passed, with a mind like dead

wood and cold ashes, seeing hundreds of thousands of years like one day. It was

fated to happen and on this day Jia Baoyu suddenly began thinking, ‘The day

when Nüwa smelted the five-coloured stones to repair heaven, all 36,500 blocks

were used, only I was left unused. Later, although I came to life, all I did was

fritter away the years with those girls. I did not fulfil my pledge to mend heaven.

How can I accomplish this? If only I could, then even were I to become ash and

smoke, I would have no complaint.’

Once these worldly desires were awakened, before he knew it, a tide of

blood rose in his heart and his mind caught fire; he forgot all about karma and

retribution, and longed only to return home, to fulfil this pledge. But then he

remembered that he had become a monk, and shaved his head, so how could he

return in this awkward state. Not only would his father get angry if he saw, but

the girls too would consider him filthy. It would better to be patient for a while, and

go after his hair had grown out. Having settled on this plan, he let his hair grow

out day by day.

It is strange to tell; he had no idea how many aeons and kalpas passed while he

was engaged in spiritual practice, yet the time passed as though it were a single

day. But now that he was growing his hair out, a single day was actually harder

to bear than a year. Every day he longed for his hair to grow, but the hair was

perversely unwilling to grow quickly, irritating him to the point that he spent each

day at home moaning and groaning. With great difficulty he managed to bear it

for a little over a year until it grew to the length of one foot or so, such that he could

more or less braid it, whereupon he was overjoyed and braided it up as best he

could. He opened his bundle and saw that the suit of layman’s clothing he had worn

to the exams was still there, only a bit worse for wear, so he took them out and

put them on. He also put on his precious jade. He happened to notice something

in his pocket, which, when he pulled it out, turned out to be the little mirror he

had asked Zijuan 紫鵑 for so long ago; he looked it, and considered his own

appearance to be the same as ever. Thereupon he straightened up his clothes, left

the thatched hut, and, with no idea where he was headed, went on his way.

He hoped he would meet someone he could ask directions of. Who would have

thought that, even though he walked on and on, he did not encounter a soul. He

saw that the sun was setting in the west, and though he didn’t know how far he

had walked, luckily his legs had not yet failed him. Looking back, he couldn’t

see the slightest trace of Greensickness Peak and he did not know where he now

was. As he wandered on, he suddenly looked up to see black clouds, spreading far

and wide, and not a moment later rain began sprinkling down. A worried Baoyu

stomped his foot and said, ‘This time I’m really done for! There are no dwellings

in any direction. Where can I go to take shelter?’ With no idea what to do, all that

was left to him was to pick up his heels and run. He ran ahead and, seeing a small

forest, he hurriedly turned it. He initially hoped that there might be people

living in the woods, and he could take shelter with them. Once he had entered the

woods, however, he found that although there were no houses, luckily there was

a run-down temple. At this point it was as if Baoyu had received a great gift, and

he promptly ran in. But the temple gate had collapsed, and it would be difficult to

avoid the rain by standing under it, so he had to run up the main hall.

Now it was already twilight and the temple was surrounded by numerous trees

of great height, throwing the hall complete darkness. Baoyu was rushing in

and just as he reached the porch he kicked something and tripped over it.

Just as he was about to get up, a person stood up at his feet with a whooshing

sound and cursed, ‘What blind bastard just kicked his master!’ Baoyu was

just about to apologize when he realized that the voice was quite familiar and

unthinkingly fixed his gaze on him looking him over carefully. The person sized

up Baoyu as well, then suddenly took a step closer and embraced him saying, ‘Oh!

My dear little master, you have finally shown up! Please forgive your wretched

servant!’ As it turns out, this person was none other than Baoyu’s personal servant

Beiming 焙茗.

‘What are you doing here? What is this place?’ Baoyu replied happily.

‘Master, you’ve been gone for so long, so how is it you haven’t changed at all?

And you came here yourself, so how can you not know where it is?’ Beiming said.

While speaking, he took a look outside. In the half-light he caught sight of the

collapsed temple gate, and blurted out in shock, ‘This is bad! I’ve slept myself

silly—how did I come to a place like this? Second Master, what time is it now?’

‘You really are a silly little bugger! How could you sleep yourself forgetting

the time—it’s evening now, isn’t it?’ Baoyu remarked.

‘This is bad! Last night I went to bed early—how could I have slept the whole

day through? This is clearly an abandoned temple, so there’s no one here. How can

we get a fire going?’ Beiming thought a bit, and fortunately he still had his fire?starter bag with him. He fished it out, picked up the flint and started striking it

wildly; it made lots of sparks, but the kindling would not light. He grew impatient

and started groping around in all directions; when he had felt his way to the east

side of the room he found a small door. He pushed it and entered, only to come

across another courtyard and two small rooms; lamplight shone from the rooms.

‘There are people here,’ he enthusiastically declared. He strode right the room

finding an old Daoist monk squatting on the floor by a fire.

The monk raised his head, and, shocked to see Beiming, let out an, ‘Ah!’ and

hid in the corner, repeatedly calling for Buddha.

‘I’m a perfectly normal human being. Why are you calling on the Buddha?’

Beiming asked in astonishment.

‘Aren’t you the statue of the celestial youth that’s fallen over by the veranda?’

the Daoist monk asked.

Beiming paid him no attention. Suddenly he smelled the aroma of porridge

emanating from the pot; he was instantly famished and was eager to pick it up

and eat it, but he immediately realized that Baoyu would also be hungry, so it

would be best to invite him in and ask for a bowl from the Daoist monk; they

would get through the night one way or another and then take stock. His mind

made up, he went out and invited Baoyu to come back in with him.

Just as they reached the door, someone suddenly brushed past them, rushed out

and vanished like a puff of smoke. Baoyu was taken aback, and did not know what

was going on. He followed Beiming the room, and by the time Beiming had

a chance to look around, the Daoist monk was gone. He went the inner room

to look, and nobody was there either. Now that there was light, Baoyu took a good

look at Beiming, and said with a start, ‘How’d you get so filthy, you little bugger?’

‘Filthy?’ Beiming asked.

Baoyu took out the little mirror and told him to have a look. Beiming looked

and saw the accumulated dust and dirt on his face was over an inch thick; he felt

astonished and amused at the same time. He hurriedly put down the mirror and

looked around for a washbasin and towel; he also found a water jar, and not caring

whether it was hot or cold, he scrubbed himself down. He was aware his body was

covered in dust too, so he had to take off his clothes and shake them, all the while

swearing, ‘What bastard did this to me!’ After he had shaken them out and put

them back on, he found a bowl and chopsticks, washed them, filled the bowl with

porridge, and served it to Baoyu.

Baoyu ate one bowl then stopped. ‘Where does this porridge come from?’ he

asked.

‘Master, don’t worry about it, just eat,’ Beiming said.

Baoyu asked further, ‘What on earth is this place anyway?’

At this point, Beiming was starving, so while ladling up the porridge and

eating he explained, ‘Ever since you disappeared the family was running around

like chickens with their heads cut off. Among the higher-ups, all the way from

her ladyship on down, there was not one who wasn’t in tears. As for us servants,


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